He’d come from there to the Hôtel de Flandres, shamed by Landon into the notion that he owed his father a visit. Thank God he had talked himself out of it before crossing the threshold. He glanced over at the hotel’s entrance. A British officer stood there with a woman. The two were engaged in an intense conversation and lots of intimate embraces. Lawd. It was probably some doxie trying to squeeze out more coin by making him more ruttish. Would the man fall for her trick? The army seemed to breed men who were easily duped into paying a princely sum for a common whore. ‘Do not heed her,’ he said aloud, as if the officer was close enough to hear. ‘Do not pay a penny more than she’s worth.’ He peered at them again. The woman seemed to be dressed in a fashionable frock and there was something familiar about the man. Edwin rose from the bench and edged closer. Lawd. It was Landon. Landon, that paragon of perfection, was attempting to purchase a woman’s services.
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