Chapter Four
For one so small, Mrs. Bonner burst with energy. Max had been following her around for days, watching as she settled this dispute before moving on to fix that problem. She was like the commander of a ship, always walking the decks, sleeping with one eye open. He hated to admit it, but the woman wore him out. The soles of his feet yearned for a reprieve from constantly being upon them; he could only imagine how hers, in her flimsy footwear, fared.
That, at least, was something he could fix. “Mrs. Bonner, a moment.”
She turned from a discussion with one of the maids. “Yes, my lord?”
“Will you follow me? I have something to show you.” Without waiting for a response, he strode across the main room and held the door to the private upper rooms open for her. His palm was slick on the latch, and he wiped his hands on his coat. It shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking presenting small tokens to a woman. Especially as these were necessary for her to do her job properly. But gift giving of any sort was a practice to which Max was unaccustomed. And to a woman such as Mrs. Bonner …
She was so unlike the women of the ton that he knew. With her, there was no pretense. A man got exactly what he saw. A straightforward, hardworking woman who deserved more than the lot she’d received in life. Her honesty gave him hope for society, and he couldn’t help thinking that in a perfect world, all women would be like Mrs. Bonner.
She glanced at him curiously but went through the door and led him up the stairs. Her round bottom swayed three steps in front of him, and Max shoved his hands in his pockets. Her unconventional outfits showcased the hips that most women hid behind shapeless gowns. Those hips gave him ideas. Max adjusted his cock. The urge to touch his manager was great, and it didn’t help that he saw desire trapped behind her eyes when she looked at him. If he seduced her, pressed slow, soft kisses to her neck as he lifted her skirts, would she give in to her cravings? Or slap his face and call him a fool?
It would be better if she rebuffed him. He didn’t deserve Mrs. Bonner. Not after what he’d done. Although, if he brought her pleasure as well as himself, would it truly be so wrong?
She hesitated at the top, and Max directed her into the sitting room. “Through here, please.”
She strode through the doorway and stopped short. Max bumped into her back and grabbed her shoulders, making sure she didn’t topple over.
“What on earth is all this?” She inched to the settee and fingered one of the many dresses thrown over the back. The room was littered with clothes, the garments draped over every chair and sofa. Neat rows of slippers, and with a nod to Mrs. Bonner’s practicality, several pairs of sturdy boots lined the floor.
“Two men’s shirts, a waistcoat, two sets of skirts, two pairs of shoes, and one ratty coat seem to be the entirety of your wardrobe.” Max scraped his palms down his trouser legs. Women liked this sort of thing, right? Presents and frippery and such. Even practical Mrs. Bonner couldn’t differ that much from the rest of her sex. “I know the fire destroyed most of your belongings. You’ve done such good work here, you’ve earned a few things.”
“A few things?” Mrs. Bonner dropped her chin and stared at him. “Perhaps to Marie Antoinette, God rest her soul, this would be a few things. But there’s no way I could wear all this in a lifetime.” She narrowed her blue eyes. “Are these guilt offerings? A new wardrobe in no way makes up for you reneging on our agreement.”
“I know that.” This was the one thing he’d done for her that hadn’t been because of guilt. The urge to put his mark on her, even if it was only by clothing her with garments he’d paid for, was strong. He spread the fingers of his left hand and gestured at the room. “You need a new wardrobe, and as I’ve said, you’ve more than earned it.”
She ran the tip of her finger along the lace neckline of a pale purple silk gown and bit her lip. “Highly impractical. I could never wear such things.”
Gathering up the dress she admired, he held it to her body. “Practicality isn’t everything.” He wondered at the type of things her husband must have bought her. A clock repair man couldn’t have had much blunt, but with a woman like Mrs. Bonner waiting at home, he must have given her some small trifles. The more serious the woman was, the more Max wanted to lavish her with unserious things. She’d been dry-eyed and stoic at her husband’s funeral, showing a strength Max could respect. But it had been six months since she’d been widowed. Max wanted to see her smile.
Mrs. Bonner had been without the resources to garb herself in widow’s weeds after the fire. She’d refused Max’s offer of financial help, and her dreadful cousin hadn’t dug within his purse to clothe her appropriately. And for that, Max was grateful. Such a serious woman would be swallowed in all black. He cocked his head. Although, perhaps the paler colors didn’t suit her personality, either.
Tossing it aside, he plucked up another gown, a deep maroon that reminded him of her hair. “I’ll call up a maid. Why don’t you go try this one on?”
She fingered the soft fabric. “Who do these belong to? The former proprietress?”
“They’re yours. I had a modiste make them up.”
“But …” A tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “How did she create them without knowing my size?”
Max didn’t need to look. He’d memorized her dimensions by their third meeting. But his eyes were greedy, and he dropped his gaze and ran it up and down her body. “I described you to the modiste.” Every last curve and inch. “She’ll come here to alter anything that needs it.”
Alterations shouldn’t be necessary, not if the modiste had done her job right. His description of Mrs. Bonner had been thorough. The silly waistcoat nipped in at her middle, and her hips and breasts flared around it. It covered everything yet hid nothing. She was a luscious hourglass that he’d imagined spread out beneath him more nights than not. The hem of her skirt exposed a good two inches of ankle, and that tiny expanse of skin beckoned to him like an invitation. How easy it would be to slide his hands up under her skirts, under the petticoat she wore, stroking along that smooth skin until he found her hot and wet and ready for him.
He shook his head. His fantasies could wait until he was alone. But the real Mrs. Bonner was just as alluring. She stood toe to toe with him, looking up with eyes that were wide and curious and without a hint of affectation. A lock of her dark auburn hair had come loose and coiled around her neck.
He couldn’t help himself. Reaching up, he brushed the strand back, his fingertips trailing over her silky skin. The contact was fleeting. As light as a summer breeze.
It made every hair on his body stand at attention.
Her eyes darkened to a night sky. She parted her lips then stopped moving. He didn’t even know if she breathed. They stood there, motionless, as though caught in a moment between time. The air thickened around them, grew heavy with want, and Max swore he could smell her desire.
He blinked, and time sprang forwards. The stillness broke. Colleen swallowed thickly, her neck undulating with the motion, and he bit back an oath.
She stepped back and looked at the floor. “I don’t have time for such nonsense. Return all this. Besides, all these clothes would never fit in my wardrobe.”
“I’ve had two more wardrobes installed in your chambers.”
Her eyes flared wide. “Two more? Is there even room to sleep in the room anymore?”
“Of course.” Plenty of room to do a lot of things on that bed. “Why don’t—”
“You know I can’t accept this.” She laced her fingers together in front of her, her hands resting at the cradle of her hips. Always so proper. “You pay me a salary, and that is enough.”
“None of this is returnable.” Max had no idea whether he could return the gowns and shoes he’d ordered. And he didn’t want to find out. He shrugged, trying to look casual. “If you don’t want the items, fine. But they will only go into the dustbin.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her eyes flashed, shining outrage at the thought of such waste.
Max kept his smile to himself. One of the many delights of such a forthright woman was that she was quite easy to manipulate. And like any man, Max liked to get his own way. And right now, he wanted to see Mrs. Bonner out of her rags and into his clothes.
“I’ll have the footman hang the gowns in your wardrobes, and if you come across something you don’t want to wear, throw it out.” The new shifts and stays were already in their place. He hadn’t bothered buying her new petticoats. They were out of fashion, and for the life of him he couldn’t see why she wore the thing. There couldn’t be a more useless garment for such an efficient woman.
Taking her elbow, he guided her out of the room and to the top of the stairs. “Now, I believe you said there was a problem in one of the rooms that you wanted my opinion on?”
She looked like she wanted to argue further, so Max trotted down the steps. A temporary retreat was in order.
She followed more slowly. “It wasn’t your opinion I needed, but your authorization. I have enough opinions of my own.”
“Indeed.” Max smiled. She wasn’t lying. “Why don’t we go to the site of the problem and you can tell me all about it.”
Squaring her shoulders, Mrs. Bonner marched across the main room, taking a sharp detour when Lord Halliwell spied her. The earl lowered his champagne glass and gazed after the manager, his eyes as sad as a hound dog’s. Max couldn’t fault the man’s taste. But his infatuation was highly irritating.
They turned down the back hallway. At the door to the Plain Room, she hesitated before easing it open and peeking inside. Max followed her in. “Don’t you know which rooms are being used?” All the private rooms in the club were styled differently, with singular needs in mind. This room was bare except for a narrow bed with a thin mattress. Fist-sized iron hooks were spaced evenly along the wall at eye-level. It could have been a monk’s chamber.
“Yes, but you never know if one of the members is going to slip in without requesting a room.” Mrs. Bonner gave him a sidelong glance. “We at The Black Rose are here to cater to the customer’s every need. And spontaneity is always welcome.” She gave him a wide smile, all teeth and no sincerity.
“Christ, is that the pitch you give to potential new customers?” He shook his head. “No wonder we haven’t increased membership these past months. Profits have only increased because you’ve reduced costs.”
“Yes, it’s past time you found a manager with a brighter disposition. I will happily relinquish my position as my promised term has ended.” She paused, looking at him expectantly.
He gave her a small smile but said nothing. She was like a terrier with a bone on that issue.
With a huff, she strode to the corner of the room and the bucket of water on the ground. She hefted it up and staggered.
In two steps Max was at her side, taking the bucket. “Where?”
She pointed to the middle of the room, and he set it down as directed. Colleen dropped to her knees on the wood plank floor. “I’ve noticed that more of our members have small injuries after leaving this room than any other. Mainly cut knees. I’d like your permission to install a carpet.”
“That wouldn’t be wise.”
She plunged her hand into the bucket and pulled out a rag. Frowning, she scrubbed at a mark on the oak floor. “Why ever not? By what we’d save in bandages alone in a year, it will be worth it. And several of the other rooms have carpets.”
A pyramid of tapers lay piled on a shelf built into the wall, and Max picked one up. He lit it from the oil lamp by the door. “Did it never occur to you that the hard floor is one of the attractions of this room?”
She looked up from her scrubbing and drew her eyebrows together. “No. Why would it be?”
He dropped to a squat and lowered the candle, trying to discern what the stain was. “It’s not nearly as much fun making someone crawl on a plush carpet as it is upon a hardwood floor. Or stone. If there wasn’t a little suffering, what would be the point?” He dragged his eyes from the lovely flush traveling from her face down her neck and disappearing behind her high collar. “What is this? And why isn’t the maid cleaning it up?”
“Do you truly need me to explain the different excretions that produced this?” she asked tartly.
Max wrinkled his nose. “Leave it for the maid. This isn’t the manager’s job.”
“Mrs. Hudson’s back is ailing. I told her I’d finish the cleaning.” Mrs. Bonner scrubbed until a foot-wide circle of oak was stained dark from the soapy water. She tossed the rag back in the bucket. “Can we at least sand the floor down? I’m tired of wiping up blood.”
Grasping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “Yes. But I guarantee we’ll get complaints.”
“I don’t understand you people.” She tightened her mouth, as though tasting spoilt milk. “Why do you do this?”
He stroked her skin with his thumb. Turning her hand over, he ran his fingers up and down her palm. Her hands weren’t the pampered ones of a lady. Small calluses marred the surface, badges of hard work. He traced a line up her palm to the vein in her wrist. Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips.
“Do you sincerely want to know?” Max asked. “Or are you merely expressing your disdain for what you don’t understand?”
“I …” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and let it go with a pop. “I’m curious,” she whispered.
Max’s body tightened. It wasn’t smart engaging in bed sport with a business associate, but Max didn’t pretend to great intelligence. Cradling her hand, he lifted her wrist to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the inside. He slid the tip of his tongue between his lips and tasted the salt of her skin. She hissed in a breath. Taking his lips away, he blew gently over the moistened flesh.
“You asked earlier what my personal predilection is.” He stared into her eyes. “May I show you?”
“Show me?” she asked, voice wobbling.
Blood raced to his groin. He’d known she was attracted to him. Seen it in the unconscious way she slightly parted her legs when he sat next to her at her desk. In the delightful flush that would cover the freckles on her face when they stood too close. But every time that attraction was confirmed, he went hard. Every damn time. “All your clothes will remain on,” he assured her. “Just a small taste to show you what I like.”
Hesitantly, she nodded. Her gaze followed his hand as he raised the candle above her wrist. She bit her lower lip, the plump flesh going pink around her white teeth, and Max’s budding erection went full-blown. Fuck, he loved the slight apprehension of a woman when she didn’t know what was coming. Her restless anticipation. He craved the way a woman tensed as she waited for the heat, and her shudder as the nip of pain slid into pleasure.
But apprehension could turn into fear given too much time. And that was an emotion he never wanted Mrs. Bonner to feel. With an efficiency he thought she’d appreciate, Max tipped the candle and dropped a neat splash of white wax on the spot he’d kissed.
Her hand jerked in his hold, and she hissed in a breath. Keeping their gazes locked, Max blew over the area again, soothing away any sting.
“You drip wax on women?”
“Yes.” He traced a line across her wrist. His fingertip slipped across the slick wax to her soft skin. “Wax, and I also play with fire.”
“How do you play with fire?” She tugged her hand free with a wary look at the candle flame.
He licked his thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the flame, enjoying the small hiss. “Don’t worry. The wax demonstration is as far as we go for now.” Wax was a good introduction into fire play. Gave a hint of the heat, the pleasure, that fire could produce. And Mrs. Bonner’s fair skin would look beautiful dripping with wax. He wondered if freckles covered more than just her face. If he could connect the dots of her body with strings of wax. His hips shifted closer to her of their own accord, his aching cock seeking her heat.
He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and let his hand rest at the nape of her neck. “But when we do play in earnest, I want you to know that the flame won’t hurt you. Not if I’m the one holding the torch. But it will make you feel more alive than you ever have in your life.”
Her breasts stilled and her eyes went dark. Max thought it was from desire, until he remembered her dead husband. And how he’d been killed. He cursed. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bonner. I’d forgotten.”
She blinked, and her forehead cleared. “Mr. Bonner. Yes, I dare say the fire didn’t make him feel so alive.” Bending, she grabbed the bucket’s handle. “A good reminder of my place. I’m a widow, and it’s best if we pretend such foolishness never happened.”
Max took the bucket, disappointment that their intimate moment had ended weighing against his chest. He stopped the door before she could open it fully. “You might be a widow, but you’re still a woman. With needs and desires.” He stepped close, and a hint of lavender teased his nose. “I want to be the man to satisfy your every need.” He ached to be that man.
A flicker of self-reproach tried to ignite in his heart but he stamped it out. His past misdeeds were of no consequence to a potential liaison with Mrs. Bonner.
She turned, her breasts brushing his chest, her abdomen achingly close to his need. They were like puzzle pieces, joining together. “Thinking about what can never happen only leads to disappointment,” she said.
“So, you were considering it?” The woman wasn’t as proper as she liked to think she was. What would it be like to peel off her high-necked shirt, strip her of her petticoats, uncover the real woman beneath all her protective layers? Max had a feeling she burned hotter that any fire he’d ever struck.
“We’ll never know.” Mrs. Bonner strode down the hall to the edge of the main room. She bent her head to speak to Lucy, a woman he’d painted with wax many times before. He should turn to her. She was a professional who enjoyed her work and had no inhibitions. His prick was throbbing behind his smallclothes, needing relief. Lucy was the easy choice. Anything between him and his manager would be too complicated. Yes, he would go to Lucy and see if she was available. The chit nodded at something Mrs. Bonner said and wandered off.
Resolved, he squared his shoulders and turned in the lady-bird’s direction. His feet had other ideas and padded after Mrs. Bonner, like a dog looking for a scrap from his master. Easy was overrated. And so were brains, apparently.
Mrs. Bonner drew up short and held up her hand. “You can’t take a bucket of dirty water into a room with our guests.” She pointed towards the end of the hallway, back the way he’d come. “Leave it around the bend. Lucy has gone for a footman to come collect it.”
He complied and returned to her side. This business with Zed needed to come to a quick conclusion. If he was to be near Mrs. Bonner so often and not be able to touch her, he—
“Are you listening?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Do you agree to give me that authority?”
“Uh …” He scratched his beard. His finger got tangled in a knot, and he tried to comb it out. Blasted beard was becoming more trouble than it was worth.
She sighed. “May I have the authority to rid The Black Rose of some people in our employ? If I’m to remain here as manager, it will be necessary.”
“Necessary?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, helpful.”
Max glanced through the throng of people in the main room. The men were in full-dress, the women somewhere between full-dress and scandalous. He couldn’t pick out the woman she’d just spoken to among the swirl of colorful gowns. “What’s the matter with Lucy? She always seems most pleasant to me.”
Mrs. Bonner snorted, the unladylike gesture somehow made charming. “I’m sure you find all the women here ‘most pleasant.’ They are paid to ensure that members feel that way.” Turning on her heel, she strode across the main room. “But Lucy is fine. Some other workers like to push their boundaries with me. Show me disrespect. It’s almost too bad Molly brings in so much blunt. If I got rid of her, the others would fall in line. But I may have to remove some who aren’t as valuable.” As they walked, she surveyed the room with a critical eye. Max could see her counting the wineglasses, how many girls were on the floor, looking for any signs of trouble. Her face was as open and easy to read as a book.
If only the rest of the world were so apparent. There would be no need for spies.
“What’s wrong with Molly?” And which one was Molly? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t think she was one of the girls he played with.
“It’s not surprising you can’t tell them apart. Why all the girls here decided on names that end with ‘Y’, I don’t understand. Lucy, Molly, Felicity, Suzy, Daisy …” Mrs. Bonner sniffed. “Is that common of prostitutes? Do they think they’ll earn more money with such a name?”
Max shrugged. He couldn’t imagine any man giving a shit about the name of a doxy.
“Anyhow, Molly’s the one fondling that poor man’s nether region.” Mrs. Bonner shook her head, her shoulders drooping. “It’s sad what no longer shocks me. My husband would have been most ashamed.”
“You do what you have to survive,” Max said gruffly. “You have nothing to be ashamed over.”
“No, men like you feel no shame. If someone found out you were here, nothing would happen to your status in society.” She fingered the delicate chain that disappeared into her waistcoat pocket. “But every one of these girls would be publicly shunned if their occupation came to light. And if my acquaintances learned what sort of establishment I managed, I would be disgraced. It’s fortunate for me none of my sort ever come down this street, much less have the means to enter the club.” She turned reproachful eyes on him. “But don’t try to teach me about shame.”
Lord Halliwell slunk over. “My dear Mrs. Bonner.” The earl swept a dramatic leg, and Max rolled his eyes. “Can I say how ravishing you look tonight. Truly incandescent.”
Mrs. Bonner inclined her head. No feminine curtsies for her. “Thank you, my Lord. Now, if you will excuse me.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned for the door that led to her private chambers.
Lord Halliwell shot his hand out, grabbing her arm.
Little spots danced in Max’s vision, and he blinked.
“Not so hasty, my dear.” With two fingers, the earl beckoned a serving girl. “How about a glass of wine?”
“I don’t drink spirits with customers.”
“Nonsense. It’s only wine.” Halliwell pressed a glass into her hand. He slid his own hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and down her back.
Max dug his fingers into his palm until he couldn’t feel his knuckles. Is this what the women here had to deal with? He’d thought the members had more self-control, that they only pursued amenable women. The women and men who worked for the club made their money entertaining the customers, but it was well established that no one had to participate in an activity he or she didn’t wish to. Ever.
And Lord Halliwell should damn well know that.
Max stepped forward, his gaze locked on the man’s roving hand.
He didn’t see Mrs. Bonner’s hand moving until it was too late.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She swiped at the hem of the earl’s coat. “So clumsy of me. And I do believe I got some of the wine on my skirts, as well. I must go and change.” She side-stepped out of his range. “If you gentlemen will excuse me.” With shoulders thrown back, she strode away.
Max smiled grimly. The woman could take care of herself, no doubt. He turned to the earl. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t teach the sot a lesson. “Let’s go get you cleaned up. I know just where a bucket of some water is.” Clapping his hand on Halliwell’s back, he shoved the man towards the back hall.
He almost wished Mrs. Bonner hadn’t left. She would enjoy the sight of the earl cleaning himself with the filthy water.
Max looked over his shoulder, seeking out her sturdy figure. The door to her staircase was easing closed. His view of the person behind the door narrowed until it disappeared completely.
Max froze, Lord Halliwell purged from his mind.
The person closing the door to Mrs. Bonner’s private rooms hadn’t been Mrs. Bonner. Nor anyone who worked at the club.
A man Max didn’t recognize had followed his manager into her inner sanctum. And Max saw red.