The Last Rake In London
'Miss Bowes?'The voice was low, mellow and familiar. It spoke in Sally's ear and she came awake abruptly. For a moment she could not remember where she was. Her neck ached slightly and her cheek was pressed against something cold.
Paper.
She had fallen asleep in her office again. Her head was resting on the piles of invoices and orders that were on the desk. She half-opened her eyes. It was almost dark. The lamp glowed softly and from beyond the door drifted the faint sound of music, the babble of voices and the scent of cigar smoke and wine. That meant it must be late; the evening's entertainments at the Blue Parrot Club had already begun.
'Miss Bowes?'
This time the voice sounded considerably less agreeable and more than a little impatient. Sally sat up, wincing as her stiff muscles protested, and rubbed her eyes. She blinked them open, stopped, stared, then ... read full excerpt from The Last Rake in London ebook
