Chapter 3
William was agitated and short-tempered. No matter what he did over the last two weeks since being in that carriage with the cherry girl, no matter which starlet he spoke to, he burned inside, aching for God knew what. He certainly did not know why he was so cantankerous, barking at everyone he was near. His knuckles kept popping as he made unrelenting fists at no one in particular.
She was ignoring him.
She hated him.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye while she toiled away off to the side of the stage.
She never looked at him, and she acted like he didn’t exist.
Fine. He had things to do. He was busy, dammit.
Only . . . His eyes flitted over to her once more.
She was bent over a prop, cleaning it with a rag.
That damn cherry girl thought he’d meant to take her against her will in that carriage ride.
Maybe if he explained.
Wait. He didn’t explain himself to anyone. He was William Berling Ferrismore III—a man of privilege and means.
He could have taken hold of her womanly flesh if he had wanted to without anything ill befalling him afterward.
But why would he do that? Forcing himself on a woman was not his way. And why did he still care all these days later what she thought about him?
He had plenty of women at his disposal. Surely he could find one somewhere that would be all too happy to bend over and suck it for him if he told them to. But she . . .
He swiped his hands down his face for the hundredth time today.
She did not want him. Why did that burn so badly?
His head ached as he cast one more fleeting glance at her.
Did she never smile?
She seemed so sullen back there and lonely.
His cherry girl should be singing and smiling.
His? Cherry girl? When had she become his?
Probably since he started following her home from a distance after she left the theater over the last two weeks.
There were protesters. They might cause her trouble.
Only no one ever seemed to cause her trouble. She had a saucy mouth on her if they tried.
He knew this himself.
His cock twitched as if in agreement.
God, she was driving him mad.
“One more time!” he yelled at Lenora. “Do it properly this time. Make sure you enunciate.”
Lenora scowled at him, huffed, then did it once more.
It was better, but only slightly. Until the end note when she went off-key.
The damnable woman was not meant for those high, sustained notes.
He raked his hands through his hair. “No, no, no! Lenora—sing out! I can barely hear you, and I am seated in the front row!” He pounded his right fist into his left palm. “Pitch, pitch, pitch! You must concentrate.”
He could have sworn there was a small twist in Cherry girl’s lips as she kept cleaning in the background.
“Why are you even here? You never attend rehearsals,” Lenora said, her hands on her curvy hips.
His eyes jerked to the side. Cherry girl was sweeping something up, and dammit it all straight to the inferno of hell, she was singing to herself.
Why did he die inside to hear her sing again?
What was this monstrous pain pinching worse than ever in his ribs? Would it ever go away?
He’d been dealing with it for half a month now, and this was unacceptable.
“You, girl!” He snapped his fingers at Cherry. “Get over here on stage this instant.”
She ignored him and pretended like she was busy.
“I said, servant girl, you are needed,” he repeated at a deafening level so she would have to acknowledge him addressing her.
Still, no response.
Lenora rolled her eyes and laughed, evidently thinking Cherry girl beneath her own singing skills.
William jumped up onto the stage, stalked toward Cherry, startling her when he gripped her behind the elbow.
She yelped when he dragged her out to the center of the stage. Her hands batted at his, and she struggled to get away.
He leaned into her ear when he deposited her where he wanted her. “Impress me. Sing loud and clear. The song you sang me in the carriage.”
Cherry’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Now, ma petite, or I shall humiliate you beyond what you can handle.” He squeezed the back of her elbow, then let go.
She stood, wooden, and her eyes were big and blank.
“Sing so Lenora can hear what a voice should sound like on the stage.” He smirked, hopped off the stage and went to the back wall. “I want to hear you from here.”
Cherry pulled her shoulders back, and she began the first song she’d shared with him.
It was timid, but still louder than Lenora.
“Louder, and not that song—the other one. The tawdry love affair song,” he shouted.
Her eyes flew open really wide, but Lenora’s were wider as she gasped and feigned mortal offense.
“How have you heard her sing?” Lenora asked him, shouting so he could hear her.
“None of your concern,” he answered, then went right back to focusing on the woman that actually had talent and made his stones tighten in his trousers. “Cherry girl! Sing like you did before. Show them what you can do.” He waved in the air, encouraging her.
Cherry smoothed her hair back, clasped her hands at the level of her pubis, and then she began.
Her voice was smooth as silk on water and warmer than any bath he’d ever dunked his aching body into. She gave him delicious chills that raked up and down his arms. He had to cross them over his stomach that was knotting inside.
My God, she was breathtaking when she was singing.
Only . . . these words were different.
They were less tender and loving, and a little more erotic.
Was she trying to spite him and make a mockery of him?
“Laid bare and full of love, he took her as he grasped her hair. She wore his cravat across her feet, bound to him and could not speak. If she but were a maid again, would he love her? Would he love her? Or doth he take what is not his because he can? Does he love her? Does he love her? It is in vain to open arms, to a man that cannot see. He will bind her, yes, he’ll bind her, but she will never be truly right and free.” Cherry stared straight at him.
What the fuck was she saying? Was she supposed to be talking about him? Was this some hidden message?
He hadn’t taken her and she had bound him, not the other way around, much to his dismay.
Well, at the time he was too shocked and aroused to do much about it, mostly because he was curious what she would do.
Now, as his cock throbbed and pulsed with anger and sheer lust, he slapped his hand on the wall.
“Sing Lenora’s part now. Show her how loud she must be!” He waved again.
Cherry glared at him but did as he asked, only louder this time.
Dear Lord, she was clear as water in a glass. Her throat was open, her head lifted and he could hear her as well as he had in that carriage when she’d been only three feet in front of him.
How was she able to do this without proper training?
At the end of the song, she dropped her voice an octave, though that was not how the song was meant to be. Her range quickly climbed as the song swelled, and it was so impressive hearing her go from that low, throaty sound to that high-pitched, sweet, aching, tormented sound, that his toes were actually curling on him.
Damn. She was too alluring.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of her tiny waist, her ample breasts and her flaring hips.
“This is absurd! Too showy. The song does not go like that,” Lenora said, then she broke into the song without accompaniment, and it sounded god-awful.
Birds sounded better than that when he shot a bullet through their side.
“Stop that infernal caterwauling!” William stomped toward the
edge of the stage, but Cherry girl was gone once he arrived at that spot. “Where did she go?”
A few shrugs were tossed his way, then mostly blank stares.
Lenora was no help as she looked affronted at his insults.
“We are changing the parts.” He pointed at Lenora. “Only acting for you. No singing. We will put a wig on her, and she will double for you whenever you sing.”
“I will not leave the stage for that! People will know it’s not me!” Lenora pointed back, stabbing her finger in the air at him with each vehement word. “You are not the director. You do not have a say in this!”
He turned on her, teeth bared. “I am the producer. I pay for this shitty place to exist, so you will do as I command!”
She stomped off the stage, and he turned to the director. “Allen, you do as I say. She will not sing. People will demand their money back if we allow her to do that.”
“Perhaps if we had that other lady sing off stage, maybe behind the curtains and Lenora just mouthed the words?” Allen suggested.
“Perhaps. We shall see what they are both capable of.” William went after the cherry girl, searching everywhere.
Once more, she had vanished.
This girl was better at hiding than she was at singing, and that seemed damn near impossible.
* * *
Clarissa strode down the street, never pausing for anything.
She needed to be away from that hideous man. Well, not hideous on the outside.
She had a hard time not staring at that much beauty—but he was out to humiliate her on an epic scale.
How dare he single her out like that and make a fool of her! She had been given no warning, hadn’t practiced or even really warmed up.
She sounded atrocious, and now if anyone there decided to gossip about her, she would never make it at an audition and truly be on stage.
That man was the devil in nice trousers with an enticing broad chest and dashing smile.
She hoped next time he jumped on stage he’d fall on his face and lose his front teeth. It would only be fair.
Her mind went through all he’d said. He did warn her. He said he would humiliate her, and that he did.
She kicked the wall when she stopped to take a breath outside a candy shop.
Inside there was a mother with two small girls—they laughed as she handed them both a sucker.
Clarissa’s heart clenched in response.
Her own mother had taken her here once.
Clarissa had been a good girl, practiced her piano and sang for her mother, taking to her lessons well. Her sister, Shelly, did not, so she only got a small taffy.
Once they were out of the shop and back home, Clarissa had shared her sucker with her little sister.
They giggled as they hid under the blankets in their room and ate it together.
How Clarissa missed her family.
They were gone now—had been for a few years, but it was fine. Clarissa did not need anyone.
She would survive like she always did, and she would find a way to use her talents while also making some money to pay for her rent.
She tripped her way down Cherry Street, ignoring all the inebriated men lying in the gutters, dirty and smelling of filth.
A nun passed by her and dipped her head in acknowledgment.
“Hi, Sister Rosalind,” Clarissa greeted.
“Good afternoon to you,” the sister replied, then kept going.
No one stood in Cherry Street for too long. It was a dangerous place to be, but unfortunately, it was the quickest way to Clarissa’s home.
When she got to her door, she scratched at it.
She’d forgotten her key this morning. Just like yesterday.
Why was her head such a mess? All she could do was drag herself out of bed and sneak peeks at that insufferable Ferrismore. Why must he be so commanding in a room?
He should sing. His voice was a hypnotic tenor with deep undertones of something seedy and dark. Very corruptible, that man.
She took a deep breath and listened closely for her cousin’s footsteps.
“Clary, why are you all huddled out here like this?” he asked when he whisked the door open.
“It’s a little chilly, and I forgot my keys again,” she said.
He ushered her inside and locked the door right away.
“Leo, sing with me?” she asked, rubbing her arms to fend off the chills.
“Why are you insisting it is cold? It was a warm day—unseasonably so,” he said, his eyes slanting toward each other as he studied her. “Was it that man again? Was he pestering you?”
“No, no.” She swatted at the air like he was the one being a pesky fly. “I did not even notice him today . . .” Much. If every thirty seconds could be considered not much.
It was a vast improvement from the last few days where she could barely keep an eye on her work at all.
He smirked. “Liar. Your right eye twitches, and your nostrils flare when you are hiding something.”
“Oh, you are such the sleuth. You have discovered my secret infatuation with the biggest ass in the country.” She rolled her eyes. “Will you sing with me now?”
“Later. I want to eat. I just got back from the rail station.”
She followed after him over to their tiny stove. Even though she knew it was ridiculous, she pretended to still be icy and proceeded to warm her hands at the stove’s heat.
“It was a rough day’s work. Miller got hurt again.” He sighed. “I tried to tell him what the signs said, but he couldn’t remember. I wish I had time to teach him how to read.”
“Oh dear!” Her eyes went wide. “What happened?”
“Lost a finger,” he said, shrugging. “It happens. He was working on one of the wheels on the train and the loose bolts beneath him I had warned him about, slipped, taking his finger off as the wheel rolled over his digit.”
“That is truly awful!” Her stomach lurched.
The horror stories he shared with her were nauseating at times.
“Well, I am in search of better employment. Maybe you should leave that line of work.” With a long wooden spoon, she poked at the soup he had on the boil.
“What do you mean ‘you are in search’?” He almost yelled, then gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “Did you lose your position again at the theater?”
“No, I just find the conditions deplorable. I have a mind to join the strikes,” she said.
“You do not have to lie to me.” He squeezed her arm, then released it.
She couldn’t go back to the music hall. Not when she had such trouble staying away from Ferrismore, and he clearly despised her and was willing to put her on the stage only to mock and ridicule her to his heart’s delight.
Leo sighed. “Cousin, you must temper your emotions. Too many times you speak what is in your mind, when it should be properly stowed away and marked with a warning label like the ones at the station.”
She grinned. “You have the best imagination. It is no wonder I can create new lyrics so well after being near you.” And after being near Ferrismore as well, but she needn’t voice that.
Today was a prime example of the kinds of lewd thoughts Ferrismore inspired—it came out in that repulsive song she sang.
Why hadn’t she stopped before she made a complete and utter fool of herself?
“You give me too much credit. Now, let’s eat. I am hungrier than any man alive.” He patted his tummy right after it growled.
She laughed, and while he placed the pot of soup on the table over a mitt, she got down two bowls and secured two spoons.
“Do you think you’ll ever marry?” she asked as he was taking the first bite.
“Probably not. I can barely afford to keep you around.” He smirked and slurped another mouthful.
“I pay my own way. You do not provide for me,” she reminded him.
He nodded. “Too true, but I do feel responsible for you at times. It’s a burden I am not good at hand
ling. I have female friends, and it is enough.”
“Like that Felicity? Are you still spending your lunch time in search of her company?”
He was entirely too fond of that prostitute.
“She has moved to new quarters, so, no. I do not. And it is fine. I am certain she is much happier with her new dwelling.”
“Oh. I am . . . s-sorry.” She realized this most likely meant that Felicity had become a permanent mistress of some wealthy man who was keeping her in a nicer part of town.
His back was rigid and his hand fisted his spoon so tight, the veins on his hand were prominent and appeared angry.
“It’s neither of our concern. Some day we will live in a nicer part of town as well.”
She nodded. “Yes, I am sure that will be the way of it.”
Nowhere near Ferrismore, though.
Her heart sunk, and her imagination told her to find it in her soup, for she had lost her appetite as well.
“You will sing with me tonight, though, correct?” she asked, watching him carefully.
“I will. But only for a little bit. I am very tired, and I must be up early tomorrow. There’s much to do. We have a new shipment coming in, and even though I am there for maintenance and as part of the construction crew, they have asked me to help. It’s supposed to be a really large shipment. One of the largest they’ve ever had. And most of it belongs to those Vanderbilts and your very own Ferrismore himself.” He laughed and wrinkled his nose like he smelled something foul.
“He is not mine.”
“Yes, dear. Whatever you would like to believe, I am sure it is so,” he teased.
She pushed up to standing, dumped the remains of her soup into the fire, and he squawked, “That is food I would have eaten!”
“Shame. Since you are in such a jovial mood, thrusting barbs my way, I thought you might need some smoke to add to the devilish atmosphere in here.”
She went to her bedroom—well, their bedroom—and she dropped down onto her bed.
Her shoes came off right away, and she rubbed her sore feet.
“I am sorry,” Leo said from the doorway a moment later.
“It is fine. I am tired, too.”
“And cranky,” he added, grinning.
“Yes, that as well.” She waved him off. “Go eat. We will sing after. I need to rehearse.”
Pearl on Cherry Page 4