She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash and the large specter of a man, who had shadowed her for as long as Hunter had known her, took a warning step away from the wall, the soft light from the electric chandeliers shining off of his dark skin. Hunter spared him a look. “Evening, Able.” As impeccably clothed as his mistress, in his evening dress with a roll-collar coat and waistcoat, Able gave him a nod, but the warning in his eyes was clear. No one was allowed to disrespect Miss Winters.
Giving her hired man a dismissive wave, Glory let her smile slip away and her eyes hardened. “That young woman came to me for sanctuary, I won’t allow you to come in here and do her harm. I sent you the telegram as a professional courtesy because she rode into town on your horse. The horse is waiting for you down at your town house. Emmaline, however, is not coming with you.”
Emmaline.
Her name was Emmaline. The green fist of jealousy slipped its fingers around his heart, only stoking the flames of his anger. He had no reason to be jealous that this woman had been given her name from her own lips while he hadn’t, but he couldn’t stop the emotion and ground his molars together to get a handle on it. “That woman stole my horse and ran from me. I will have her.”
“No, you won’t. She’s not yours—”
A brisk rap on the front door silenced her and when the doorman opened the massive door to allow the newcomer inside, her smile moved seamlessly back into place, settling into the unlined mask of the welcoming madam that she wore for her clientele. “Mr. Westlake, how good of you to join us tonight.” She stepped smoothly around Hunter and his brothers to greet the older man and accept his hat.
While she helped him with his outer coat, she made pleasant small talk, impressing Hunter with her knowledge of the banker’s family, and he responded as if they were old friends meeting on the street. He’d never seen Westlake here before, but he shouldn’t be surprised that he visited the establishment. Almost every man in town had been inside at one point or another and not necessarily for the company of the females who resided here. There wasn’t a place in Helena to get a better beefsteak or game of cards.
“There’s a fire blazing in the front parlor and a few men are already playing cards,” Glory said, her Southern drawl a little softer and more evident now that she wasn’t angry and biting her words out. “Go on in now and I’ll send Jeannette with your usual Scotch.”
Westlake greeted them each by name before addressing Glory again. “Oh, no, my dear, I didn’t come for cards tonight. I came for the...” Sparing them a glance, he dipped his head closer to Glory’s and continued in a whisper that everyone could hear, “The other entertainment in the Black Chamber.”
Hunter’s eyebrows rose in surprise before settling back into the impatient scowl he’d been wearing. In the years he’d visited Glory’s establishment he’d never heard of the “Black Chamber”. No doubt another scheme the clever proprietress had come up with to separate eager men from their money.
“Oh!” She seemed surprised. “Oh, that... I wasn’t—”
“Of course, dear, I know it’s only for a chosen few and I’ll be the first to confess that the stakes are higher than I’m willing to part with, but I thought I could attend anyway.” He paused and waggled his eyebrows good-naturedly.
“Yes, of course you may attend,” she acquiesced and smiled so brightly Westlake fairly preened from the attention. “But I must ask you to be discreet. It wouldn’t do to have the whole town talking.” When the older man nodded, his jowls fairly quivering as he agreed and reassured her of his utmost devotion to secrecy, she darted a glance at Hunter, one that he was sure she hadn’t meant to do because it was a dead giveaway. In that glance she revealed her uncertainty and a very real fear, and it set him on alert. A quick look to Cas, who raised a brow in warning, assured him that his brother had seen it, too.
The older man grinned. “Our good citizens here, particularly the fairer sex, don’t understand the need for a bit of lively amusement now and then. I assure you I wouldn’t dare ruin our bit of fun, but the prospect of an auction intrigues me so.” At his inadvertent use of the word “auction” the banker brought the fingers of one hand to his lips, as if he’d said too much. He probably had because Hunter was imagining Emmy standing there as men bid on her and he clenched his fists at his sides as he assured himself that wasn’t the case.
Glory waved to a fashionably dressed woman who seemed to appear out nowhere to escort Westlake past them to the hall leading off the left side of the foyer.
“What the hell is going on?” Hunter demanded of the madam as soon as he was out of sight.
“What happens here is none of your concern, Hunter.” She dropped her friendly demeanor as she faced him again. “Now if you’ll be on your way, I have business to attend.”
“You kicking us out, pretty lady?” Zane’s deep voice entered the fray.
To her credit, she swallowed once and plastered that serene look back on her face. She was too shrewd of a businesswoman to completely risk alienating the men who had come to her aid more than once over the course of her tenure as madam. “No, of course not. You are all welcome to have a drink...or a bath and a room.” She gave Hunter’s and Cas’s dirty attire a once-over. “But you cannot persist in looking for Emmaline.”
Hunter didn’t bother with a retort and took off in the direction Westlake had been taken. That look on Glory’s face when the banker had mentioned the Black Chamber told him more than enough. The word “auction” pounded in his skull and his gut churned in an unfamiliar mixture of fear and disgust, but when he turned the corner the hall was empty with no sign of which room Westlake and the woman had disappeared into.
“Mr. Jameson,” she called a warning. “Hunter!” The click of her heeled slippers was loud as she moved from the rug to the gleaming hardwood floors behind him.
“Mr. Jameson!” Able’s baritone voice joined in as he started forward.
Someone, Cas or Zane, drew a gun, the sound of metal being pulled smoothly from a leather holster filling the tense air while the heavy steps of their boots followed him into the long, dimly lit hallway. Pale blue textured wallpaper lined the walls between numerous doors leading to various dining and meeting rooms, a sconce lighting each one. He mentally ticked off the ones he knew to be dining or card rooms, targeting the last two as potential locations for the mysterious auction.
“Gentlemen, please!” Her voice rose enough for effect, but low enough to not disturb any customers on the lower level. “This doesn’t have to—”
The closed doors rattled in their hinges as Zane shoved Able’s large body into the wall. Not to be stopped, Able grabbed the bigger man’s shoulders and pushed back, ramming him into the opposite wall.
“Able! Mr. Pierce! I won’t have a clash of giants destroying my house.” She put a hand on each of them before remembering that she needed to appeal to the man leading the group. “Hunter, please, wait. I’ll show you where she is, but I can’t allow you to harm my business.” The silk of her skirts swooshed as she hurried past Cas and grabbed his arm. “Please!”
Hunter stopped, but only to level a heavy look at her. “Show me.”
She nodded and looked pointedly at Zane until he unhanded her sentry. “Fine, but the same rules apply as always. Hats and guns off, gentlemen.”
The respect he had for her and the fact that time was of the essence made Hunter give his brothers a quick nod to unbuckle their holsters. He didn’t like it, but as they stood waiting some man could have his hands on her. Besides, they’d be able to overpower anyone who stood in their way.
“Thank you. Please go lock those up, Able.” Able gave them each a hard look before he turned back toward the foyer. She waited until he turned the corner before leading them to the end of the hall, putting herself between him and the last door on the right to look up at him. In a pique, she snatched his hat off and put her o
ther hand on the brass doorknob. “You look horrible. You’re going to scare the living daylights out of her.”
She looked at him as if he were feral. He almost obliged her with a growl. “Says the woman who gave her ‘sanctuary’ only to throw her to the wolves.”
“That’s not fair. That’s not what happened.”
“You’re telling me it’s not her being auctioned?”
She had the decency to look chastened as she opened the door and let them in. The glare she gave his brothers as they followed him inside had them taking off their hats. Zane grinned as he placed his on her head. Whatever she did after that was lost on him because the sight greeting him stopped him cold.
* * *
Emmaline was thankful for the darkness in the room. There were no harsh electric lights to cast a judgmental light on the horrible thing she was doing, just candles and soft lanterns placed on the raised platform meant to be a stage.
Glory had adamantly refused when she had initially discussed the idea of the auction and had offered to lend her the money to flee, but she could only spare enough to get them to another town. It wouldn’t come close to providing for them long enough for Emmaline to get on her feet. If it had only been just her, then she could have accepted it and left. Without enough money for security, then Emmaline risked taking the children away with her only to place them in greater danger. She refused to do that. They didn’t need to simply get away, they needed to disappear, to abandon the outlaw life altogether before someone else came to collect a debt and maybe next time kidnap one of her sisters. The brothel had been the only place Emmaline had known to run. It was where she had been born.
As strange as it might seem, the brothel had seemed like more of a home than the farm ever had. She’d been taken care of here, had been given lessons and a family. She still remembered the nights after closing they spent around the piano singing hymns while one of the women played. Ship had promised her mother that family, but all they’d gotten was a dirt farm and a lot of time alone while he gallivanted across the countryside. Each trip home he’d brought with him even more dangerous men and done nothing to alleviate the poverty to which they were slowly succumbing.
Part-gentleman’s club, part-brothel, Victoria House prided itself on being the only first-class establishment of its kind in the territory. Every wealthy man in town had spent nights within its walls, whether to have a meal, play a hand in the card room, or spend time upstairs. Little had changed in the twelve years Emmaline had been gone, except that Glory had made the place even more luxurious somehow. This was the place she could earn the most money.
Now staring out into the blackness of the room, she was having second thoughts. It wasn’t a big room, a simple parlor transformed into something dark for the evening and would go back to being used for whatever its purpose was the next day. Its walls and furniture had been draped with a dark, velvety material of indeterminate color, because the decor wasn’t to be the focus on this night. No, the focus was to be solely on the woman on stage, perched atop a velvet divan and draped in a simple robe of white satin with a matching half mask covering her eyes.
The robe reminded her of those worn by the ancients in drawings she’d seen and she’d been surprised when Glory had brought it to her in her bedroom. She’d imagined all sorts of attire, all of them much more revealing. Falling to her bare feet and leaving just her arms and a bit of her chest bare, the clothing had been a relief. For a little while. But then she’d sat down on the stage’s divan and the slits on either side revealed the entire length of her legs and the deep V where the fabric crossed over her breasts fell open to reveal the tops of the slight mounds. She left it open. Better to overcome her modesty now, before it was really put to the test. At least she’d have the tiny slip of a mask that covered the upper portion of her face so no one would recognize her come morning. It was a requirement of the covenant that she be allowed to wear it all night.
The parlor had already been filled when she’d taken her seat. She had heard the men on the other side of the curtain, shuffling and murmuring. The smell of their mingled colognes had made her stomach churn, but she suspected nerves had just as much to do with that. And then the curtain had dropped and she’d stopped thinking of anything except for Rose and Ginny and how she’d go to get them when this was over.
The light from the stage only allowed her to see shadowed forms as they shifted in their seats to get a better look. She took only shallow breaths, the weight on her chest constricting her lungs. A man’s voice filled the room, and though she couldn’t focus on his words, she knew that he was relaying the terms of her service: one night to begin at the auction’s end. Horrible thoughts tried to interject themselves, but she forcibly pushed them away. Whatever happened, it would only be for one night and then she’d have enough money to take Rose and Ginny away to somewhere safe where she could find work and they’d never have to worry about Ship’s antics destroying them. It would be worth one night of her life. She repeated that mantra to herself over and over as men began to call out amounts. One thousand dollars. One thousand five hundred. It continued until the bidding went over ten thousand dollars and the voices slowly whittled down to three men, their voices pitching back and forth across the room as they bid, hurling taunts at each other as they called out their bids.
Ten thousand dollars was the amount Glory had told her to expect. The difference between a life of uncertainty and one of stability to her, but a pittance to the bidders so wealthy from mining that they routinely earned that in a week. That amount could mean a whole new life for her and the children. They wouldn’t want for anything, not for a very long time.
Then the door to the room swung open, light from the hallway illuminating the outlaws as they filed in. There was no mistaking the three tall men. Glory came in on their heels, and Emmaline realized that trouble had found her again. Her stomach dropped and her breath stopped altogether as her gaze locked on the one in front, her mind unable to comprehend the fact that he’d found her until her heart gave a jolt in her chest. For one terrible moment, she was actually torn between relief and horror. Horror that he had found her and meant to return her to Ship. Relief that he was there to save her from these men and the choice she had been forced to make.
Then the door closed, blocking out the light so that he was in darkness again, freeing her from the spell of his eyes. Horror was the proper emotion, she assured herself, and braced to run, prepared to flee the mansion in her robe if she had to in order to escape him. There was a collective murmur in the room as the men, particularly the active bidders, turned to see who the latecomers were. They were quickly called to order by the auctioneer with the booming voice who was cloaked in shadows just in front of the stage.
He was still watching her. The weight of his gaze fell heavy on her and she knew that he hadn’t moved from his place just inside the door.
“We’re up to fifteen thousand dollars if you gentlemen would like to enter the bidding.” Then his voice rose to address the parlor. “Do I hear sixteen thousand? MacDowell? Connors? You’re not allowing McNally’s fifteen thousand to best you. What’s your best bid, gentlemen?”
MacDowell and Connors both threw out numbers, but his voice was louder. “Fifty thousand dollars.”
“No!” Her heart screamed the word and her lips formed it of their own will, but no one heard or maybe she hadn’t actually given voice to it.
There was collective silence in the room for a moment before the three original bidders’ voices rose to protest this latecomer daring to enter their domain. Calls of “He can’t bid!” and “Fifty thousand dollars? The blazes you bid fifty thousand dollars!” were all drowned when her ears picked up the words, “You weren’t invited to this, Jameson!” So his name was Jameson. She locked that information away. One of the men rose to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping harshly on the hardwood floor as his shadowed form swayed.
“Gentlemen, please!” Glory’s voice cut through them all, soft and yet somehow authoritative as she walked to the front of the room. “Remember that you are all gentlemen. Mr. Jameson was invited to this particular event, I assure you, as were his associates. He was simply running late, but I’m confident you gentlemen won’t mind a little friendly competition.” She had made her way to stand in front of the stage to address the room. Two gunmen appeared, one on each side of her, the only guns allowed in the establishment strapped to their hips, ready to keep order if anyone attempted to go against the madam. A few more lamps were lit by an impeccably clad manservant, providing enough light so that Emmaline could now make out faces in the audience. And, she imagined, light for the gunmen to aim properly if such action was needed.
“Fifty thousand dollars is not friendly competition and you know it, madam.” This was from the man who had taken a stand, the words drawled with a deep Southern accent and she knew he was McNally, the lead bidder until her pretty savior had offered that ridiculous amount. His dark moustache curled at the ends over lips thinned with anger. “It’s insulting. Who would pay that for a night with a whore? Have you even proof that she’s pure?”
Someone else agreed with him, his voice joining in and questioning her virtue. She didn’t so much as flinch. After all, she couldn’t blame them. Virgins weren’t known for auctioning off their bodies for a night of pleasure. Her face warmed, though, and her mind churned as she wondered what to do, avoiding looking out, afraid that she would meet his gaze.
“I’m not accustomed to having my integrity questioned, Mr. McNally. If you are so concerned with that, perhaps you should consider taking your business to another establishment.”
That silenced him briefly. Everyone knew that there were no other establishments in Helena of the same caliber as Victoria House. To be forbidden from its walls was the same as being relegated a social outcast, at least among the society of the quality men in the city.
The Innocent and the Outlaw (Outlaws of the Wild West) Page 10