December 3, 1816—London
December 3, 1816—LondonAlone in her luxurious bed chamber, Esmeralda Ballantyne tilted her mirror to consider the tiny lines at the outer corners of her eyes. They were small and could still be concealed but the day was approaching when that would not be the case.
There was, to her dismay, another silver hair sprouting amongst her raven-black hair. She pulled it out with a savage gesture and peered critically at her reflection again. There could be no mistaking the fact that she grew older—and in her trade, that was no asset. Experience certainly could enhance a courtesan’s appeal, but not visible signs of aging.
She stood up from her dressing table with impatience and went to the large mirror, casting her robe aside. Her famously green eyes narrowed as she surve
