Well, he supposed he could relate to her in that – he should not be there either – but Malachi had the benefit of not having arrived there to sell his services. He looked down into his glass as she continued, hazy eyes fixed on the way the light danced across the amber-colored liquid.

It was not until he heard a peculiar sound that he looked to her again. Was that… a giggle? A sob? Both?

Whatever it was, combined with what little brandy he’d consumed and whatever he’d taken before, it was enough to pull a similar noise from Malachi’s throat. Almost a giggle, if one could be procured from a voice such as his.

“It’s all rather ridiculous, isn’t it?”

He downed the rest of his brandy in one foul swoop. Sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut when it burned its way down his throat.

“Innocence, dignity… it’s all so rigid. Not everyone can remain as pure as a sheltered, wealthy young lady with no troubles. The rest of us should not be demonized for not being so lucky,” Malachi said, setting his emptied glass down. “You, miss, deserve a husband and a – a bairn, and everything else you want, whether you have ever worked in a brothel or not.”