A Riding Crop for Two by Karyn Gerrard

Riding Crop. It appeared that Pan, the owner, could be this
Sidle bastard. He snapped the note open and read.
    James, I sit here three days after leaving The Riding Crop, and my anger has turned to bitter
disappointment. You must think me foolhardy; to go off with a man I barely knew
a few hours. But I did. I cannot explain the reasons, except I felt I had met
my soul mate. We are so much alike it is frightening. I sensed in him so much
that is wrong with myself . We are broken things.
Together, we make a whole being. Gideon hides behind a cold, icy mask, but I
have felt his heart beat.
    I was prepared to give him all that I am, but he
abandoned me. Dropped me at this mausoleum of a townhouse and left for parts
unknown. I am giving him until this evening to return and if he does not, I ask
that you please allow me return to The Crop. Please send back your reply as
soon as you get this. I promise never again to allow my heart to lead me
astray.
    Your dearest friend,
    Olivia
    We are broken things.
    Gideon crumbled the
letter in his fist. She spoke the truth. They were very much alike.   Soul mates did indeed fit what they were. His
upbringing was Spartan, absent of love and affection. His mother too wrapped up
in her own depressing state to take notice of a small boy tugging on her gown
seeking attention. His father answered his pleas with the back of his hand or a
caning. When he was sent away to school at
Eton
he had no choice but to toughen up. The upper boys also liked to brandish a
cane and two or three of the more cruel bullies like to wield their cocks on
the lower boys as well. Gideon made damn sure he was not subjected to either
cruelty. The armor had been in place since then. Perhaps he should have kept it
there. The one time he lowered his guard, and a damned woman trampled his
heart.
    Gideon smoothed the letter
and read it again. She had not mailed it. Why? Putting aside his hurt pride and
smashed male ego, the fact she slept in his bed, then left in the middle of the
night made no sense whatsoever.
    It was patently obvious
where she went. The Riding Crop.
    Gideon ran into the
hall. “Hobson! Get me a Hansom cab! Now!”
    ****
    Olivia walked into the
Ten Bells on
Commercial Street
.
Gordon, one of the lads from The Crop, stayed right on her heels. For one in
the afternoon the place was quite lively. She had never been here or any other
pub for that matter. The walls were adorned with blue and white floral tiling
and dark wood trim. The tiled mural on the far wall was the decorative
centerpiece. A weaver in his shop, plying his wares from an
era long ago. She scanned the busy pub, and Mary’s red hair caught her
eye. She strolled to the table where Mary sat with four other women. They might
have been the same women in the alley last night, but the darkness had made it
difficult to tell.
    “Well, look at you, up
and about. How are you feeling, love?” Mary asked.
    “Better, thank you. Is
there somewhere we can talk?”
    Mary stood, took her
elbow and steered her toward a small table in the corner. A man walked up to
them, a bar towel tossed over his shoulders. Gordon stood off to the side,
keeping watch.
    “What will it be? You
have to order something or push off.”
    “Steady on, Mike,” Mary
said.
    “Beef stew and bread for
us both and for those ladies over at that table. Give them whatever they wish
to drink.” Olivia reached in her reticule and laid a handful of shillings on
the table. “We’ll have bitter. And be quick about it.”
    The man touched his
forelock and moved off. Olivia could hear him snort and mutter derisively under
his breath. “Right. Ladies. In a
pig’s eye.”
    “I didn’t think to see
you so soon, love.”
    Olivia smoothed her
skirt. She wore a plain, wool gray gown. Though she did have a few fancier
ones, they weren’t suitable for sitting in a pub.
    “I am not one to lie
about. I do feel better. Makeup helped to hide some of the more ugly bruises.”
    “Who were