‘Where is your wife, sir?’ Cameron’s features hardened. ‘She has run off with her lover — that joke of a French count. The father of the bab... I had thought was mine.’ Heather was sorry she had asked. ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not know. Forgive me for asking.’ He smiled again. ‘I think you know why I asked you to dance, Heather.’ ‘No, I’m sure I don’t, your Grace. Perhaps you could elaborate.’ ‘Darling Heather, I have heard of your escapades with the male sex.’ Heather paled. ‘Whatever you have. You want me to entertain men with my body--let them fuck me and do whatever they want to me--and my inducement to do this is money. A little more money than I can make at a regular job. Well, it means that I'm selling my cunt for money... and a woman who does that is a whore, isn't she? Oh, maybe I can consider myself one cut above the woman who lets her customers fuck her in alleys behind bars, if that's any satisfaction..."Jack found himself increasingly curious about this pretty woman who. More

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