by Goodman, Jo
Mere seconds after Amalie Chatham swept into her office she was once again earthbound. Her visitor had disappeared.
Cursing heartily, she spun on her heel. Her eyes darted to every corner of the room, searching out her guest's means of egress. The door that led from the office to her private suite was slightly ajar. She followed the trail and discovered that her visitor had left the suite by taking a rear exit which led both to the outside and upstairs. Amalie angrily threw open the door to the back stoop. She saw dainty footprints and swirls in the snow made by the hem of young woman's cloak.
"Damn her!" Amalie slammed the door shut and leaned against it. She felt out of breath. Her frustration was only mildly abated by the knowledge that her visitor could not have gone far. The powder would be taking effect soon if it hadn't already. The stupid girl was going to freeze to death. There was no money to be made if that happened. Guided by the purest mercenary instincts, Amalie marched back to her office and out into the hallway to seek help. It was too late to call back John Todd, but one of her girls could be trusted to take over for her while she conducted her own search.
Maggie Bryant was coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray of coffee, chocolates, cheese wedges, and fruit when she nearly collided with Amalie. "What's wrong, Amalie? You look mad as a hatter."
"That's a vulgar expression," Amalie said tartly. Her eyes slid over Maggie, taking in the tightly cinched robe, bare feet, and tousled, untidy blond curls. She pursed her lips to convey her disapproval. Maggie's red velvet robe was modest enough, but Amalie knew better than to suppose that her most frequently requested boarder was wearing anything beneath it. "You know I don't like you girls using this main hallway when you are not decently dressed. If you want to serve your gentlemen callers something from the kitchen, summon one of the maids or use the back stairs. That's what they are there for."
On another occasion Maggie might have teased her mentor for her prudish insistence that the customers were really gentlemen callers, but not now. Maggie did not take issue with being upbraided for her manner of dress or for being caught using the main hallway. Tiresome explanations would not be welcome. Later, when Amalie was more clearly herself, Maggie could explain herself. Amalie wouldn't want to hear about the back stairs being icy cold because someone left the rear door open. Maggie couldn't imagine who would be so careless. She had used the stairs to go to the kitchen, and when she'd returned to the stairwell with her repast for Christian, the hallway had been bitterly cold. She might have thought the wind was responsible if it had not been for the tracks leading away from the house.
"What can I do for you?" asked Maggie. "Is it a headache? Do you want a powder?"
Amalie pressed her bosom. "I have one, but thank you. Who is that tray for? Can you take it to him, then play hostess for me? I need to go out."
"It's for Christian. Normally he would object if I left him in the lurch, but tonight... well, it has not been a good night for him."
"I hope it was nothing you did or didn't do."
Maggie shook her head. "At least I don't think so. He was ill-tempered when he got here, disagreeable because I was wearing black, and truly out of sorts when he couldn't..." She shrugged, shifting the weight of the tray. "Let me give this to someone to take to him. I'll borrow something from Dora to wear. That way there won't be any argument from Christian. I am unhappy with him anyway. He had the incredible nerve to call me Jenny. Me! After making such a fuss to see me, he calls me by another woman's name."
"That's all very interesting." Amalie's tone suggested it was anything but. "Don't dawdle, Maggie, I want to leave now. Give that tray to one of the maids and see if you can't find someone else for Mr. Marshall."
Maggie was sure she did not like the idea of another girl in her bed with Christian, but she recognized that her personal feelings were of no account. "All right. You go on, Amalie. I'll manage things nicely while you're out." She started to leave and then paused, calling to Amalie over her shoulder. "Where is Mr. Todd?"
"I sent him on an errand. If there's trouble, you're on your own."
"Not quite. The police commissioner is visiting Nancy." She gave her head a toss so that her hair swung across her back, and headed for the main stairs. For a few hours at least she could pretend she owned what was arguably the most famous brothel in the city, if not the country.
Maggie found one of the maids aimlessly going through a linen closet. "Leave whatever you were going to do until later," she said imperiously, holding out the tray. "Why did you not come when I rang? I had to leave my gentleman and prepare this myself. Here, take it to my room and give it to Mr. Marshall with my compliments."
Jenny stopped burying her head in the cupboard once she realized the person addressing her wasn't Amalie. Stuffing her woolen scarf and cloak behind a stack of clean sheets, she peeked around the door and forced herself to concentrate on what was being said to her. It was not an easy task. Her legs felt leaden, her head was muzzy, and her tongue was thick in her mouth. "Ma'am?" she said. "You want something?"
Maggie stamped her foot impatiently. "Take this tray to Mr. Marshall. That's the third door on the left." She frowned when the maid continued to stare at her stupidly. "I don't remember seeing you before. Are you one of the new girls?"
Jenny managed to keep the tray steady, though it sapped her strength to do so. She nodded.
When Maggie stepped closer she could smell brandy. "I'm giving you fair warning that Miss Chatham does not tolerate drunks, leastways not among the hired help. You'd do well to get rid of the liquor you have stashed in that cupboard before she finds it. I'll give you a second chance. She won't." Maggie conveyed her disgust with an eloquent snort. "You are so drunk now you can hardly stand. That won't do at all, m'girl. Not at all."
Jenny blinked hugely, trying to keep the woman in front of her in focus. Nothing was as it should be, and it hadn't been since she set foot in Amalie's parlor house. "Mr. Marshall?"
"Yes." Maggie pointed a finger in the direction of Christian's room. "Down there."
"Very well," Jenny said with quiet dignity. She started to turn away, hoping to manage the thing without tripping over her own feet. She knew she had no head for liquor, but what she was feeling now was outside her experience. It was as though she could not direct her body, as if she were no longer the one in command of hands and feet and fingers and toes.
"Just a minute." Maggie stopped her. "What's your name?"
"M'name?"
"Your name, you great, stupid girl."
Jenny almost began to giggle. With the portion of her mind that was still functioning rationally, she realized it was probably not in her best interest to point out that she was hardly a great girl when the other woman fairly towered over her. But then Jenny wondered if perhaps she was only seeing it that way. No matter. At the moment she certainly felt stupid, so there was no sense taking exception to sharp words. "Jenny," she said finally. In spite of her efforts to say it clearly, it hardly sounded like Jenny to her own ears.
"Jenny? Did I hear you right?" Maggie gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Is this a joke? Did Christian put you up to this?"
Jenny shook her head. "Should I go now?" she asked, trying to be helpful.
Maggie turned thoughtful. If she was any judge, then this slip of a girl wasn't precisely to Christian's tastes, but her name did fit the bill. Maggie smiled, thinking that she was about to get a little of her own back. "Oh, yes. You should definitely go now. And please make certain Mr. Marshall knows your name. Tell him Maggie sent you specially for him."
"But..." Jenny was going to say that Mr. Marshall already knew her name but swallowed the words. "I'll tell him."
Maggie placed her hands on Jenny's shoulders and helped her complete her turn. "That way," she said, giving Jenny a little shove to start her in the right direction.
"Thank you," Jenny said. She gave Maggie a careless grin as she balanced the tray in one hand and twisted the doorknob to Christian's room with the other. Stepping over th
e threshold, she missed the smug smile Maggie gave her in return.
Christian rolled on his side and propped himself on one elbow as the door opened and closed. He realized he had fallen asleep during the time Maggie had been gone, but he was not feeling particularly rested. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "You took your sweet time getting here," he said. The sole light in the room came from the fireplace. Maggie's face and figure were wreathed in shadows.
Looking down at the tray in her hands, Jenny frowned. She searched her memory to find some reason that she should be in Christian Marshall's bedroom. The room itself disoriented her. The ivory curtains she had selected had been replaced by heavy velvet drapes in a deep shade of sapphire. They framed the windows and the French doors that led to a small balcony. Gold fringe weighted them down even further. She glanced at the fireplace. The colorful tobacco tins were gone from the mantel and a row of photographic tintypes and a gilt-edged clock had taken their place.
Jenny shook her head, trying to clear it. Her frown deepened as her eyes wandered toward the bed. When had Christian discarded the tester in favor of a brass bed? And why was there a mirror suspended from the ceiling? She had rather liked his canopy.
"This is all very strange," she said finally, walking toward the bed on legs that were no steadier than a newborn colt's. "I think I've brought you breakfast."
"What in God's name are you doing here?"
That growl had the effect of collapsing Jenny's legs. She teetered a few seconds before the tray tilted forward and everything slid to the floor. The immediate crash was followed by the tray and finally by Jenny herself. She went down with a surprising amount of grace. Her legs folded under her tailor-fashion, and her skirt spread like spilled ink around her. Incredibly, the contents of the tray missed her dress. "Oh, my!" she said, quite unable to manage better than a lopsided smile. "You're angry, aren't you?"
Words failed Christian. He threw back the comforter. With no thought for his modesty or Jenny's sensibilities, he strode naked from the bed. Hooking one hand under her elbow, he jerked her upright, dragged her toward the door, locked it, then swung her in his arms and carried her back to the bed. All of this was accomplished without any resistance from Jenny—a fact that Christian put down to her being drunk as a sailor in a Bowery saloon. He dropped her on the bed and found there was a measure of perverse satisfaction in hearing her grunt softly. Grabbing the sheet from under her, Christian yanked it out and wrapped it around his waist. He sat on the edge of the bed, decided he was likely to strangle her if he remained there, got up again, and moved to the chair by the fireplace. He sat on the wide arm and folded his arms across his chest.
"I cannot begin to imagine what you're doing here," he said, a muscle working in his cheek. "I hope your explanation has the ring of truth, Miss Holland, because I'm of a mind to throttle you if it doesn't."
His threat had no impact on Jenny. She was staring at her reflection in the overhead mirror. Her eyes were sleepy, her cheeks flushed. The neat coil she had made in her hair was gone. She put one hand to her face, brushing back several strands that lay across her cheek and her neck, and wondered what had happened to her pins. The hem of her black wool gown was hitched almost as high as her knees, but Jenny felt too deliciously lethargic to push it down. She turned this way and that, critically viewing the length of her calves and the curve of her ankles. Nothing there to turn a man's head, she decided. "It is a very odd place to put a looking glass, don't you think? What was wrong with the canopy? Didn't you like it?"
If Christian thought it would have mattered, he might have glowered at her. For now he simply stared. "Where in the hell do you think you are?"
"Your room, of course," she said, stretching lazily, still captivated by her reflection. "And don't swear at me, please." When Christian responded with a string of gutter curses she simply sighed. "Are you quite finished?"
"No," he said, leaving the chair for the bed. He sat down on the edge and took Jenny by the upper arms, raising her until she was sitting up. "Look at me, Jenny Holland. Look at me." Once he saw what was in her eyes, or rather what wasn't, Christian released her abruptly. She fell back on the mattress. He bent over her and held her wide, confounded stare with one that was infinitely more alert. "This is not my room," he said. "Do you understand? We are not in my house any longer."
Jenny tried to focus. Worrying the inside of her cheek helped. It could be a trick. That sort of thing had been done to her before. "But you're here... and so am I. Didn't I just bring you breakfast?"
Christian shook his head. "No, you did not just bring me breakfast."
"But the tray..." She leaned to one side and pointed to the contents that were dashed across the floor. "It is not kind of you to try to confuse me."
Rolling his eyes, Christian said, "Why did you follow me to Amalie's, and how much did you have to drink to work up the courage?"
Jenny barely heard the question. She regarded herself in the mirror again and saw that her face was accurately reflecting what she felt. "Amalie's," she said on a thread of sound. "I had forgotten about that. I met her downstairs. I am not certain I like her, Mr. Marshall. She was kind enough, I suppose, but not very helpful. Not really. She kept staring at me." Jenny's frown deepened. "Why do you think she did that? Stare at me, I mean. It was terribly rude."
"Oh, God," Christian said. He sighed. "She was probably taking measure of your potential."
"My potential?"
Christian nodded. Placing one hand on either side of Jenny's shoulders, he leaned forward so that he blocked her view of her reflection. "Hmm," he murmured. "Your potential." He bent his head lower. "For this."
Surprise was Christian's advantage. Jenny was so startled by the pressure of his mouth against her lips that she did not struggle. Neither did she offer any encouragement. She held herself very still and let Christian sip and taste the corners of her mouth and draw in her lower lip between his teeth. He bit down very gently. An alien surge of heat blossomed in her middle as his tongue flicked along the soft underside of her lip, bathing the wound he had only pretended to inflict.
Christian raised his head and studied Jenny's serene expression. Her eyes were closed. There was a pale wash of rosy color in her cheeks, and her lips were damp and slightly parted. She could have been asleep. "Amalie will want to know that she probably misjudged," he said, sitting up again. "You cannot work in this house and not know how to please a man." Christian's words were at odds with the hot tongues of flame licking at his skin. He tried not to think about the unreciprocated ache he felt for Jenny Holland. "Why did you follow me here?" he repeated, wearily raking his fingers through his hair.
Jenny's lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. She was rather sorry the kiss was over. It didn't seem as if she ought to feel that way, but it was an undeniable truth that Christian's kiss had been something more than pleasant. She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue. They were so sensitive she had to press them together hard. She teetered on the edge of a shiver. "I don't want to work for Amalie," she said. "I like working for you. Aren't you pleased with my work?"
Christian groaned. There was virtually no hope of getting straight answers. Jenny was a beat behind his every question. "Yes, Jenny, I am pleased with your work."
Jenny's smile was uneven but triumphant. "There! You see? You are a man and I've pleased you. Amalie did not misjudge."
Christian bit back a frustrated retort and tried to indulge her drunken logic. "I must have mistaken the matter then. You are very good at what you do, but can we forget that now? Tell me about coming here. Were you already three sheets to the wind when you arrived?"
"Three sheets? I don't know what—"
"Were you drunk when you got here?"
Jenny shook her head, moaning softly as the movement made her dizzy. "I'm not drunk," she said. "I only had one glass of... I don't remember what it was."
"Brandy. Your mouth tastes like brandy." It was sweet, he wanted to
tell her. Her mouth was smooth and silky and sweet. He had enjoyed that kiss even if she hadn't. "But I think you had more than one drink."
"I didn't." She saw his skeptical look. "Really, I didn't. Amalie gave me the drink. We were in her office, you see, and I wanted to see you but she wanted to talk and..." Jenny's voice trailed off momentarily as she became fascinated by what she saw in the mirror. She watched her mouth as she carefully formed more words. "Oh, it's all very confusing. My head feels so... so thick. I don't think I'll drink anymore, Mr. Marshall. I used to feel like this before they put me in the hospital. I didn't like it then and..." She grew silent, worried now. "Are you going to make me go back to the hospital?"
"No, not if you don't want to go."
"I don't want to," she said. "Ever. I couldn't go back there. I would never be able to stand it... the screaming... the hands... the touching. I didn't like it. I was always afraid that..." She stirred restlessly, stretching again. She was not tired, yet her body felt heavy, and her skin felt too tight for her frame. Collecting her thoughts was difficult. "What's wrong with me?" she asked plaintively. "Why can't I remember things? Why do I feel this way?"
"What way, Jenny?" Christian was beginning to have a very good idea what was wrong with her. This was Amalie's doing, and he cursed her under his breath. Jenny may very well have had only one brandy. Christian could only guess what Amalie might have put in it. He leaned closer. "Tell me what you feel."
Jenny caught her lower lip and worried it between her teeth. "Light," she said after a moment's thought. "And heavy... aching. I feel empty. I want... I want something."
Christian had no difficulty identifying the something Jenny could not. He'd heard rumors about the drugs Amalie made available for men who made extraordinary demands on themselves and their female partners. Until now he had never believed it. He cupped Jenny's face, holding her still. "Did Amalie send you up here after she gave you the brandy?"