Sweet Words of Love

by Betty Brooks

  "Our club members are the cream of society," the butler said, tilting his head back so he could look down his long nose at Thorne. "Its members are carefully selected. Non e but the best families are allowed to join."

  "So I heard," Thorne said, somehow managing to keep his dislike of the imperious butler from tinging his voice. "That's exactly whyI came to this club first. The heir of Lassiter Shipping Lines deserves only the best." He threw back his head and took on a haughty look that put the butler's to shame.

  "The heir to Lassiter Shipping Lines?" The butler barely controlled a gulp of surprise. "Excuse me, sir. Of course you are welcome here."

  "Of course," Thorne murmured dryly. "Now, if you will be so kind as to show me to the bar . . ."

  "Of course. This way, sir. Right this way." He led Thorne down a long hall to a large room filled with gaming tables. On one side of the room was a well­ stocked mahogany bar, behind which a bartender was kept busy filling glasses.

  ''Would you like me to introduce you around?" the butler asked.

  "No," Thorne replied. "I don’t want the others to know why I'm here right now. That way, ifI decide against joining the club, there will be no hard feelings."

  "But they know you're not a member," the butler protested.

  "Are members allowed to bring guests?"

  "Of course."

  "Then, if anyone inquires, just say I am here at the invitation of a member." He took the butler's hand and squeezed it, leaving behind a good-sized tip. The butler dipped his head in agreement, then made a quick departure.

  Thorne joined the men at the bar and there made a few discreet inquiries. None of the men knew anything about Eulalie. He was on the verge of leaving when a man about his father's age approached him.

  "I hear you've been making inquiries about Grace Larson's daughter." His dark eyes were keen as they took in Thorne's expertly tailored suit. "Do you mind telling me what business you have with her?"

  Thorne studied the other man briefly, then decided he looked trustworthy enough. His question was most certainly one a man of conscience would ask. "I have only recently learned of Eulalie's existence," he said. "Or I would have come sooner." He wanted the man to understand why he was only now coming forward. "Eulalie is my half sister, the daughter of my father, Eugene Lassiter.''

  "Eugene Lassiter." The man 's eyes darkened. "I knew him. But that was years ago." He stuck out his hand and Thorne shook it abruptly. "I'm Sam Cross. And you are . . ."

  "Thornton O'Brien Lassiter."

  "Good to meet you," Sam said gruffly. "So you're looking for Grace Larson's daughter. She loved him, you know. Never could see what Grace saw in Eugene. I suppose he loved her . . . as much as a man like that could love anyone other than himself. He left before Grace had her baby, though. And that surprised the hell out of me. Far as I know, he never came back to New Orleans. Not even to see Grace buried."

  Thorne didn't want to talk about his father's short­comings, but he needed to know something and realized his father would never reveal the information. "Do you know why he left Grace?"

  "You got it all wrong, son. Eugene didn't leave her.

  She left him. She joined a convent."

  "Joined a convent?" Thorne echoed. Nothing the man could have said would have surprised him more. "She became a nun?"

  "Not a nun. A novice. She died before she could take her vows."

  "Is that when my father left town?"

  "Yes.Eugene left when Grace entered the convent." Sam Cross's gaze narrowed suddenly. 'Tm not even sure he knew there would be a baby."

  "No. He didn't. Not until recently." Thorne was silent for a long moment, wondering about the girl whose mother had chosen to become a nun. "What happened to Grace? How did she die?"

  "In childbirth."

  "And the girl?" he queried. "She was sent to live with her grandfather, Gustave?"

  "Yes," the man replied. "She grew up in the bayou. I didn't know she'd left until recently. It's too bad that

  you did not come sooner."

  "Why? She's not dead?"

  "No. But she might be better off if she were."

  "What. do you mean?"

  "Last I heard, she was working at Joy Wang's whore house."

  The words struck Thorne deeply. A whore. He looked away from the other man and stuck his hands deep into the pockets of his breeches. She must have been desperate for work. Must have been. He couldn't believe she'd have taken the work otherwise, even if he didn't know her. Perhaps he was wrong, though. She might enjoy such work. That would account for the reason she was still working there when she didn't have to .. .since she had thousands of dollars that had been taken from his father's pockets.

  He returned to the hotel, depressed at what he'd learned.

  Rainey, who had returned to her room, was seated beside the window staring down into the courtyard when Thorne pushed open the door to the sitting room. "You look exhausted," she exclaimed, hurrying to him.

  "I feel terrible," he replied glumly.

  "I didn't expect you to be gone so long," she said. "I have been worrying for the past two hours."

  "I'm sorry about that." He unfastened his tie and slumped down on the settee. "I hired a detective while I was gone, then went to a club, where all the prominent citizens gather, to look for information." He patted the spot next to him. "Come sit beside me."

  She dropped down beside him and he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. "If you hired a detective, then why'd you go looking for information? I thought that was what a detective was for. To gather information for you."

  "It is. But when the desk clerk told me about the clubI was so sure that news of my sister's whereabouts was close at hand.I couldn't wait a moment longer." He sighed deeply. "I was a fool to be so eager."

  "You didn't find out anything?"

  "I found out too much."

  "I don't understand."

  "I know where she is, Rainey."

  "Did you see her?" she asked eagerly.

  "No." He sighed again. "And I don't really wish to do so now."

  "Why not?"

  "Her grandfather said she worked in a big house. And she does just that. But not as a maid, Rainey. My sister is a whore."

  "Who said she was?" she snapped, jerking upright.

  "The man who told me was Samuel Cross, one of New Orleans's leading citizens."

  "What does he lead?" she asked grimly. "A group of gossipmongers?''

  "He wasn't trying to slander Eulalie," Thorne replied.

  "It was obvious he felt sorry about her circumstances." He sighed deeply and raked distraught fingers through his dark hair. "To think a sister of mine is working in a place like that." He sighed again.

  "It ain't-isn't-right you should take somebody else's word for a thing like that," Rainey told him. "You go find your sister, Thorne. Ask her straight out if she's doing those things."

  "I intend to do just that," he admitted. "I went back to Tyler Duncan's office-he's the detective I hired­ but he'd already left for the day. Since I have no idea where he lives, notifying him will have to wait for tomorrow." He pressed his fingers against his right temple and groaned. "God! I wish I could get rid of this headache."

  She straightened immediately. "I can help you," she said. "Just take off your shirt and stretch out on the floor. No! Maybe the bed would be better. You just stretch out on the bed andI'll massage your muscles like I do Grandpa's when he's feeling poorly."

  "It probably wouldn't be a good idea for both of us to be on your bed, Rainey," he said gruffly. "We'd better use the floor."

  She blushed at the implication of his words.

  He stood up and stripped away his shirt, exposing chest and arm muscles, which rippled with each movement of his body.

  Feeling utterly fascinated by his naked upper body, Rainey tried to hide her interest by appearing casual. She pretended he meant nothing to her as she straddled his torso and kneaded the neck muscles, which were knotted tigh
t with strain. And when they began to relax, she moved lower, kneading his shoulders in a circular, pressing motion.

  Thorne groaned with appreciation as she worked, and Rainey was barely able to control her smile of satisfaction as he groaned again and again, each sound punctuated by a definite relaxing of his body.

  She wasn't sure when his breathing began to change, only knew that each breath became quicker, more rapid than the last one.

  When she realized it was her hands that were responsible for the change in his breathing, Rainey smiled inwardly. It was an impulse that made her lean over and press her lips against the nape of his neck.

  He rolled over quickly then, his hands catching the back of her head and shoulders, and he pulled her across him until her face hovered only inches above his own. "Do you know what you do to me?" he whispered huskily.

  "I can feel it," she said. And she did. The hardening of his lower body was unmistakable.

  "And you don't mind?"

  "No. I don't mind at all."

  "Come here," he growled. And then he was covering her lips roughly, his teeth grating against her soft flesh as though trying to devour her mouth.

  Thorne's hands were hard, his grip tight and rough, as he worked his way into the moist depths of her mouth.

  Rainey felt the shock of his possession. His hands went to her thighs to draw her closer against his male strength, and she caught her breath and moaned. His grip tightened even more, and she realized he was as hungry for more as she was.

  When his mouth left hers, and he stared deeply into her eyes, she whispered, "Kiss me again, Thorne. Again and again. Don't ever stop."

  "In a minute," he said, "but first, I want to see you." He unfastened her clothing while she lay before him, trembling with desire. When her bodice was open, he peeled away the fabric and studied her breasts , with masculine appreciation.

  "Do you like what you see?" she asked huskily.

  "I like," he muttered. He touched her breasts with slow, tender hands, and her body reveled in his touch. Her knees were weak, and she knew, had she been standing, they would have buckled beneath her weight. She closed her eyes, and his lips brushed across her eyelids with infinite tenderness.

  Then, feeling him draw away from her, she opened her eyes to find him unfastening his breeches. She watched avidly as he stripped away his garments, kicking aside his pants, before peeling down his underwear. And when his throbbing masculinity was finally exposed, her face flushed with hot color, but she could not look away. He was magnificent . . . purely and utterly male.

  He peeled away the rest of her clothing then and came to her. And when he covered her body with his own, she felt as though she'd been reunited with a part of her that had been absent until then.

  Thorne loved her then, kissing every part of herbody-even the heels of herfeet-and when he was done he started over again, licking his way from her cheek to her lips, then down her neck and across her shoulders until he reached her right breast.

  Rainey was jerking and twitching and moaning so loudly that she was afraid someone would hear and come to investigate the sounds. But she couldn't seem to help herself, couldn't stop herself from erupting. Finally, she was bucking wildly beneath him, pushing against the bulge at his groin, desperately needing his complete possession.

  Thorne continued to deny her that complete union. Instead, he suckled at her breast like an infant, driving her so wild that she was on the point of screaming by the time he left her breast and returned to her mouth again.

  "Take me," she begged_ "Please, Thorne, don't make me wait, please hurry, hurry, hurry."

  She knew she was babbling. She also knew she must have him soon, or die with the agony of wanting.

  And then he was poised over her, hovering at the apex of her thighs.

  "Do it," she groaned. "Please, Thorne, do it now." As though he'd only been waiting for that moment, Thorne plunged downward, filling her with his manhood. And then he took her to heights she'd never before imagined. And this time she wasn't left hovering, waiting, wanting. This time he brought her to complete fulfillment, and as she reached that ultimate moment in time, Rainey screamed out his name. "Thorne, Thorne, Thorne!" She wailed his name over and over again, her voice rising in pitch until it became a never-ending wail.

  Seventeen

  The auburn-haired girl knelt on the kitchen floor and scrubbed at a greasy spot that marred the polished wood. The kitchen was the only room in the brothel that wasn't carpeted, and Lolly thanked the Lord for that small favor, since cleaning the floors was one of her own seemingly never-ending chores.

  Lolly grimaced wryly and scrubbed harder at the spot. Three years of backbreaking work in this place lay ahead of her, and she had her cousin to thank for that. And the ungrateful wretch had taken himself off, the moment Lolly had offered Joy Wang her services in exchange for his gambling debt.

  If only she'd been able to stay with Joy. But she hadn't. Some kind of deal had been worked between the two madams. And it was a deal where Lolly came out the loser.

  Lolly told herself that it didn't really matter which woman she worked for-a house of prostitution would be the same whatever its name-but she couldn't quite convince herself of that fact. Especially when it was obvious that Madam Louise entertained thoughts of Lolly becoming one of her girls. But Lolly knew how foolish the madam's hopes were. She'd die before she'd service even one of the men that arrived on schedule each night when the doors were opened for the evening. Circumstances might force her to work for Madam Louise, but she refused to take the ultimate step that would plunge her into the depths of depravity.

  "Lolly!" The shout came from the front parlor. It was Helen Bannister.

  Giving the floor a final swipe with her mop rag, Lolly pushed herself to her feet and arched her tired back muscles. God, she was exhausted. But there would be no rest for hours to come. The evening callers would be arriving soon, and there was still much to prepare before that time.

  A pox on her cousin, Cage, for getting her into this mess and then disappearing without even a thank-you for your trouble.

  "Lolly! Where the hell are you?"

  Lolly hurried toward the parlor. 'I’m in here, Helen," she said, sending her voice ahead of her. "What do you need?"

  She saw Helen then, and the woman's quick smile warmed Lolly's heart as it usually did. There were so few whores who worked in Madam Louise's bordello who were so warmhearted.

  "Honey," Helen said quickly, "I hate to add to your workload but Madam Louise has just informed me there's a distinguished gentleman coming to visit me within the hour. Since he's not one of my usual customers and probably fastidious as hell, I need you to change my bedsheets. My last client smelled like he'd been rooting with the hogs."

  "Complaining about my choice of customers?" an acid voice nearby asked.

  Lolly and Helen both turned to see Madam Louise watching them intently. Helen's lips twitched at the corners as she summoned up a faint smile. "No, Madam. Of course not."

  As Madam Louise continued on her way, Helen muttered beneath her breath. "Old warthog! This is supposed to be a high-class place. But I swear! That woman is money hungry. She'll probably sell us for two bits a night if business ever slows down." The outer door opened and she uttered a startled oath. "Dammit! There's my customer now. He's early, but the old bag will make me go with him anyway." Her expression took on a look of panic. "The bed's not changed yet, Lolly!"

  "Don't worry," Lolly muttered. "It won't take long to change it. If you can stall him for five minutes, your room will be fresh as a daisy."

  "Consider it done," Helen said.

  As Helen swaggered toward the newcomer, swinging her hips back and forth, Eulalie Lassiter hurried up the stairs to clean Helen's room.

  Thorne rose early next morning and, although he wanted nothing more than to linger in the large bed with Rainey, he forced himself to forgo that pleasure so he could perform some necessary chores. After he'd gathered together his clothing, hi
s gaze lingered on the woman in his bed for a long moment. Later, my love, he silently promised. Then he tiptoed quietly from the room.

  Barely half an hour later he knocked on the door of Tyler Duncan's office.

  "Come in!" a voice barked.

  Thorne pushed open the door and entered the office.

  "I'm glad I found you here," he told the detective, who was seated behind a paper-covered desk.

  "I didn't expect to see you until I had something to report," Tyler said.

  "You can forget about the job. I've already found her."

  "That right?" Tyler's eyebrows lifted. "Quick work. You had more luck than I did then. Do you mind if I ask where you found her?"

  "Suffice it to say, I'm not pleased with my findings. Her employment is not what one would call reputable."

  Tyler's bushy brows lifted higher. "Are you saying she's still at Joy Wang's whorehouse?"

  "She's there," Thorne muttered. "Dammit, that woman lied to me!"

  "What woman? Joy Wang?"

  "Yes," Tyler said grimly. "You spoke to her?"

  "Damn straight I did. But she told me she had no notion where the girl was. Said she left her employ real sudden only last month. And that, as far as she knows, Eulalie took a slow boat to China."

  "Then she's not there," Thorne muttered, slumping into a chair. He felt as though he'd had the wind knocked out of his sails. ·

  "She's not there?" Tyler inquired. "If she's not at Joy's, then where in hell is she?"

  "How the hell should I know?"

  Tyler sighed deeply. "Didn't you just walk in here and say you knew where she was?"

  "Yeah. But I thought she was at Joy Wang's whore house."

  "Then you hadn 't been there?"

  "No. Not yet. I came to see you first."

  "Then we're back to square one." He was silent for a long moment, then he asked, "Do you want me to go on with the job?"

  "Yes. I need to find her, wherever she is. I am not going to let her have the Lassiter Shipping Lines, and I intend to tell her that."