Chapter Eleven
“Another sodding wasted day.” Dunkeld picked up a horseshoe and tossed it at the upright handle of a sledge hammer. It hit the wood and bounced off. “Why won’t anyone try to kill this bounder?”
Max and his friends had been following Pinkerton around for hours, waiting for an attack that never came. Montague and Summerset had shadowed the American to his bank and to the docks. Pinkerton had asked about the cost for tickets back to America. Rothchild trailed their man to the butcher and again to the bakehouse. How many baguettes could one man eat? Hoping to draw out an attack, they’d instructed Pinkerton to stroll to the outskirts of town. See if the isolation would inspire an assault.
It hadn’t.
The six of them lounged in a blacksmith’s hut, its owner called in to tea by his wife. They hadn’t been invited. Looking at their dusty, motley group, Max couldn’t blame the woman.
Montague took off his hat and wiped his cuff across his forehead. “Pick this up again tomorrow?”
“I’m going to need new shoes if you want me to walk ten miles again tomorrow.” Pinkerton sat on a crate, his legs stretched in front of him. He broke off a wedge of bread and chewed.
Dunkeld swiped the baguette from the American. He took a large bite off the end. “You’ll walk barefoot if we want you to.”
Perched on a sawhorse, Summerset wiped a spot of dirt from the heel of his white, leather boot with his silk pocket square. “We might be in the country, but must you act like an animal?” He glared at Dunkeld. “Keep your mouth closed when you eat.”
Dunkeld opened his mouth wide, showing Summerset the half-chewed bit of bread.
Montague sighed. “Gentlemen, can we focus? Our current plan of attack is leading us nowhere. Any new ideas?”
“Aside from Pinkerton’s and Zed’s threats against Mrs. Bonner, we don’t know what Zed is up to.” Max had left men posted around The Black Rose to watch for anyone unknown entering the club. And to follow Colleen if she was daft enough to leave on her own again. “The Teresa May should be pulling into port in a day or too. We can try finding Dancer again at The Boar’s Head.”
Rothchild picked up a stone and flung it against the wall. “I’m tired of being lead around by our noses. My wife still has nightmares because of this arsehole. It’s time to put him in the ground.”
Montague squeezed Rothchild’s shoulder. “It will happen. Be patient.”
Dunkeld picked up a large haybale and tossed it over his shoulder like it was nothing. “We’re all a bit on edge. Let’s say we take a breather.” Kicking the gate open, he strode from the hut and flung the bale against the side of the wall. Everyone else drifted out as he stacked two more bales on top. Pulling Pinkerton over by his collar, the Scotsman told him to hold some boards against the stack. Dunkeld wrapped rope around the hay, fixing the wood to the bales.
He wiped his hands. “There. A target.”
A smile danced around Montague’s lips, and the duke bent down and slid an eight-inch blade from the inside of his Hessians. “Shall we make this interesting? Closest to that knot in the center board wins fifty pounds from the losers?”
“Agreed,” Rothchild said. Everyone else nodded.
“Why don’t we make it even more interesting?” Dunkeld disappeared into the hut and emerged with a red apple that the smithy had kept in a basket for his shoeing clients to nibble on. “Pinkerton, sit before the boards and we’ll put this on your head.”
Scowling, the American grabbed the apple and marched back into the hut, slamming the gate shut behind him.
“Humorless fellow, that one.” Dunkeld took off his coat and unwound his cravat. “I don’t know why we’re bothering to keep him alive.”
Montague stepped forwards, took aim, and threw his knife. It spun in a tight spiral and sliced into the board, three inches from the knot. “Pinkerton is a victim, too. We can’t lose sight of that.” He strode forwards and yanked the knife from the wood.
Max took his own knife, a five-inch blade, and threw. The point slid into the wood an inch closer than Montague’s. He smiled. Max gestured for Rothchild to step up.
Rothchild shrugged. “I’m not carrying.”
Dunkeld pulled out his knife, flipped it over so he held the blade, and presented the handle to Rothchild. “What’s mine is yours.”
Circling his throwing arm, Rothchild took his place in front of the target. “For the record, Pinkerton has been less than useful.” He loosed the knife, and it hit the outside edge of the wood. He grimaced. “Zed must know we’re trying to trap him. I think we should send the American on his way.”
“I agree. I’m tired of feeding and housing that man,” Summerset said, bending to adjust the lace that trimmed his boot. Quick as a whip, he flicked his wrist. His small blade flashed in the sunlight and buried itself on the other side of the knot from Max’s mark. “I’m closer.”
“Like hell.” Max tramped forwards and peered at the boards. “I’m clearly closer.” Probably. Shit. Summerset always made it easy to forget. With his ruffled shirts and obscenely bright clothes, it was hard to remember that of all his friends, Summerset was the deadliest. As elegant as a Bengal tiger, and as vicious when provoked.
“No need to bring out the ruler.” Yanking an axe from a tree stump, Dunkeld stomped next to Summerset. In one graceful swing, he brought the axe around his shoulder to his back, gripped the handle with two fists, and heaved.
Max dove out of the way, the sound of wood exploding behind him. He rolled onto one knee, panting. “Son of a bitch!” The blade of the axe had severed two boards in half, digging into the hay behind it. The handle quivered with latent energy. The target knot was nowhere in sight.
A wide grin lit up the Scotsman face. “I win.”
It was hard to argue with that, although Summerset tried. Max found Summerset’s knife and plucked it up. He handed it to his friend. “Concede defeat. I’d say obliterating the knot counts as getting closest.” He turned to Dunkeld. “I’ll send over a bank draft when I get home.”
Summerset grumbled but nodded. With two fingers, he plucked his lime-green handkerchief from his pocket and waved it at Max. “There’s a trough of water for the horses over there. You might want to clean yourself up a bit so you don’t resemble one.”
Rothchild snorted. “I always thought he more resembled a bear. Now one that’s rolled around in the muck.”
A rumble built in Max’s chest, but he smothered it. With a glare at the arseholes who were supposed to be his friends, he brushed out his beard, dirt sprinkling down. Taking his blade, he angled it, trying to catch his reflection. “The beard isn’t that bad. Is it?”
Montague coughed discreetly into his fist. “It’s a unique look. Makes you stand out in the House of Lords.”
“So, you think I should shave?”
“Absolutely,” Summerset said.
“I didn’t want to say anything,” Rothchild demurred.
“About damn time.” Dunkeld picked up his axe. He tossed it into the air, let it revolve once, and grabbed the handle. “Your face is as unfashionable as a bit of Haymarket ware at Buckingham Palace.”
“You’re one to bloody talk!” Fisting his hands, Max glared at the Scot. “No one has had hair that long since Louis Fourteen.”
“We’ll worry about Dun next,” Summerset said.
Damn and blast. First Colleen, now his friends. He tunneled his fingers into the bush and rubbed his jaw. He liked it when Colleen tugged on his beard, drawing his head down for a kiss. But perhaps a clean cheek would be best. He pursed his lips. Since Colleen didn’t seem to want to see his face right now, perhaps a new one would soften her.
Decision made. “I’m shaving it off.”
“Excellent.” Summerset tucked his handkerchief away and clapped his hands together. “Now, my man will not only give you a clean shave but can do something with the rest of your hair, as well.”
Max eyed the earl’s perfect coif, with two locks artfully coiled at his brow. As pretty as a woman’s. “No, thank you.”
Dunkeld slapped the flat end of the axe-blade into his palm. “Don’t need a valet. I’d be more than happy to take care of it for you myself.”
Not liking the glint in the Scotsman eye, Max took a wary step back. “Thanks, Dun. But I’ve got it covered.”
“Nonsense,” Montague said. All four men advanced on him. “You can always count on your closest friends to get the job done right.”
Bloody hell. Max stepped back, stumbling over a broken wheel discarded in the weeds. His friends saw their advantage and made their move. Max spun on his heel and ran as if his life depended upon it.
Like dogs chasing after a fox, the sots efficiently hunted him down. Their laughter drowned out his fruitless curses.
***
“It was a clear question.” Colleen rocked back in her chair and laced her fingers across her stomach. She pinned Molly with a stern stare. “Did you lock Suzy in the necessary and take her standing appointment with Mr. Harper?”
Of all the problems with being the manager for a Venus club, suffering from boredom wasn’t one of them. In the last three hours Colleen had fired her wine dealer, freed a couple from the ropes they’d tangled themselves in, and stopped Suzy from tearing out Molly’s hair.
She’d been busy putting out fires. Fingering the chain to her pocket watch, Colleen’s shoulders sagged. But not busy enough to help her forget the words between her and Max. The anger in his eyes.
“There isn’t a lock on the outside of the door to the necessary.” Turning in the chair, Molly draped one leg over the chair’s armrest, swinging her foot.
“No, but the mop stick through the door’s handle did the trick.”
Molly looked unperturbed. Stretching her arms up, the girl arched her back. Colleen dropped her gaze from the high, pert breasts pressing through the thin layers of white silk net. She eyed her own breasts. Sturdy. Drooping a bit. Average. And, for a short time, functional. Max hadn’t seemed to mind her more used version, but with all the fetching options around here, he was sure to turn elsewhere.
As she wanted him to, Colleen reminded herself. Pushing him away last night by feigning interest in other men had seemed easiest. Easier than admitting to her guilt and seeing the disgust in his eyes. Easier than letting herself indulge in fantasies of a future life between them that could never be. No, it was better to end this now before they grew even closer.
His feelings for her had deepened. He’d revealed that as he’d thundered at her for going to St. Katherine’s without him; shown it through the fear in his eyes, the desperate press of his fingers into her skin. And her feelings … She sighed. Well, their relationship would have to come to an end, and the more intimate they became, the harder it would be. Max deserved better than her.
The bastard hadn’t needed to agree with her quite so quickly, however. Even encouraging her to lay with other men.
“The customer didn’t complain, did he?” Molly asked, drawing Colleen’s attention back to the conversation.
Tossing her quill on the desk, Colleen leaned back. “No. He seemed quite satisfied with the change. But”—she ignored the Cheshire-cat grin spreading across the girl’s face—“I won’t tolerate that behavior. Do it again and you’re out.”
Molly shot to her feet and leaned across the desk. “Don’t threaten me,” she hissed. “If I go, there are many men who would follow me. Many. You’d be wise to remember that.”
Colleen’s scalp prickled, and she slid her quill off the desk. Molly looked ready to claw her face, and Colleen didn’t want anything pointy that could be used as a weapon within reach. Years of living outside the bounds of civilized society had obviously affected this woman. But even though they were in a vulgar business, that didn’t mean their behavior had to match it. Colleen wouldn’t allow it.
She pushed to her feet, tugging down the hem of her waistcoat. “I do know you’re one of the favorites, and you would be missed. But that doesn’t mean you’re irreplaceable. Now, pull yourself together, watch your tone, and let’s try this again, shall we? Interfering with the other girls’ customers will not be allowed. I will protect their right to make a living, just as I would yours. Try to behave in a manner that you would like to be treated and we will have no problems. Agreed?”
Molly’s pretty mouth twisted in a scowl, but she was smart. She knew when to back down. In a fashion. “Of course, my liege.” She flounced to the door. “I guess the rumors weren’t true. Anyone who was taking that strapping man’s cock couldn’t be so unbearably miserable.”
“What?” Heat clawed up Colleen’s neck. “What rumors?”
The brunette looked back over her shoulder. “The girls thought you and our new owner were having relations, as you might say. They thought your prim-and-proper act was just that; an act. But now that I think on it, I should have known it wasn’t true.”
Colleen licked her lips. “Shouldn’t you have?”
“No.” Molly leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms under her chest. “Aside from the fact you’re much too tedious to let loose, Sutton’s behavior would have proved the rumor false. Just last night when we were”—she flashed her teeth—“together, I could tell how tense and unhappy he was. He isn’t the picture of a man who is sexually satisfied.” She laughed. “I’d hate to think you were a mediocre screw, not when you’re surrounded by so many good examples of how to please a man.” She winked. “In any event, I’ll let the girls know they were wrong about you and the baron, shall I?”
“Please,” Colleen said faintly.
With a waggle of her fingers, Molly was gone. Colleen slumped into her chair and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t know which was worse. The gossip about her debauchery or the knowledge that Max had jumped in someone else’s bed so soon after hers.
No, she knew which was worse. Even though she’d wanted Max to move on, his actions still lanced her like a betrayal.
Molly could be lying, of course, spiteful little thing that she was. But even if Max hadn’t lain with her last night, it would soon happen. If not with Molly, with someone else. Colleen rubbed her temples, but the low throb didn’t dissipate. Couldn’t he have at least waited until this business with Zed was over and she’d moved out of The Black Rose? So she didn’t have to see him with another woman?
She took deep, calming breaths. She had a business to run, and no time to concern herself over such frivolities like the piercing ache behind her breastbone. Her feelings were of little consequence. Colleen rose and exited her office. When she pushed out into the club’s main room, her shoulders were square and her chin held high. The burn prickling at her eyes she could do little about.
Lord Halliwell was across the room, a girl sitting on his lap. He looked up and down Colleen’s standard uniform, and his eyes lit up.
At least someone found her superior to the other women. Colleen gave him a polite nod and turned away. She found Lucy in the entrance hall, chatting with a footman.
“Can I speak with you a moment?” Colleen asked.
“Of course.” Lucy followed her to the cramped office off the kitchens. “Did I do anything wrong?”
“No.” Colleen gave the girl a warm smile. Lucy was the one club worker who didn’t give her trouble. “I’ve been giving you some added tasks around here lately, and I’m wondering how you find them. Do you enjoy the additional responsibility?”
Lucy blinked. “Yes. I think I do.” She sat back on the broken table they used as a desk. “Although, additional tasks should come with additional pay, don’t you think?”
Colleen kept her smile to herself. A woman of business after her own heart. “That is something we can discuss. If you were to formally take the position of assistant manager, a new salary can be negotiated.”
The girl’s jaw dropped, her eyes growing wide. “Assistant manager?! Are you in earnest?”
“Yes. I won’t be manager here forever, and when I leave, I think you might make a good replacement.” Colleen’s heart pinched. When she left, she’d never see Max again. “It will give you a hiring advantage if you have experience as the assistant. It will be a lot of work—”
Her words were wrung out of her on a gasp as Lucy threw her arms around Colleen and squeezed tight.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Colleen laughed and patted the girl on the back. “I take it you’d be interested in the position?”
Lucy pulled back, her eyes damp. “You have no idea how much. I never thought I could be anything more than … well, you know.” She dropped her head.
Colleen paused and examined the girl. All the women had seemed so content in their positions. This was the first glimpse she’d seen that even though they lived more comfortably than most Cits, and pocketed more in a night from their wages and gifts than Colleen had seen in a month at her and her husband’s clock shop, that the women might want for more.
“Are you unhappy here?” she asked gently.
“No.” Lucy smoothed down her skirts. “This situation is much better than what I grew up in, and I’m very grateful. But I’d like a husband. A family. And I don’t know any man who’d be happy with his girl doing this. At least, no man I’d want.”
“Well”—Colleen pulled a ledger from a shelf over the desk—“if you’d rather spend tonight tallying our kitchen’s inventory and figuring out what we need to order for next week, the job is yours. But we won’t be reordering from our wine supplier.” She frowned. “I need to find a new one.”
Opening the ledger, Lucy ran her index finger down the column of numbers. “Why? Mr. Landry has sold to us for years.”
“Well, he’s either been cheating you for years or decided to try his tricks with a new manager, thinking I wouldn’t get wise to his deception.” Colleen’s conversation with the man still left her unsettled. He’d been patronizing and ingratiating in equal measure and completely shocked when she’d shown him the door. Irritating man. “I discovered the wine he’d delivered had been watered down.”
“Huh.” Lucy bit the inside of her cheek and stared into space.
“What?”
She shook herself. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“But …?” Colleen shut the door, needing to suck in her stomach as she squeezed it past her body and a cabinet. “My assistant manager needs to keep me apprised on what happens in the club, even if it is only suspicions.”
“I saw Molly leading Mr. Landry to one of the back rooms a couple of weeks ago.” Lucy shrugged. “I would have thought that with the money we pay him, plus the added incentive of Molly’s company, that he would have taken extra care to treat The Black Rose well. I’m surprised is all.” Sniffing, she perched on the upside-down amphora they used as a stool and moved a candle closer to the ledger on the desk. “I shouldn’t be surprised, however. Greed knows no limits.”
Colleen’s stomach churned. “Very true.” Certainly, her greed hadn’t. Her greed hadn’t been for more money or a better life than the common Cit. But she’d been greedy, nonetheless. She’d been tired of the sterility of the clock shop, of her marriage, and desperate for change. She’d prayed for change. Begged God for it.
And he’d punished her for her dissatisfaction by giving her what she’d asked for.
She’d stared at her home as it was being devoured by fire, and she’d thought that her husband would now have to change his mind. That he would want to run the flower shop with her. Escape from the gears and springs, from the endless ticking of a hundred clocks. She’d stared at her life as it burned, and she’d been happy.
She’d been happy until it had been hours and her husband still hadn’t returned home. Until the next day when she’d been told his body had been found in their bed. When she’d realized that her carelessness hadn’t been a gift from Heaven but retribution.
And when Max had pressed her into service at The Black Rose, she’d thought it naught but further punishment. That it was her lot to be surrounded by depravity and immorality.
Lucy scratched her head with the tip of a bit of lead as she examined the ledger, her face alight. Colleen watched her, her throat tight. She’d judged Lucy unfairly for her profession. But the girls here were supporting themselves in honest work. A simple business transaction where no one was hurt. If her cousin hadn’t taken her in after the fire, if Max hadn’t given her this job, what depths would she have sunk to survive? Colleen wasn’t fit to judge anyone.
“Lucy …” She hesitated. “How did you get involved in this? You’re smart, sensible. Surely there were other options.”
Lucy looked up and blinked. “Other options? Maybe. But at fifteen I couldn’t think of any. It was either this or starve. And I didn’t want to starve.”
Grasping her hands together behind her, Colleen leaned back against the door. “Of course not. But … you seem so happy. Isn’t it difficult, what you do? I mean, with how society views the profession, isn’t it hard to, I don’t know, to face yourself in the mirror each day?” She was fumbling for the right words, but it seemed important that she know. At some point these women had taken an irrevocable step across a line society drew, yet they all managed to laugh and find joy in their lives. Colleen had done worse. It had been an accident, but worse just the same. If these women could find peace with their actions, mayhap Colleen could move past her guilt, too.
Lucy carefully closed the ledger and put her elbows on the table. “My first time, I worked at another house, nowhere near as grand as this. There, you were lucky to have clean sheets on the bed each night. I cried after every man for three days.” She clenched her fists, her knuckles going white. “But at some point, you grow up. You can’t live life second-guessing your every move. Berating yourself over every mistake. And at the end of the day, you realize, it isn’t that big a deal. Just one body part slipping into another. If a man wants to pay for that, I’m happy to oblige him. And once you realize letting a man rut between your legs isn’t the be all end all that we’re raised to believe, it all becomes easier. Each man becomes easier. We all do what we have to survive. It’s not something I’m proud of or ashamed of. It just is.”
Colleen nodded slowly. Lucy had always seemed young. All the girls did. But they weren’t girls. They were women, probably just a year or two shy of Colleen’s age. And Lucy had experiences and wisdom Colleen couldn’t match. Perhaps instead of giving the orders all the time, Colleen should listen a little more. She might learn something.
“Thank you for your candor.” Colleen fingered the chain of her pocket watch. Her last link to her past. “I’ll tell the other women to arrange the schedule without you tonight. Let me know if you have any questions.” She slid out the door, closing it softly behind her.
Her mind a muddle, she plodded to the main room. One of the candles in the large chandelier was out, but she didn’t think anyone else would notice. Everyone else’s attention was on seeking joy. Pleasure. She’d had a brief glimpse into that world, reached unbearable heights, but once again she was a spectator looking in. It didn’t matter that it had been of her own choosing in order to save Max and herself from certain heartache. Colleen had never felt more alone.
A glass of champagne was lifted to her face. Colleen blinked, and the face of Lord Halliwell came into focus behind the glass. He pressed it into her hand. “You look like you need this, my dear. Are the books not balancing tonight?”
She sniffed at her glass, and tiny bubbles tickled her nose. What the hell? She tossed it back. “Not everything is about numbers for me, my lord.” Rolling her head, she tried to loosen the knot that had taken up residence where neck met back. “I hope you are having a pleasant evening?”
“It could be better.” He snagged another flute from a passing serving girl and handed it to Colleen. “The number one attraction to this club has so far been out of my reach.”
She frowned down at her glass. Men. Hoping to use alcohol to do the persuading for them. She wasn’t the sort to drown her troubles. Drinking to excess only led to more problems. If she was going to make a mistake, she would do it sober.
But another tiny sip wouldn’t hurt.
“The Black Rose has many attractions more alluring than me.” She looked up at the earl. “I think you persist in your pursuit only for the challenge I present.”
“Perhaps.” Swirling an amber liquid around in his snifter, Halliwell shrugged. “But I must confess that your natural authority appeals to me much more than a performance put on by a doxy. Is that so wrong?” He stared at the floor, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you find my interests so repellent?”
Scuffing the toe of his boot through the thick pile carpet, the earl looked very much like the wayward little boy he wanted to pretend to be. But he was sincere. And more endearing than she’d ever noticed.
Resting her palm on his sleeve, she squeezed. “You don’t repel me. And there is nothing wrong with wishing to cede control to someone else for a bit.” After all, that was what he truly wanted. An authority figure to tell him what to do, to tell him right from wrong. Give someone else power over his actions.
She understood how freeing that could be. Allowing Max to play with her had shown her that. A pulse pounded in her throat. That was over with now. She’d kicked him from her bed, and he was moving on to other partners. The back of her throat ached. If she were smart, she’d do the same.
“Mrs. Bonner, I don’t want to assume.” Halliwell shifted closer. “But it sounds as though your feelings have changed. Would you consider spending some time with me in one of the rooms? We’d go only so far as you’re comfortable with. You’d make the decisions.”
She jerked her head back. “My lord, you must know how out of place I feel with all”—she flapped her hand at the room—“this. I may not think it as wrong as I used to, but I couldn’t … I wouldn’t know how …”
He stared into his snifter. “Of course. I didn’t mean to presume.”
If she were smart, she’d do the same.
Her feelings for Max had deepened as their intimacies had progressed. Was that a result of their physical relationship or solely due to the man Max was? He’d moved on, treating his affairs as though they were nothing more consequential than sharing a dance with a woman. If she … joined with another man, could that be the means of lessening her attachment to Max? The thought of lying with Lord Halliwell turned her stomach, and she pressed her hand into her abdomen.
Each man becomes easier. Lucy had no issue separating out her emotions from the act of sexual congress. It was just one body part going into another, as the girl had said. Repetition seemed to be the key for diminishing the significance of the act for Lucy. She developed no tender feelings for her customers. She remained untouched by heartache when a client turned to another woman.
It seemed only sensible that Colleen should at least attempt to exorcise Max from her heart. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life aching for a man she could never have. She chewed on her lip. Perhaps, if she told Max the truth—
She cut that thought off before it flowered. There would be no forgiveness from Max. No understanding. She wouldn’t expect it for her crime. And she couldn’t pursue a relationship with him without telling him the truth. Keeping something like that from the man she loved would eat at her every day. So, her choices were either live alone for the rest of her life while pining for the baron or do something to restore her peace. She gave a small nod. It was only practical.
She stepped closer to Halliwell and a wave of dizziness swamped her. She swayed on her feet. What was she doing? She was an unmarried woman, She’d only sinned with Max because, well, it was Max, and she loved him. It hadn’t felt wrong to be in his arms. And what would Max think if he ever found out?
Plenty of men available to you. Go find one to fuck and tell me how your explorations fare.
She rolled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. She loved Max, God help her. And he’d told her to fuck another man. He’d been angry and hurt at the time, but he’d said the words just the same. And he hadn’t taken them back, even though hours had passed and emotions had cooled. He’d taken his own advice, found another partner, and it only remained for her to do the same.
Colleen swallowed. Halliwell wasn’t bad looking. His chin was a little weak, his hair a bit thin across the crown of his head. But his eyes were kind. Rather sad, like a hound dog’s. If she were to let anyone touch her, to try to rid herself of the memory of Max, she could do no better than a gentle man like the earl.
She slugged back her second glass. The rush of alcohol didn’t change her decision. But the slight spin in her head made the words easier to speak. “Yes. If you still wish it, meet me in the Emerald Room in ten minutes.” Her mouth was as dry as a desert, and she eyed Halliwell’s whiskey enviously. “I can’t promise you’ll get what you want from me. I have no practice in this sort of thing. But I’m willing to try.”
His eyes lit up. Grabbing her hand, he pressed it to his lips. The man’s obvious delight made her more resolved in her decision. She didn’t know if this would help her get over Max, but at least it would bring one person happiness. There was something satisfying in being the instrument that brought joy.
“Mrs. Bonner, I am all that is grateful.” He rubbed his hands together and rocked onto his toes. “I can follow you to the room now.”
“Ten minutes.” It would take that long to gather her nerve. “I assume you have a watch and know how to tell the time?”
Halliwell nodded, an excited pup.
Colleen pursed her lips. Telling a man what to do shouldn’t be too difficult. Not if he was as eager to please as the earl. “No earlier. No later. I’ll be waiting.”
Spinning on her heel, she forced her feet to keep an even pace. No need to flee. She would be in charge. She spoke with the other girls, informing them that Lucy was out for the night and that the Emerald Room was booked. Colleen got more than one raised eyebrow, but it made no matter. The rumor mill would have fresh grain to chew upon, of that Colleen had no illusions.
Her footsteps were muffled as she trod the hallway to the back room. Blood pounded in her temples and her heart raced. Placing a palm on the wall, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The paper-hanging felt rough beneath her skin. She could go to her office and run a price analysis of what it would cost to cover the walls in a nice silk damask. Or even a sumptuous leather. Solid work that didn’t involve disrobing in front of a near stranger. What on earth was she doing? Proving something to herself? Or to Max?
Pushing in the door to the Emerald Room, she shuffled through and pressed it closed. She rested her shoulder blades against the wood and let her head thud back. She could do this. Just one body part going into another. And once she understood there was nothing sacred to the act, it was nothing but physical sensation, her attachment to that infuriating man would disappear.
Pushing off the wall, she crossed to a low bureau made of a Brazilian teak. She’d chosen this room because of its normalcy. It looked like the bedroom in a grand house. The walls were covered in a cream paper hand-painted with delicate strands of ivy. The bed was a four-poster mahogany, large and sturdy. The coverlet was a hunter green, matching the thick carpet. The large mirrors on the wall across from the foot of the bed, and on the ceiling above it, were disconcerting. But at least there were no cupboards full of whips or paddles. No hooks along the ceiling or walls. She could pretend she was a normal woman, inviting a lover into her home.
She slid open the bottom drawer and examined the negligees that lay folded within. None of the frothy concoctions appealed, but she’d have to come out of her clothing eventually, and she didn’t want Halliwell disrobing her. She chose a white silk robe with large red poppies printed across it and quickly changed. Folding her own clothes neatly, she stacked them on an armchair, tucking her boots beneath.
She curled her toes into the plush carpet. She still had a couple of minutes but didn’t know what to do with them. She drummed her fingers along the top of the bureau. This wasn’t significant. She was among a group of women who slept with a different man every night with no ill consequences. And she was now a widow. Such liberties were more accepted for widows.
Bile rose in her throat. Was she mad? She didn’t have to lay with another man to move past Max. Her love would lessen in its own time. She’d move out of The Black Rose, hopefully into the apartments above the flower shop, and she’d never see the man again. Her attachment would gradually fade and she’d have her flowers, bursting with colors and fragrances, to gladden her spirit.
Colleen pressed her palms into her eye sockets, fighting against the tears. The flower shop had started as a beautiful dream. It now seemed sad and hollow.
When the door swung silently open it was almost a relief. The tumble of thoughts rolled to a stop, and all she was left with was the slippery feeling of dread.
Halliwell stepped through, two more glasses of champagne in his hands. He kicked the door closed. “In case we get thirsty.” Holding the flutes up, he strode forwards then jolted to a stop, champagne sloshing over the rims. “You changed.”
She fingered the collar of the robe. “Yes. Something easier to slip out of.”
“I liked the waistcoat and”—he motioned to his neck—“the high collar.” His eyebrows drew together. “This looks all wrong.”
Of course. Colleen bunched the silk robe in her fists. He liked the idea of a stern disciplinarian, and she came to him like a mistress. This is why her girls were paid well. Playing a role was harder than it looked.
She set her shoulders. “My attitude doesn’t change with my clothes. If you want the discipline of your nursemaid, I assure you I can do that just as well in a robe. Just pretend I’ve caught you out of bed after we’d gone to sleep.”
A smile lit up his face, and it was in that moment Colleen knew she couldn’t go through with it. She gripped the sides of her robe, pulling them more tightly across her body. Halliwell looked so happy, and she was more miserable than the day of her husband’s funeral. There was only one man she wanted touching her. And it would be better to go a lifetime without Max than to try to replace him with a poor substitute.
Now she only needed to figure out how to get out of this situation without angering one of the club’s most high-spending members. “Lord Halliwell—”
“Gussie.”
“Er, yes, Gussie.” She cleared her throat. “I was thinking perhaps to find another girl to join us. Someone a bit more experienced.” And someone who could take over as Colleen quietly slipped from the room.
He narrowed his eyes. “I want you. You’re not changing your mind now, are you?”
“Of course not.” She tried for a light laugh. It came out sounding like the honk from an untuned organ. She wiped her palms on her hips. Think. She’d see Molly take charge of men several times. It couldn’t be that difficult. Sometimes … sometimes she never even touched them.
The edges of Colleen’s lips curved up. That was it. Make Halliwell happy by bossing him around a bit and keep herself happy by never letting him touch her. Her customer would be satisfied and wouldn’t quit the club in anger, and she, well, she’d rather be up in her rooms with a cup of tea, but this alternative was acceptable.
She blew out a breath. She could do this. “Now,” she said, searching her mind, “you’ve been quite naughty. You need to promise that when I say it is bedtime that you will stay abed.” She cringed. Never had she sounded such a fool.
Halliwell lowered his head. “Yes, Nanny.”
The bile rose in her throat again. That sounded all kinds of wrong. This wasn’t going to work if she had to hear him calling her nanny. “I think it best you don’t talk to me.” She needed to end this quickly. Berate him a bit, tell him to find his own pleasure because a nanny would definitely not be a party to that act, and escape. As easy as balancing the ledger.
Shuffling to the bed, she gripped a post and stared over Halliwell’s head. “Take off your clothes.” What would a toff’s nanny do? Have him say his prayers? Tell him a bedtime story when he was tucked up under the covers?
“Don’t you want to help me disrobe?” She heard him set the glasses of champagne down. “My nanny used to always help me undress and give me a sponge bath.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the far wall. “Yes, well, I’m a different sort of nanny. I think the less we look upon each other, the better.”
“Why don’t you just wear a blindfold and be done with it?” he asked petulantly.
She arched an eyebrow and considered. Not having to see him as he took care of himself would be a definite bonus. Plugging her ears when the time came also wouldn’t go amiss. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll do that.” She hurried past him to her folded clothes and removed her handkerchief. She folded it in half as she scuttled back to the bed. “When you’ve undressed, stand in the corner and, uh, think about all the naughty things you’ve done today.” She wrapped the kerchief around her eyes and tied it behind her head. Darkness enveloped her, and she took her first full breath. She could handle this without seeing him.
She sat on the bed and scooched back until her knees hit the mattress and her feet swung free. “Are your clothes off yet? If there’s water in that pitcher on the bureau, give yourself a quick rubdown. Oh! And say fifty Hail Mary’s. While crossing yourself. You’ve been extra bad today.”
“Fine,” he muttered.
She bobbed her feet. This wasn’t so bad. Even a bit diverting, if she did say so herself. She might have a real talent at this sort of thing. The Hail Mary’s were most likely the wrong religion for the earl, but he could have had a French nanny.
Should she try to fake an accent?
Her lips silently formed the words ‘Mon Dieu’ and ‘oui oui’. Did she know any other French words? Lucy could probably teach her some good ones. A cool draft brushed her back and she shivered. Fabric rustled, and she wondered if she should yell at him for disrobing so slowly. There was a thump, another, and she figured his boots had hit the floor.
“Are you putting your things away?” Hmm. That accent came out sounding more Germanic than French. She tried again. “Good boys need to be tidy?” She stretched out her legs, pointing her toes. Much better.
A strong fist gripped her ankle and pulled her bum to the edge of the mattress. She fell onto her back with a shriek, the mattress bouncing beneath her.
He slid his palms up her calves and pulled her legs apart.
“Lord Halliwell!” She pushed up onto one hand and shoved his hard chest. Frowning, she poked him a couple more times. His chest was suspiciously firm. And so were his shoulders, and his biceps …
She sucked in a breath. She knew these muscles. And those hands on her legs … She knew the calluses on those palms.
Hope sparked in her heart. The contact was so familiar. It couldn’t be from the milksop earl. Her thoughts jumbled and tears welled behind her eyelids. Somehow, Max had removed the earl from the room. It must have been those two thumps she’d heard.
She should push him away. Stay true to her resolve that their separation now would be for the best. But she couldn’t. Not when he touched her.
She trailed her hand up his neck, eager to cup his cheek and bring him in for a kiss. And froze. She rubbed her thumb back and forth over his jaw.
His smooth, clean-shaven jaw.
She kicked her legs, hitting something solid, and leapt across the bed to escape Halliwell’s touch. Dragging off the blindfold, she blinked at the brightness. “I’m sorry, but I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” The man standing next to the bed was shockingly new. A face she’d never seen before, had only imagined. “Tell me, you little fool, what is it exactly that you can’t do?”