Chapter Three
“Poor Mary still hasn’t been able to shake her cough, and we were hoping to send for a leech. And the smithy said he’d take Jonny on as an apprentice, but that will cost ten bob a month.” Robby Polcock, Colleen’s cousin on her mother’s side, rubbed his rotund stomach and belched. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued naming his expenses to provide for his family. The list was interminable. And manipulative.
Colleen closed her eyes. He had been kind enough to take her in when her husband and home had been taken in the fire. It was only fair for him to expect some recompense for feeding and clothing her.
But did he have to be so sly about it? Each week she had taken her earnings to Robby, trying to repay all that he’d spent on her. There was still twenty quid of rent—and she nearly snorted at the idea of charging rent for sharing a bed with two little girls—that remained of her debt. Once she had her three-month premium, she would be able to pay it off. With plenty left to spare.
“And did I tell you that Julia—”
“Yes. You did tell me about your wife.” Colleen had to interrupt. She couldn’t take the litany of woe any longer. “I’m sorry to hear your situation hasn’t improved.” She pulled a small bundle of coin from her reticule and pressed it into her cousin’s hand. “I hope this will help. Soon I’ll be able to pay you everything that I owe.”
“Well,” he said, hefting the bag and giving her a hard smile, “that’s what family is for, isn’t it? To help each other when times are tough. Just think, if I hadn’t been there to give you a roof over your head, buy you a whole new wardrobe, put food in your belly, just think where you’d be.” He narrowed his eyes. “Just think of it.”
Colleen swallowed. She didn’t want to think of it. London was a city of extremes. The nobs lived in their mansions with their ladies’ maids and gold-encrusted carriages while the poorest of the poor rested their heads in the mud, hoping to beg or steal enough to put a little food in their bellies. She had been fortunate enough to land somewhere in the middle. The day after the fire, she’d stood looking at the burned-out shell of her old home, and tentacles of panic had wrapped around her throat. She’d known how close she was to becoming one of the unfortunates. Living, and most likely dying, on the streets, with no one to even mourn her passing.
She would have deserved nothing less.
“You know I can never thank you enough, Cousin.” She took a deep breath. “And as I said, I hope to repay all your kindnesses very soon.”
He shrugged. “The money means little to me, as you know. I’m only glad you’ve landed on your feet. Where did you say this club was that you worked?”
Colleen hadn’t said, and never would. If Robby ever snuck his head through the door, Colleen would have to pick his jaw off the floor. His shock and disgust would be unbearable. Another possibility reared its ugly head, and a legion of ants skittered down her spine. She could imagine another reaction laying below his outrage and Colleen had no desire to see her cousin in one of the rooms of The Black Rose.
Her stomach settled. He’d never be able to afford it.
“Speaking of the club, I must be getting back to work.” She jumped to her feet. “It was lovely seeing you again, and I’ll be back next week with the rest of your money.”
Robby stood. “I look forward to it.”
Colleen shouted a goodbye to the rest of the family and scuttled from the house. The cold air slapped her face, and she inhaled deeply. Although a fire had been burning in the hearth, her cousin’s house held no warmth. Her tidy room at The Black Rose, although in a house of sin, was a safe haven she relished. But it wasn’t her own. It was controlled by someone else, someone who could kick her out on a whim.
She fingered the chain to her pocket watch and sighed. No, that was inaccurate. The Baron of Sutton wasn’t the sort of man who would leave a widow without a home. He would always find work for her, try to ensure she was provided for. Even though he could be demanding and insupportable, he was also an unusually kind man with enough blunt to be generous.
Still, she longed for independence. Why rely on another’s generosity when she could provide for herself? She had a mind for numbers and solid business sense; at least, Lord Sutton told her that often. She had to admit it was partially his belief in her, his flattery, that had induced her to accept the position at the bawdy house.
And in a week, she’d be leaving it. Would she ever see the baron again? She pushed that thought away and focused on her anticipated independence.
She turned and headed for the street a couple miles away where she hoped to attain that independence. The bottom of her feet ached from walking in her thinly-soled boots, but she hurried on. She strode into a small side street, the crowded buildings blocking the afternoon sun. Wrapping her coat more tightly about her, she followed her nose to the flower shop near the corner.
An old man looked up from the high table he sat behind, tying bunches of flowers together with string. He smiled pleasantly. “Yes. What can I do you for?”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ridley. It’s me.”
His watery eyes crinkled around the edges but never focused. “Mrs. Bonner! I was wondering when you’d come back to brighten an old man’s day. Ever since you moved out of the neighborhood, it’s been as dull as tea with a vicar.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” Colleen turned to a large bouquet in the window and buried her smile in the petals. The light, innocent scent of the primrose reminded her of springtime. “I was here just two weeks ago. And from what I hear around the neighborhood, you’re not lacking for female companionship.”
His cheeks turned ruddy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh.” Striding to the table, Colleen tugged off her gloves. “So, Mrs. Hutchins doesn’t bring you dinner every other day of the week?”
Mr. Ridley lifted his chin. “The widow is being neighborly. Unlike some, who forget their friends and move halfway across the city.”
Colleen rested her elbows on the table, her sleeve brushing a cut stalk of lavender. “I’m close to coming back. If you still want to sell, in a week I’ll have enough saved to make the down payment on this building and your business.”
With his failing eyesight, Mr. Ridley had talked of selling the place for years. He lived in the upper apartment and had run the florist shop downstairs for as long as Colleen could remember. But the income from the sale of the building and the business would be enough to see him comfortably through his remaining years. His daughter had offered him a room in her cottage in Surrey, and Mr. Ridley was of a mind to take it.
Colleen wanted the flower shop with a longing so strong it stole her breath. While married, she’d been surrounded by hundreds of timepieces. The endless tick-tocks, the sterile whistle from the rare cuckoo clock imported from Germany, all had created a cacophony loud enough to drive a person mad. Her refuge had been this shop. It was vibrant, abounding with life and vitality. The scents and colors were a feast for her senses.
Her husband could never understand her wasting her money on a bouquet that would wither within a week. But, then, Mr. Bonner had been as mechanical as the clocks he’d repaired and sold.
The old man patted the table, searching, and Colleen slid the knife under his hand. He cut the end of the string and knotted it around the spray of lavender. “I wish I could give the place to you. No one else seems to feel the same way about it. But I’ll miss it.”
He slid the knife into an apron pocket and walked into the back. Colleen followed. Four tables were piled high with mounds of loose flowers. Mr. Ridley felt along the tables, picking up stems and smelling the blooms, forming a bouquet. “My wife and I had a lot of good years here. Well, you know what it’s like working with someone you love.”
Her heart pinched. She wasn’t quite certain she did know. She’d started out her marriage with high hopes. Each year that passed, Colleen had begun to suspect that whatever it was she felt for her husband wasn’t love. And then—
She slammed the door on those thoughts. “I know you’ve been patient with me. You must have turned down other offers waiting for me to come up with the money. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” She looked through the watery glass of the back window into the small yard behind the building. Rows of flowers punched out of the soil, the newer buds starting to defy the strict order in which Mr. Ridley had sown them. Weeds escaped notice because of his failing sight. Colleen knew he purchased most of his flowers wholesale each morning. But the idea of growing and harvesting her own seeds sent a lick of anticipation shooting through her.
He snorted. “I haven’t had that many offers, though I am glad you’re almost ready. My daughter asks nearly every day when I’m going to move.” Wrapping the bouquet in yesterday’s paper, he dampened the end. “Let me know when you can close the deal. Mrs. Hutchins’s nephew is an attorney, and he said he’d draw up the paperwork. I already told him the terms we agreed to.”
“Sounds perfect.” Colleen clasped her hands together and blew out a long breath. Her heart thudded in her chest. In just over a week, this would all be hers. Hers, and something no one could take. Not a husband, not a landlord, not a bank. She bounced on her toes. And because she couldn’t help herself, she skipped over to Mr. Ridley and kissed his bristly cheek.
His ears turned bright red. “Aw, go on with you. You’ll be making Mrs. Hutchins jealous, you will.”
“So, you admit there’s something there to be jealous of.”
He shooed her from the back room. “Scoot. Or I’ll sell to that Friday-face next door.”
“I can’t have that.” Although having such a sullen man as her new neighbor didn’t exactly fill her with glee, either. But she could handle living next to a cranky man. “I’ll see you next week.” She gripped the door’s handle.
“Wait.” Mr. Ridley shuffled towards her. He held out a woody stem with a delicate starburst of white petals.
“It’s beautiful.” Colleen took the flower and rubbed one of the leathery leaves between her thumb and forefinger. She slid the stem into the buttonhole of her old coat.
“Smells even better,” he said gruffly. “It’s bridal wreath. Supposed to bring you luck.”
From the depths her life had sunk to six months ago to being a week away from purchasing her dream, she didn’t know how much more luck she needed. But she supposed every bit helped.
“Thank you.” She squeezed the man’s arm and slipped out the door. Her good mood lasted three blocks. Colleen stopped in front of the remnants of her old home. The burned-out shell of the structure remained, a discarded carcass. The bottom floor of the building next to hers had also burned, but the owner had rebuilt. A new tenant was slapping paint on a sign above the front door announcing a bakehouse.
Colleen stared at the charred pile of rubble that represented eight years of her life. She’d lived there since the day of her marriage at age nineteen. Eight years of her life, and it didn’t feel real. Her memories of that time were already fading, becoming obscured, as though she was looking through a window covered with a heavy sheen of oil, distorting all the images. Nothing in that time felt as real as her life now at The Black Rose.
As a woman, her husband had owned everything. She’d worked in the clock shop, increased its profits, and it all belonged to Mr. Bonner. Nothing was hers. Even if she’d worked outside the shop, her wages would have belonged to her husband, as well. As a widow, her rights had changed.
Her throat thickened. Of course, she’d give all those rights up if she could go back in time and change what had happened six months ago. But she couldn’t deny the heady rush when she received her pay each week and knew it was hers, and hers alone. The Black Rose had provided her with the means to determine her future. For that, she owed Lord Sutton a large debt of gratitude.
Yes, the club was immoral. Colleen chewed on her lower lip. But a proper establishment would most likely never be managed by a woman. Strange to think a den of iniquity was more forward-thinking than the rest of London society. Perhaps … perhaps the club wasn’t all bad. And like the baron had said, no one was hurt by it, except perchance the salvation of some everlasting souls. But that was a decision best left up to God and not hers to pass judgment upon.
Eyes dry, she turned and walked away from her past life. Night was falling by the time she reached the club, and she suspected a large blister had formed on her right heel. The footman opened the door for her and gave her a polite nod. “Molly’s been looking for you, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Looking longingly at the door to her apartments, Colleen turned into the main room of the club instead and searched for the girl. Molly wasn’t dancing with the members. Or drinking champagne. Or sitting down to a game of cards. Nowhere semi-respectable. Colleen turned for the unrespectable parts of the club.
She found her in the Cellar Room. Not an actual cellar, but the walls and floors were a dark grey stone and a damp chill hovered in the air. It was the name Colleen had given the room. She preferred it over what the girls called it – the Dungeon.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim torch light. About fifteen members gathered on hard benches to watch the scene playing out before them. None of the spectators made a sound, either too awed or too afraid of the consequences. And Colleen could see why. Molly stood in the center of the room wearing a gown of crimson organza. The skintight pantaloons that were visible beneath the dress made her look dangerous. Fierce. The outline of her bare breasts beneath the sheer fabric did little to soften the image. Molly looked like a female pirate.
The whip in her hand didn’t hurt that image, either.
A naked man knelt before her. Even in the low light, Colleen could see the long, red welts marking his back. Four leather cuffs wrapped around each of his knees and wrists and were attached together with thongs.
Molly placed her booted foot to his side and tipped him over. He landed on the stone with a groan.
“Get up!” Molly cracked the whip. It didn’t seem to strike the man, but the noise was enough of a motivation for him to try to right himself. The ankle and wrist harness hampered his efforts, an effective hobble. After two more cracks of the whip, he managed to heave to his hands and knees. He crawled towards Molly and kissed her boot.
Colleen slid into a spot on the wall next to Lucy. “How much longer?” she whispered.
Lucy shrugged. “Almost done, I think,” she murmured. “The scene started with him forced into his restraints by four of our men. He was cursing Molly’s name. Now he is all slavish devotion.”
Colleen could see that. The man practically purred when Molly smoothed his hair, a glazed look softening his face. Molly bent over and whispered something in his ear. She stroked the handle of the whip down his spine and between the cheeks of his bum.
The man mewled and arched his back.
“She is skilled,” Colleen admitted. Had someone put a whip in Colleen’s hand, she’d as like end up choking herself with it than control anyone else.
“She should be.” Lucy shifted, leaning closer to Colleen. “I heard she’s been on the streets since she was twelve. You can learn a lot in that time. And that’s why I watch as many of her dominance scenes as I can. To learn from her.”
Colleen rubbed at the ache in her chest. She didn’t care overmuch for Molly, but her heart broke for the little girl she’d been. And that any man would touch one so young …. Colleen clenched her fists, and her glare landed on the unfortunate male who sidled through the door.
Lord Sutton closed the door behind him, caught her look, and raised an eyebrow. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, looking content to wait.
Colleen turned from his scrutiny, her scalp prickling. Insufferable man. It was easy to forget his kindnesses when, with just one look, he could make her as uncomfortable as a cat in a room full of dogs.
Molly lashed her customer twice more before grabbing his member and tugging none too gently. With the handle of the whip, she pointed at one of the house servants lounging in the shadows. The man wore breeches but no shirt, and claw marks streaked across his stomach. He stepped forwards and unbuttoned his falls.
Molly cracked the whip, and the tail bit into the customer’s buttock. “You injured that young man when he was kind enough to restrain you. I believe he deserves some recompense.” She kicked him before striding to the servant and stroking his freed prick. He hardened quickly.
“Yes, Mistress.” The bound man shuffled forwards on his hands and knees. With his wrists bound to his knees, he had a hard time raising his head high enough to put his mouth on the servant’s length but he finally managed.
Wet, slurping noises filled the chamber. Colleen averted her eyes, looking everywhere but at the tableau. More than one of the male spectators had unbuttoned his own falls and was bringing himself pleasure. The wife of one of the members knelt before her husband and took him in her mouth.
Colleen stared at the floor. There was nowhere safe to look. Sutton shifted, drawing her attention. He had one leg crossed over the other, the toe of one top boot planted firmly next to his other foot. She looked up the dark leather shafts, up to the trousers tucked into the tan-colored band circling the tops of the boots. His thighs bulged behind the wool of his black trousers, and …. Her cheeks heated. Was he hard behind his falls? Was he watching this licentiousness and becoming aroused?
She darted a glance at his face and lost her breath. One of his shoulders was propped against the wall, and he was facing her, ignoring the scene in the center of the room. He stared at her, unblinking, his countenance indecipherable. The man was an enigma. He rarely showed his thoughts or emotions, yet he seemed to always know hers, a condition that was becoming increasingly annoying.
Soft moans filled the chamber, and she didn’t know if it was the house servant’s pleasure or that of the other members’ that she heard. The gentle sucking noises developed a rhythm, each tug sending a low thrum to her center. The tips of her breasts tingled, and she stared into Sutton’s eyes, finding it impossible to look away. The air in the chamber warmed, grew heavy from the heat of all those bodies and the scents of their desire.
She shifted her thighs together, trying to will away the ache. The moans grew louder. The delicate sucking sounds picked up tempo. Sutton’s eyes were black in the dim light, dark, burning embers. She needed to look away but was ensnared. Sweat dampened her back, rolled down her skin, joined with the moisture pooling between her thighs.
And still he stared at her.
Her breath clogged her throat. Her chest heaved. Slowly, he pushed off the wall. Took a step towards her.
Molly planted herself in front of Colleen, severing the connection.
All the air left Colleen in a hiss, and she slumped back against the cold stone. She needed to gain control of herself. She was a widow and a woman of business, with no time for such nonsense as … well, as whatever that was.
She cleared her throat. “You wanted to speak with me?” she asked Molly. “I can wait until after your scene.” Glancing over the girl’s shoulder, she took note of the house servant gripping the customer’s hair, yanking the man’s mouth over his length in deep, rough strokes. “It is almost over?”
Molly tapped the handle of the whip into one hand. “Bernard can wait. I can have him service every male in the room as his punishment if need be. But I did want to speak with you.”
“About?”
“Mr. Harper. He’s one of Suzy’s regulars. I want him.”
Colleen waited for more, but the girl remained silent. “That’s it? You want something so you think you should have it?” Molly hadn’t had parents for most of her life, Colleen had to remind herself. No one to teach her the sins of selfishness.
“Yes.” Molly dropped the tail of the whip and drew circles on the floor with it. “I’m a better courtesan than Suzy. Why shouldn’t I have him?”
“And how does Mr. Harper feel about this?”
Molly looked at her scornfully. “He’s a man. He’ll feel what I tell him to.”
“I hope you don’t hold all members of my sex in the same low regard.” Sutton stepped behind the girl’s shoulder. “We don’t all care to be led around by our … noses.”
“My lord!” Something dark flashed across Molly’s face before she spread her lips in a pleasing smile. Turning, she dropped a saucy curtsy. Resting her hand on his forearm, she leaned close. “There are exceptions to the general rule, of course. But I would love a chance to prove you wrong. Show you just how sweet life can be when guided by the firm hand of an experienced mistress.” She tapped his shoulder with the whip’s handle. “It can be a battle of wills. Trap us in a room for a couple of hours and see who’s the first to crack.”
Sutton leaned away from her and side-stepped towards Colleen. “As delightful as that sounds, forgive me if I pass. I have no desire to break or be broken myself.”
Molly inhaled deeply, and her breasts pressed against the organza, her hard nipples poking against the fabric. “Pity.”
Colleen stepped between them, blocking the baron’s line of sight to that exhibition. “My answer is no, Molly. Mr. Harper can request any girl he wants when he visits the club, and if he wants Suzy, he’ll get her. I won’t assign him elsewhere.”
“But—”
“That’s final.”
“Of course, mum.” Molly wrapped the tail of the whip around her palm. “I’d best get back to my slave.” She tossed her head, her sheaf of silky, nutmeg hair swinging, and marched across the room.
Sutton followed Colleen from the chamber. “You’re tough.”
“I have to be to keep people like her in line. I had thought of asking you if I could fire her, but as Molly said, she is one of the better courtesans. The club’s profits would take a hit if she weren’t here.” Colleen turned left, away from the main room, and made her way through the back halls to the second staircase leading to her private rooms. The baron was only a step behind, so she kept her back rigid, her steps firm, even though she longed for a bucket of ice water for her feet and a hot bath for the rest of her body. “Did you want something, my lord?”
“I wanted to know where you’d been all day.”
She slipped past her half-open door to her office, but he pushed it wide, filling the frame.
She tossed her reticule on her desk. “Out.”
“Out? Is that all the answer I am to receive?”
“It’s all that you’re owed.” She tugged off her gloves. “You’re my employer, not my father.”
He narrowed his eyes. “And as your employer, I expect a certain level of responsibility from those under me. You’re supposed to manage this place, not go traipsing around London. Unattended, no less.” He stalked towards her, and she backed around her desk. He followed. With his bushy beard and wild black hair, he was the very image of a rampaging Visigoth, or what she imagined one to look like.
Barbarians didn’t scare her. She planted her feet and tipped up her chin. “If you are displeased with my managerial style, I’m happy to conclude my employment now rather than next week. I’ll just take my premium and get out of your way.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. “I apologize. When I couldn’t find you, and after that letter …. I apologize. Of course, I don’t want you to leave.” He pulled out her chair from behind the desk. “Please, sit.”
Ignoring the pain flaring in her heel, she stepped to the chair. She tugged off her coat and lay it across her desk before dropping into her seat.
He lowered his gaze, his dark green eyes growing hooded. “You’re in pain. Where?”
Colleen gaped. “There’s no way you can know that.”
“And yet, I do.” Pulling around another chair, he sank down in front of her. His gaze tracked up and down her body, assessing. “Are you ill?”
“No. I’m quite well.”
“Are you suffering a megrim?”
She gritted her teeth. “I said—”
“And I can play this guessing game all night until I hit upon what ails you.” He fingered the flower in her coat. “Why don’t you save us both the time and trouble?”
“It is of little account. I walked too far and my foot is sore.” Gripping the edge of her desk, she scooted her chair under the tabletop.
Sutton dragged her back around. “Let me see.” Picking up her left foot, he studied her face, and replaced it with her right.
Colleen tried to keep her expression even. It was blasted annoying how the man could see past her façade, always knowing what she felt and thought. He hadn’t believed her when she’d told him she was content living with her cousin and had installed her at this club. And she suspected he didn’t believe her when she feigned indifference to the activities that took place within these walls.
He unlaced her boot, and she didn’t argue. It was highly improper, of course, but her standards of propriety had become distorted these past couple months. A gentleman’s hand on her stockinged ankle was hardly enough to blink an eye over. When the worn leather of her boot slid over her blister, she winced, and then sighed in relief when cool air caressed the wound.
Trailing the tips of his fingers along her heel, the baron said, “That’s a beautiful example of Stephanotis floribunda.”
Colleen bent her knee and looked at her heel. “There’s a name for my blister?”
He laughed, the deep rumble crashing over her like waves on the shore. Fine lines softened the hard set of his eyes, and the wild beast suddenly looked human.
Her heart twisted like the mainspring in a clock, setting things in motion in her body that she didn’t want to acknowledge.
He nodded at her coat. “I was speaking of the flower.”
“You know the Latin names of flowers?” The baron didn’t even look like the type of man to know the common names.
“Botany is a hobby of mine.” He rested her ankle on his thigh, close to his hip. “One I hope to pursue more fully in the future.”
A slight tingle spread across the arch of her foot and down through her heel. His muscles made a hard bed beneath her ankle and one of the buttons on his falls just scraped her big toe. She was inches away from something most inappropriate.
She shifted her hips on the seat. “I can’t see a man like you studying plants. Ripping them out to plant a crop, perhaps.”
With one hand, he cupped the top of her foot. He stroked his fingers up to her toes and back down, pressing his thumb into a fleshy pad on her sole. His movements were slow, the pressure delicious. She could hardly sit still.
“I’m happy to surprise you.” He raised her foot, and Colleen pushed the fabric of her skirt tight between her legs. From his angle, he might look right up her petticoat. Lowering his head, he blew cool air across the blister. “That flower is fairly unusual here in England. Where did you get it?” He lowered her foot back to his thigh and picked up her other. Her blisters no longer hurt, but she missed the soft caress of his breath. Liked the way his lips pursed inside the circle of his beard. He untied the laces of her other boot.
“A florist in Wapping.” Would he furnish the same treatment on her left foot? It felt like thick syrup coursed her veins, making her limbs heavy, her body languid. She needed to keep talking, anything to prolong his ministrations. “I’m buying the flower shop with my premium. It’s a lovely store, and the owner is the sweetest old man. I’ve wanted to buy it for years.”
He paused before sliding off her boot. “Have you signed a contract?”
“Not yet, but an attorney is writing one up.” His hands engulfed her foot. They were large. Strong. She had no doubts they were capable of wringing a man’s neck, yet he cradled her foot as gently as though he were holding a babe. Something deep inside of her tugged. “Why?”
His chest heaved, and he blew out a long breath, not meeting her gaze. He rubbed circles into her ankles, each thick digit a patch of warmth that soothed her tired bones. She relaxed back into her chair.
“You can’t buy the shop. Not yet.” The baron raised his head, his piercing green eyes pinning her in place. “I’m not going to give you your premium. I need you to remain manager.”
Jerking her feet from his hands, she shot up. “You can’t! You promised me that money for three months’ service. It’s been three months.”
“I’m sorry, but circumstances have changed.”
Fire burned in her chest. How dare he? Wasn’t that just like a swell? Ignoring his commitments when it suited him. “You promised,” she said through gritted teeth. “I held up my end. I’ve managed this club competently and efficiently. I’ve earned that premium.”
“I agree.” Sutton lounged in his chair, stretching out his long legs. He might act high in the instep, but Colleen could see the tense set of his shoulders. The press of his full lips. “But the letter you received has changed our circumstances.”
“What letter?”
He slid a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and tossed it on the desk. “The one you showed me yesterday. The one that threatened you with harm if you didn’t provide Zed with information.”
Colleen frowned. “No one threatened me.” Unfolding the letter, she reread the contents. The end bit didn’t sound quite friendly but it hardly qualified as a threat.
Sutton sighed. “It’s right there in black and white.” He pointed at a couple lines.
“There is nothing there.” This couldn’t be happening. Not another dream taken away. Her throat squeezed, and she forced the tears back where they came from. “You’re seeing something that doesn’t exist. And even if it is a threat, that is only an added reason for me to leave The Black Rose.”
Sutton stood, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “You read things too literally, but communication is in the nuance. The threat is there. And it is a threat from a very dangerous man.”
“How do you know that? Who is Zed? And who are you?” Normal toffs didn’t run around with dangerous criminals. But, then, she’d always known the baron was different. That there was more to Madame Sable’s disappearance and her legal troubles. She narrowed her eyes. “Who do you work for?” There was only one option that made sense.
He ignored her questions. “I need to catch him, and in order for that to happen, I need you. Here.”
“No.” She matched his stance. She didn’t care if he did work for the government. “I refuse to stay here any longer. I’ll take my money now, thank you.”
“It pains me to say it, but you have little choice.” Bending, he swiped her boots off the ground and held them in one hand. “Not if you want your premium. But once Zed is in prison, I promise to make good on our arrangement. In fact, I’ll even double it.”
“You bleed freely,” she bit out. She turned to face the wall and wiped her fingers across her cheek. “And pardon me if I don’t believe your promises. They no longer hold any weight.” The air shuddered in her chest and her lungs refused to completely fill. She’d been so close. The loss of her flower shop hurt more than it should.
More than when she’d stood before the charred remains of her life.
She hung her head. She was lower than scum.
She heard a clatter before he cupped her shoulders. The weight was reassuring and warm, but she refused to find comfort. Not from the man who’d just ripped her future from her. She jerked forwards, but he drew her back.
“I know I’ve let you down, and it pains me to do so.” His voice was soft as velvet. She didn’t want to find it attractive. There could be nothing about the brute that she liked, not after his betrayal. She’d thought him better than the rest of the Quality. He’d seemed to care about her and her dead husband, genuinely wanting to help her. And he looked nothing like the coifed and pampered swells that she’d seen rolling about in their fancy carriages.
She’d thought he was different, but he was like all the rest. Only in it for himself. No faith behind his words, only carelessness.
She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “How long?” she asked, pleased with how even her voice sounded. He wouldn’t know how deep his lies had cut.
“It could be a week. Or several months.” He rubbed her upper arms, the thin fabric of her shirt scraping against her skin. “Investigations like this take time.”
She turned and cocked her head. “And why are you investigating? Isn’t this a matter for Bow Street? It’s not like a toff to get his hands dirty.”
She thought his smile looked tight, but it was difficult to tell with the beard covering his cheeks.
“Not all toffs behave the same. This man is threatening my club. Threatening my manager.” His nostrils flared. “That isn’t a situation I’ll tolerate.”
Colleen’s mouth became moist, and she swallowed. He didn’t raise his voice or punch a wall, but his anger was intense, nonetheless. It wrapped around her, promising protection in its power. Her anger leeched away, replaced by a sharp longing. The baron wore a look she’d hoped to see on her husband, back when she’d been young and romantic.
She stepped from his grip. Picking her boots up from the desk, she strode from the room. The baron was silent, but she could feel him following. She pushed into her chambers and placed the boots at the foot of her wardrobe. Hands on her hips, she examined her options. Without the premium, they were few. And putting her feet up and snoozing by the fire wasn’t one of them. It was time to get back to work.
Her options for footwear were just as limited. Either the stiff boots that had caused the blisters, or … With a sigh, she slid out the discolored and frayed slippers from under the wardrobe and went to sit on the bench at the foot of her bed. She covered the guinea-sized hole the fire had burned through the toe of one of the slippers with her hand and slid it onto her foot.
Sutton stood in the doorway, her coat tossed over one arm, his eyes tracking her every movement. “Why haven’t you purchased anything with your clothing allowance?”
She stood and shook her skirts out. Unlike the floor-length gowns the upper class and her lady-birds wore, her skirts ended at the ankle. Doing little to hide her pitiable footwear. “I have no need to dress like a fancy lightskirt. That isn’t my position here.”
“Forget ‘fancy’. It would be nice if my manager didn’t walk around in shoes that didn’t allow her feet to touch the floor. And didn’t wear coats”—he held out her borrowed wool one—“that would serve better as a rag.”
She moved to him and snatched the coat from his grip. Removing the flower from the buttonhole, she hung the coat in her wardrobe. “Most of my things were destroyed in the fire. My cousin gave me this. It serves its purpose.”
“Your cousin.” Sutton curled his upper lip. “From the little I know of the man, I suspect his act wasn’t done out of charity. Giving his old coat to you likely saved him the bother of burning it.”
Colleen refused to feel ashamed of her appearance. All she had was honestly earned, and that meant more to her than fancy gowns or delicate kid slippers. A man like the baron wouldn’t understand that.
She tipped her chin up. “Now that you’ve convinced me to remain on as manager, what is it exactly you wish me to do? Write back to your Zed with shocking stories? I don’t know where to address the letter.”
Sutton rested his forearm against the doorjamb above his head. “No, the man will have to find a way to contact you again. Another letter, a courier. If Zed wants a response, he’s going to have to reveal himself. And I’ll be waiting.”
“So, I continue running The Black Rose and when I hear from the blackmailer again, I contact you?” It didn’t seem like much of a plan. Not the zealous and speedy prosecution Colleen would have preferred.
He smiled, one side of his mouth curving higher than the other. His beard framed his sinful lips, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss such a man. He had the sort of smile she imagined a highwayman would have. It did funny things to her knees and made her breasts heavy and achy.
She swallowed and fought back the illogical blush that threatened to sweep her cheeks. Just because she was standing in her bedchambers with a man was no cause to think such improper thoughts. Besides, the baron could have no way of knowing what was running through her mind. Nothing to feel awkward about.
His smile deepened, and his gaze flitted to the bed and back to her face.
She refused to believe it. There was no way he was that discerning of her unspoken thoughts. “My lord?” She clasped her hands together, forgetting about the flower and crushing the bloom. “Am I to contact you when I receive another letter?”
“There’ll be no need.” He leaned forwards, that slight tilt of his shoulders feeling like he’d invaded her space. “Until this matter is resolved, I’m going to stay so close to your side it will feel like our bodies are joined as one.”
Nothing could stop her blush that time.