Chapter 2

“So it is true.” The furious words filled the room, their tone so sharp that Cynthia could feel their cut.

“Hello, James, how nice of you to call,” Jasmine answered calmly. “I do wish you’d treat Simms with more care, however. It is hard to find a good porter and I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Cynthia tried to flatten herself even further, wishing she could manage to slide beneath the settee, not that it would provide much shelter.

“Can’t you even pretend to be ashamed?” the deep voice continued, its force echoing all about.

“Why should I pretend?”

“You are everything Father said about you.”

James. Father. It was Jasmine’s brother. Cynthia’s mind filled with a picture of the lean young man she had known years ago, a fallen angel’s face and fierce dark eyes. Pressing her cheek to the rug, she tried to peek beneath the settee, but all she could see was the bottom of his glistening boots. Was he the same long, thin boy he’d always been? The temptation to peek about the edge was great, but she held back. It might have been years since she’d seen him—how could it have been so long?—but still he was likely to recognize her if he saw her.

If only she could die now.

Jasmine’s voice turned as cold as her icy countenance. “And when have you ever listened to Father? I thought you left that to Langdon. I thought you of all people would consider my story, would have sympathy, might even try to help me.”

“And what story would that be? How do you explain suddenly being at Madame Rouge’s? There is no story that can explain this.”

“And so you will not even listen.”

“If you wanted me to listen you should have come to me earlier, before stories and scandal swirled about, rumors of you and this house and a newborn child. What have you done to us all, Jasmine?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? The scandal I have caused?”

“What else should I care about?” His voice rang with a tone Cynthia had never heard.

“Clearly not me.” Jasmine sounded tired, the anger gone.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know nothing except that perhaps you should leave.”

“And if I am not ready to?”

“Then I will call for a footman and have you removed.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I believe that my footmen should be more than equal to the task no matter how many hours you’ve spent sparring.”

The boots paced across the room and then back.

Cynthia had only seen one of the footmen as she entered, but if the others were anywhere near his size she reckoned that Jasmine was correct. James had always been strong, but he was only one man.

James released a deep sigh and then collapsed onto the settee, his feet spread wide. If he even glanced over his shoulder there was no way he could miss seeing Cynthia. She tried to make herself even smaller. James spoke again, this time his voice, too, sounded beyond tired, exhausted. “God, Jazzy, I didn’t believe it, even with all of London whispering about it. Why did you have to do this? Couldn’t you have waited until I came back from the north? I was only gone a few months. And surely you must have known before I left. Why didn’t you turn to me for help before…?”

“Before I gave birth to an illegitimate child and decided to take over one of the most notorious brothels in London?”

“What? Take over? You don’t mean…? Madame Rouge’s?”

“It’s Madame Blanche’s now.” Jasmine’s voice was firm. “And what could I have said to you? What could you have done? I did think of it, but this truly was my only choice.”

“Father says he had several men ready to marry you.”

“Men he was paying or bribing in some way. Is that what you want for me?”

“Surely it is better than this!” His deep voice spoke of a wide gesture that Cynthia could not see.

“Is it?”

“Sir Preston is still willing to marry you, according to Scarlett.” James’s boots began to tap with anxious energy. “I know he’s not who you’d want for a husband, but surely you can see that it would be better for all. Scarlett is still telling everyone that you are in the country, recovering from a bad chest cold. No one will know the truth—or at least they will pretend not to.”

Yes, Cynthia thought, the duke, their father, would keep up pretense as long as he could. No one would want this scandal to spread. Jasmine truly must leave.

“And my daughter, the child that I bore?” Jasmine asked.

A pause, Cynthia could almost hear James thinking before he spoke. “I am surprised you even speak of such a thing, but I will promise to find the child a proper family and see to all its needs. You know you can trust me, Jazzy. When have I ever let you down?”

Jasmine did not bother to answer. “I will not be parted from my daughter.”

“You can have another. Lord Preston had five daughters with his first wife.”

“And you think that I can just replace one child with another? Is that really how you feel?”

“It is the only reasonable answer.” He was speaking more powerfully now, clearly convinced that he was right. He’d always been sure he was right. Always.

Cynthia had not even met the baby, but for the first time she could understand Jasmine’s feelings.

“I do not think you understand. I will say it again: I will not be parted from my daughter. I do not care what is reasonable or respectable. All that I care about is my daughter.”

The boots stopped moving.

Cynthia pressed her face tighter to the floor, trying to get a better view beneath the settee, wishing she could see more than heels and polished tips. What did James look like? His voice had certainly deepened and changed since those long-ago days. It was a man’s voice, deep and resonant, not at all the soft, occasionally squeaky tones that she remembered.

“And do you really think being brought up in a brothel is the best thing for the child? I can find it a respectable family.”

“Oh, can you? And my daughter is a she, not an it. I rather think if I trust you, she’ll end up dumped on a local parish or given to a poor family that will do anything for the money you will provide. If she were yours perhaps you would understand more—or perhaps not, I have known many gentlemen who have not cared what happened once they spread their seed.”

“Must you talk so crudely—and I assure you that I would care. I would provide well for any child that I had, although I admit I take all possible precautions to be sure that I am not faced with the situation.” The settee groaned as James stood, beginning to pace again.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

The boots became still, turned to face Jasmine dead-on, and he spoke again. “What if we said the child is mine? I could find a woman who would pretend to be the mother and be sure that it—she—is cared for. I could settle funds upon her, and even send her to school. I know that there are such places. I have friends who have made use of them. And if I recognize her publicly it may even be possible for her to make a decent marriage, a tradesman who wants to curry favor.”

“She is mine. I will not be separated from her.”

“God, Jazzy, you always were obstinate. Why will you not see reason?”

“I have seen reason. You simply do not like my conclusions. Why do you think it is reasonable to expect a mother to abandon her child?”

Cynthia’s heart clenched. After her own mother’s death two years ago, she had certainly felt abandoned and she had been nearly an adult. The thought of intentionally doing that to a child was horrible. The James she’d known would never have suggested such a thing. Could he have changed so much over the years?

God, was she starting to be on Jasmine’s side? No. This whole situation was unthinkable.

Again the pacing.

This time James stalked to the far window and stared out. Cynthia had to fight the desire to inch farther away. If he turned the right way, surely he would see her. Although this meant she could see him, or at least more of him. He was turned away and the settee—plus her position flat on the floor—still blocked a good portion of his body. He certainly had gotten tall. He must be a foot taller, and more muscular, sturdier, than he had been the last time she had knowingly seen him, and he had been tall then. His hair was about the same, dark and curly—perhaps slightly shorter. Or was it that his neck was longer. He wore a dark coat over tight buckskins and those shiny black Hessians she had already seen so much of. She wished he would turn, that he would give her a chance to see his face, to know if he were still beautiful, still…Although if she could see his face it would mean that he could see her, and…

“There has to be a way. There has to.” He spoke vehemently, but Cynthia was not sure whether he was addressing Jasmine or himself. “You cannot stay at Madame Rouge’s.”

“As I’ve said, I have changed the name to Madame Blanche’s. I believe it was Madame Noir’s before Ruby took over.”

James’s shoulders drew tight, the muscles rippling beneath his jacket. “Goddammit, Jazzy. Are you trying to torment me? You know this cannot work.”

“Why, because it stops you from coming here? Oh yes, Ruby told me. She always noticed when you came. It made her most uncomfortable. She was never sure if you did it on purpose.”

“What on earth are you talking about? And why on earth should she share such a thing with you? Who tells a girl about her brother’s visits to a brothel? Did she tell you what I did here?”

“No, but I can guess. There seem to be three main reasons people come here. You have never shown a preference for other men, so that rules out one. You are not known to dally with married woman, so that rules out two. Which means you must have a fetish. I admit that I am not quite sure what it is, but even there I can guess. You always did like control. Do you like to cause pain as well? Do you use the rooms with whips and chains?”

What? Cynthia’s mind came to a jarring halt. What were they talking about? She knew something about what went on between men and women, but…

James turned, drawing her attention, and for the briefest of moments Cynthia caught a glimpse of a strong jaw and sharp profile. Her mind was still spinning and spinning, but the sight of his profile stopped her, held her. He was much changed, but still she could see the boy she had dreamed of marrying, the first innocent love of her young heart. Even as she stared she felt his arms help her down from a tree, felt tender fingers bandaging a knee, felt long fingers brushing her hair from her face—saw his smile, the smile that had always made her heart lift. Then the heavy tap of his boots drew her back to the moment. James strode toward his sister, out of Cynthia’s sight, his heels pounding hard on the floor. “Be quiet, Jazzy. I cannot believe you are saying these things to me. What has happened to you? I made myself believe that you had been cruelly used by some man, but now I begin to fear that perhaps you are—”

“Are what? A slut? A whore? I have not met one girl in this house who is mean or evil or less than me in any way except by chance of upbringing and education. I certainly take no pride in my birth.”

“How can you say that, Jasmine? Birth is what determines who we are.”

“Do you hear yourself, my brother? Do you really think you are better than any other man because your father is a duke? I certainly don’t, at least not anymore.”

A moment of silence fell, no sound except that of heavy breathing.

Then Jasmine continued, “And now I will ask you to leave.”

“And if I am still not ready? If I will not leave without you?”

“Then I will call for those footmen I mentioned earlier.”

James turned and strode to the door. “No, dear sister, I will not put you to that much trouble, but be sure that I will be back. You will not be staying here. You will not live this life. I promise you that.”

The door creaked open and then slammed shut.

Silence again echoed through the room.

Jasmine walked quietly to the same window that James had so briefly stared out.

Cynthia pushed up to her knees, unsure whether to interrupt this moment of quiet. Did Jasmine even remember that she was here?

As if sensing her question, Jasmine turned back to her. “I wish you had not heard that. Would you believe we were once close? I thought he was my best friend in the world. I would never have believed I would not be able to depend on him.”

Cynthia braced a hand on the back of the settee and stood, searching for words. “Don’t forget how well I know you—both of you. Although I always thought I was your best friend in the world. And I do think he is trying to help you. His statements are not illogical. I think much the same. No, don’t give me that look. I do understand how you feel. Only…only you must be reasonable.”

Jasmine turned to stare at the door as if seeking an answer beyond. “You do not understand. My daughter needs me. And I need her.”

Cynthia let the thought work through her, trying to understand her friend.

Jasmine glanced back at her. “And now you must be going. I am sure my conversation with James answered any questions you might still have remaining.”

Cynthia nodded, knowing when she could not win. She was about to say that she would return, but held her tongue. She did not want to give Jasmine the chance to say no. “I will do as you wish.” She walked to the chair that held her pile of veils, glad that James had not noticed them. Although what he would have made of them she could not say.

Stopping, she turned back to Jasmine, fighting to be bold enough to ask the question that still echoed in the recesses of her mind. “What did you mean by whips and chains?”

Blast. Blast. Bloody hell.

That had not gone as he’d planned, not as he wanted it to. James stalked down to the street, heading to his club. He had expected that Jasmine would be happy to see him, delighted to know that he wished to help. He’d expected to be greeted as a rescuer, a hero. Instead she’d been almost belligerent. How could she have treated him so coldly? They’d always been close. His brother, Langdon, had been a bit removed, but Jazzy had been his, had always looked up to him, depended upon him.

Was Father correct that she was not right in the head?

Could having a child have done that to her?

He’d never seen any sign of madness in her and it certainly didn’t run in the family. He’d heard that sexual excitement could lead a woman to mental decay, but he’d never believed it. He’d known plenty of women, some quite intimately, who certainly enjoyed sex, relished it even, without any sign that they were not quite right. If anything, they were among the more civilized and sane women he knew.

He’d had appointments with several of them at Madame Rouge’s. He’d always found the establishment to be of the highest quality, more than ready to meet any need or desire he might have. He personally liked the place; that didn’t mean he wanted his sister there.

There was nothing that would be more unsuitable.

And that wasn’t even thinking about the child.

How could Jazzy be a mother?

His guts churned at the thought.

His sweet little sister had never even kissed anyone, to the best of his knowledge—and now…

Fuck.

If he knew who had ruined her, he’d kill the man and not gently—gutting might be appropriate.

Despite his comments to Jasmine, he could only believe that she had been forced. He refused to believe that she would willingly have gotten into this situation unless she’d thought herself in love and in that circumstance surely she would have married the man before it could be remarked that her child was early.

He should have kept a better eye on her these last years. He should have been sure that no one could take advantage of her. He should have…

There were too many “should haves.”

He would have to be sure that there were no more.

And that meant one thing.

He would have to take things in hand, have to make sure that Jasmine was removed to somewhere safe until reason returned to her. He would do whatever it took, whatever was required.