"How much for your girls?" the man asked.
Nicholas hadn't seen this gentleman before; likely a visiting noble drawn to London by the day's celebrations. "Depends. Which one?"
"What does it matter?" the man chuckled.
"Different packages, different costs," he replied smoothly, wiping his hands on a cloth.
"Alright, then. That one." He lifted a hand and pointed toward the landing of the staircase.
Nicholas followed the direction of his finger. There was Livia. She leaned gently against the banister, her gaze fixed on the dancing girls as she observed their movements—the subtle sway of hips, the teasing laughter, the art of holding a man's attention with nothing more than a glance. She was learning, absorbing every detail.
The candlelight framed her in a soft golden glow, enhancing her natural beauty. Nicholas's eyes gleamed with pride. "That one is off the market for now," he said, turning back to the gentleman.
