Celia stepped into the room, trying to control the trepidation she felt dancing around in her belly. At least this time there were no surprises. Madam Henrietta was seated behind her desk, a slight smile on her lovely face, and she was the only one in the office.
"I knew you'd be back," she said to Celia. "What's it going to be, my dear? Are you going to do the sensible thing?"
To Celia, the decision she had reached was extremely sensible, although she knew it wouldn't be to Madam Henrietta. She opened her mouth to explain —
Before Celia could say a word, a scream cut through the air, followed by a huge crash from one of the rooms down the hall. As she jerked around in stunned surprise, the door of the room burst open and a man came stumbling and falling into Madam Henrietta's office.
Celia gasped when she saw his face.
Preston Kirkwood Fox!
* * *
Fox was not, by any stretch of the imagination, what was known as a man of the world. Much as he would have liked to think of himself that way, deep down he knew just how inexperienced he really was.
In fact, he had been a virgin until quite recently.
So he was hardly prepared for some of the things that the girl named Melinda demonstrated for him. She obviously had plenty of experience, and a bizarre imagination to go along with it.
Fox let the sensual flow carry him along, hesitating briefly at some of the things Melinda suggested but going along with her in the end.
He lost all track of time, forgot completely about Celia and the real reason he had come here tonight. Instead, he was washed away by a flood-tide of passion that left him spent and gasping and wanting only to sleep.
Indeed, he did fall asleep, Melinda's soft warmth snuggled against him in the big four-poster with its luxuriant mattress and silk sheets. Fox slept the sleep of the totally drained — but it didn't last long.
Lips pressed against his with searing heat, and his arms were suddenly full of squirming woman-flesh. Fox automatically brought his hands up to caress full breasts with taut, insistent crowns. Deep in the recesses of his brain, something struck him as strange, but he was too busy at the moment to try to identify the anomaly.
"You bitch!"
The shrill cry made Fox's eyes pop open. He found himself looking at extremely close range into Jasmine's face. Her tongue slid insistently into his mouth. On the other side of him in the bed, an angry Melinda tried to reach past him to slap Jasmine.
Fox jerked back from the dark, sloe-eyed girl and gasped, "What are you doing here?"
Melinda squealed, "She's trying to get you away from me, the no-good bitch!"
Jasmine fended off Melinda's blows and tried launching some of her own. "Yellow-haired whore!" she spat at Melinda.
Fox cowered between the struggling women, covering his head as they rained punches and slaps on each other. He was terrified, he discovered, more frightened than when he had been shot at on several occasions.
These two girls were crazy!
He had always had trouble getting one female interested in him, let alone two beautiful concubines such as these. And they were fighting over him!
Mixed in with his fear, Fox felt a sudden surge of pride.
Melinda leaped over him, getting her hands on Jasmine and rolling toward the edge of the bed with the dark-haired girl in a vicious embrace. Fox seized the opportunity and rolled the other way. He leaped up off the bed and lunged for his pants, which were draped over the back of a nearby chair.
Melinda and Jasmine fell off the bed with a thump. They were pulling hair and gouging at eyes now. Jasmine was the smaller of the two, but she possessed a wiry strength that was serving her well. She threw the blond girl off her and struggled to her feet.
As Melinda started to get up, Jasmine caught her under the arms and put all her strength into a heave. Melinda screamed as she tried to catch her balance.
Fox had his pants on by now, and that was as far as he was going to attempt to dress under the circumstances. He headed for the door as Melinda staggered into the dresser with its large, gilt-framed mirror. The impact as the girl slammed into the piece of furniture dislodged the silvered glass.
As the mirror fell with a huge crash, Fox plunged out of the room and into the hall. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew he wanted to get away from those two battling spitfires.
A man could get hurt in there!
He saw a door in front of him and slammed it open, looking only for a hiding place. As he lunged into the room, his foot slipped on the carpet and he felt his balance deserting him. He started to fall —
And suddenly there was Celia standing right in front of him, her mouth open in shock.
Celia stared dumbfounded at Fox's sprawled, half-nude form as the young man gabbled, "They're crazy! They're going to kill each other!"
Tearing her eyes away from Fox, Celia glanced over at Roland and saw that the man had reacted automatically to the intrusion. He had a small pistol in his hand, and he had drawn it from under his coat with blinding speed.
Madam Henrietta was on her feet behind the desk now. She rapped at Fox, "Who? Who's going to kill each other?"
"M-Melinda!" Fox exclaimed. "And Jasmine!"
Madam Henrietta struck the top of the desk with a small fist. "Dammit!" she grated. "They know I don't allow fighting between the girls."
Another short scream sounded from down the hall.
Madam Henrietta gestured curly. "Go break it up, Roland," she ordered in sharp tones. "And bring those two bitches back here with you!"
Roland slipped his gun back under his coat and left the room, moving quickly but not hurrying. Celia thought she saw the faintest suggestion of a smile around his thin lips as he went out.
Fox was drawing deep breaths and trying to get to his feet. Celia stepped forward and bent to take his arm. "Let me help you, sir," she said, hoping he would catch the reminder that they were not supposed to know each other.
Fox waved off her offer of assistance and managed to climb upright. He was pale and obviously shaken.
Madam Henrietta came out from behind the desk. "What in the world happened, Mr. Fox?" she asked.
Fox glanced at Celia and looked embarrassed. As well he should, Celia thought.
Madam Henrietta followed his look and reassured him, "Don't worry about Celia here. She's one of my girls, aren't you, Celia?"
Taking a deep breath, Celia started to answer, but Madam Henrietta had already turned away and was focusing her attention to Fox again.
"I . . . I'm not really sure what happened," Fox began tentatively. "I was with Melinda, as you know, and then I must have fallen asleep . . ."He glanced again at Celia and his skin took on a deeper red flush.
She wished he would stop that! If he wasn't careful, Madam Henrietta might get the idea that they weren't the strangers they were pretending to be.
"And then when I woke up, Jasmine was there, too. She and Melinda started fighting —"
Fox broke off as the door opened and Roland ushered the two girls in question into the room. Both of them were wrapped in silk sheets taken from the bed. Their hair was tousled, and each of them had several bruises and contusions on their lovely features. They glared savagely at each other, but Roland was in between them and had his hands on their shoulders, holding them apart.
Madam Henrietta faced them, furious, and their indignation immediately turned to crestfallen shame. "You girls know I don't allow any displays like this!" the older woman flared at them. "I want an explanation, and I want it now!"
Melinda glanced sullenly at Jasmine. "She came into my room and was in bed with my man. That's reason enough to go after her, isn't it?"
Madam Henrietta swung toward Jasmine. "What about it?" she demanded. "Did you do that?"
Jasmine summoned up her courage and lifted her chin. "What if I did? Judson had his way with me and then went to sleep, the worthless old —"
"Enough!" Madam Henrietta hissed. She looked over at Fox, who at t
he moment seemed intensely interested in the pattern of the carpet beneath his feet. Madam Henrietta went on, "Mr. Fox is a charming young gentleman, but I hardly see what inspired such frenzy on your part, ladies. My apologies for speaking so bluntly, Mr. Fox."
Fox murmured something and shook his head.
Celia couldn't understand it either. The fact that Fox had joined in the celebration arranged by Warren Judson was no surprise, and she supposed it was normal enough that such a party in a place like this would end up in bed. But why would any two women in their right minds fight over Fox?
"He killed those two robbers," Melinda said so softly it was almost a whisper.
"Yes," Jasmine echoed. "He is a brave man."
Oh, Lord, Celia thought. Listening to talk like this would just make Fox's head that much bigger. The young man had grown up some during the mission in Montana Territory, but if this kept up he was going to be the same jackass he had always been before.
Indeed, Fox now had a smile on his face, Celia saw. She repressed a sigh.
"I don't care what reasons you thought you had," Madam Henrietta said. "This house has a reputation to protect, and so do I. There is no fighting here, especially among the inmates. You girls will have to leave."
"No!"
The tortured cry came from both Melinda and Jasmine. No doubt they were seeing in their mind's eye the places where they would probably wind up if they had to leave Madam Henrietta's. There were other parlor houses, but none so elegant as this.
And eventually there would come the cribs and the pigpens, a sordid end if ever there was one.
Madam Henrietta was adamant. She said, "I want both of you packed and out of here within the hour. Roland, see to it that "they leave."
Roland nodded his head.
Madam Henrietta turned away, ignoring the sobs and the pleading from her two former employees. As Fox fidgeted, Roland firmly guided Melinda and Jasmine out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
As Madam Henrietta went behind her desk and sat down again with a sigh, Fox said, "I . . . I don't want to interfere —"
"Then don't," Madam Henrietta cut in sharply. "You don't understand about running a business like this, Mr. Fox. There have to be rules, and there can be no exceptions to those rules. One of mine states that there will be no fighting. Those girls knew what they were doing. Now they must pay the price." She put a smile on her face. "But perhaps we can salvage your interrupted evening. There are many other lovely young ladies who would be glad to share your company. Perhaps my newest protegee here . . ."
Celia realized with a shock that Madam Henrietta was referring to her. Quickly, she started shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, Madam Henrietta," she said. "But I've been trying to tell you all evening, I've decided not to accept your generous offer."
The older woman's mouth twisted in disappointment. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," Celia said.
Madam Henrietta shrugged in resignation. "Well, if you're determined not to do the intelligent thing, Celia, I suppose there's nothing I can do to stop you. But I am sorry you came to this conclusion."
"I'm sorry, too," Celia said, even though she wasn't.
"I'll have Roland show you out as soon as he's through with that other matter."
Celia shook her head. "There's no need. I know my way."
"Very well," Madam Henrietta nodded. She turned her attention back to Fox. "Now, sir, what shall we do to make up for this inconvenience . . . ?"
Celia slipped out of the office as Fox began to smile drunkenly in anticipation.
This evening had been a debacle, for the most part, but at least she had let Madam Henrietta know that she would not be working at the parlor house. That much would make Landrum and Glidinghawk and, ultimately, Amos Powell happy.
And Fox did seem to be insinuating himself into the inner circle most likely to be behind the plot to discover the commission's findings. So they were making progress on the mission.
But now, Celia suddenly realized, her part of the job was over. She was in the same position Fox had been earlier — no viable cover identity, nothing to do.
Well, she thought with a smile, that would leave her more time for Devlin.
The smile was still on her face as she left the mansion. She wasn't watching behind her, so she didn't see the look that passed between the two men at the front door who let her out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Despite what the carriage driver had said the first night Celia came here to Madam Henrietta's, there were no carriages in sight along the street. Celia stood for a moment, peering first one way and then the other, trying to decide what to do.
She hoped that while she hesitated, a carriage would come along that she could hire to take her back to the hotel. No such luck, she saw.
Well, there was nothing left for her to do except start back on foot. She certainly didn't want to be late for her dinner date with Devlin. Perhaps a carriage would appear on the street as she walked, and she could hail it then.
Although there were occasional streetlamps, much of the way was dark and shadowy. Celia felt a tingle of nervousness up and down her spine as she set out. Logically, she wasn't worried very much about being bothered. She had a loaded derringer in her bag, and she was good with it. And after all, she was an experienced undercover agent, accustomed to taking care of herself.
But logic did little to allay an instinctive fear of dark places. Celia grimaced and kept walking.
By the time she had gone a couple of blocks, her anxiety had eased somewhat. There were a few other pedestrians out and about — although they were all on the other side of the street — and several men on horseback had ridden by. Celia didn't think anyone would bother her as long as there were other people around.
The hand came out of an alley she was passing. It clamped on her arm and jerked her into a patch of deep shadow.
Celia opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound, another hand roughly silenced her. The palm of the hand was pressed hard against her lips, and the fingers dug brutally into her cheeks.
An arm went around her waist, pulling her against a man's body. The attacker was large and strong; a small part of Celia's brain that was still rational recognized that much.
For the most part, though, panic leaped and bounded through her, and she shrieked into the muffling hand.
A fist slammed into her belly. Two men, she thought fleetingly, there had to be two of them. Pain doubled her over in the grasp of the first one. He yanked her upright again, and a voice hissed in her ear, "Don't fight us, bitch, and we won't hurt you any more than we have to!"
There was something familiar about the low-pitched voice, but in her terror-stricken state, Celia couldn't even come close to placing it. The man turned away from the street and carried her deeper into the alley.
She was thrown down, landing hard on the floor of the alley and dropping her bag. The breath puffed out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for air and completely unable to yell for help.
One of the men dropped to a knee beside her and grabbed both of her wrists. He leaned forward heavily, pinning her arms down. The other man knelt at her legs and began pulling her dress up. Instinctively, Celia kicked out, and again she was punched hard in the stomach.
"Stop that!" the man beside her legs grated. "Just cooperate, and it'll all be over soon. Who knows, you might even enjoy it, you snooty little baggage."
Tears rolled down Celia's cheeks. She felt herself giving up. They were too strong for her, and she would be better off if she simply went along with what they wanted.
As she blinked away some of the tears, she saw that her vision had adjusted somewhat to the darkness of the alley. She could see her attackers now, and she stiffened with a shock of recognition.
They were the two doormen from Madam Henrietta's. They must have followed her when she left the house, she thought.
It didn't matter who they were. They were going to molest her, a
nd there was nothing she could do about it.
She felt cold night air on her legs. The alley floor was hard and uncomfortable under her head and back. The man holding her arms relaxed his grip somewhat as she went limp beneath him. Her right wrist slipped out of his hand, and the arm flopped bonelessly to the side. Her breathing became shallow.
The man put his hand on her chest in a sudden moment of fear. He was afraid she had stopped breathing, that they had killed her somehow. Murder had never been their intent.
He took a deep breath when he realized that Celia was still alive. Maybe she had just fainted from fear.
Celia was still barely aware of what was going on. She felt her clothes being tugged away from her body and knew, in some part of her mind, what was about to happen. But she had passed the point where she could resist it.
The fingers of her free hand brushed against something.
The nerves in her fingertips recognized the sensation. They were touching the fabric of her bag — the bag containing the derringer.
That message shot through Celia's consciousness, galvanizing her brain out of its defeated state. Suddenly, she lunged to the side, her hand reaching out and delving into the bag, which had come open when it fell. She felt the cold, hard metal of the derringer and closed her fingers on it.
"Look out!" one of the men yelled.
Celia jerked the little weapon out of the bag. She found the trigger as she jammed the muzzle into the side of the man holding her other arm.
He yelled and threw himself to the side just as she pulled the trigger. The derringer cracked wickedly, and the man let out a yelp of pain as the slug burned along his side. It didn't enter his body, though. Instead, it cut a shallow, painful crease in his flesh and then thudded harmlessly into the stone wall of the warehouse on one side of the alley.
Celia had kicked out as she fired the derringer. Her foot thumped into the chest of the other man, knocking him back away from her legs. Seizing the brief chance, Celia rolled across the alley and came unsteadily to her feet, holding the derringer out in front of her and trying to cover the two men, who were several feet apart.
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