She’d almost begged him to stay, but resisted. It was enough that Saint appeared reluctant to leave her.
“His stamina is impressive,” Madame Venna said lightly, fearing she had already revealed too much to her friend.
Anna smiled, her gaze slightly unfocused as she recalled her own experiences with the marquess. “Very much so. I know I am not the only one at the Golden Pearl who misses his visits.”
Madame Venna brought her fist to her breasts as the sharp pang of jealousy clawed at her heart. She scowled, surprised by her reaction. After all, she had been the one who had sent Anna and the other girls to Nox. It was foolish to feel threatened by encounters that took place years ago.
“Do not fret about Saint,” she said, sitting with as much dignity as she was able to muster while draped in a sheet. “For six years, he has wondered about Madame Venna, and his curiosity has been sated. Soon another lady will draw his attention and that will be the end of it.”
Anna arched her right brow. “And what of his interest in Catherine?”
Madame Venna gave her friend an exasperated look. “Well, he cannot have both of us!”
* * *
Not far from the Golden Pearl, Saint stared pensively out of one of Nox’s windows as he silently contemplated what he should do with the two women who were distracting him from his responsibilities. Neither lady was good for his sanity. This was not the first time he had flirted with danger by dallying with several women at once. Occasionally, these women were even willing to join him in bed together. Catherine and Madame Venna presented a whole new challenge, however, since they were the same woman.
Saint was in a delicate predicament, and a clever stratagem was required. If he revealed his hand too quickly, he would lose both women.
I’m such an arrogant arse, he thought. Last evening, when he’d chased after Madame Venna, he thought he might be able to seduce the truth from her lips. He dragged his hand through his hair in frustration. In his experience, it was rare for a woman to live up to the anticipation he had built in his mind. It was one of the reasons why his affairs were brief. Once the initial lust had been assuaged, he usually lost interest.
Madame Venna, the devious wench, had ruined him. He had pushed her up against the wall of her bedchamber with the intention of pounding away the six years of anger, lust, and longing he had buried deep inside him. At some point during the night, the simple animalistic act of fucking had tempered into the sensual exploration of lovemaking. As he took her body, she had taken him, filling the emptiness inside him with feelings he had not been willing to share with her.
Saint had held her in the darkness as she slept trustingly in his arms and known contentment. It was the last thing he’d expected from her. When her dreams gave way to an old nightmare, he discovered the vulnerable, frightened woman beneath the guise of brazen confidence and cool sensuality that she presented to the world.
And the scars.
Renewed fury washed over him as he thought of the thin white lines that marred her lower back and buttocks. He wanted to hunt down and murder the person responsible. Although she had not given him a name, one man knew who had raised her. Saint wondered if Lord Greenshield was aware of the brutality his daughter had suffered by the very people who were supposed to protect her.
Or was she lying?
Had she spun a heart-wrenching tale to distract Saint from his earlier questions? He immediately dismissed the thought. Madame Venna had been asleep. Her distress had not been feigned. She might have omitted numerous details, but she had told him the truth.
“Are you participating in this conversation, Saint?”
Straightening from his contemplative slouch, he glanced at Sin. “Pardon? Did you ask a question?”
Vane snorted at Saint’s puzzled expression. “He’s not listening.”
“When has he ever?” was Dare’s sarcastic retort.
Reign chuckled. “He hasn’t heard one word since he sat down.”
The news did not sit well with Sin, since he had been the one prattling on for the past twenty minutes. His hazel-colored eyes narrowed. “Are we boring you, Saint?”
“My apologies, gents. I didn’t get much sleep.” Saint scrubbed his face with his hand. “What were we talking about?”
“Well, we were discussing the latest bit of violence on King Street and what we should do about it. Since your thoughts are more interesting, perhaps you would like to share them with all of us.”
He did not have a clue what his friends were talking about. “What violence?”
Reign rolled his eyes. “I told you that he hasn’t heard a single word.”
“Spending the night in a woman’s bed will do that to a man,” Hunter said to no one in particular. Stretched out on the sofa, his eyes were shut as if he was still recovering from last evening.
There was an awkward stillness in the room as five pairs of eyes collectively shifted from Hunter to him. There were various degrees of speculation and approval in his friends’ gazes. Frost just appeared to be amused.
“Exactly what happened last evening after you left the opera house with Madame Venna?” Sin asked.
Vane brought his fist to his mouth and chuckled. “More to the point, tell us how you departed with the lady?”
Hunter laughed, too, and the two men drew curious gazes from everyone but Saint. He had forgotten that they had witnessed his departure with Madame Venna.
“What happened?” Dare asked.
Reign whistled softly. “Oh, this should be good.”
“Nothing,” Saint all but snarled at Dare. He inhaled sharply as he swiftly realized his angry outburst would only prove that something indeed had happened. Besides, there were plenty of witnesses to recount the tale. “No, that is not quite true. There was an incident with Mulcaster in the entrance hall. Madame Venna was prepared to exchange heated words with him, and I—”
“He tossed Madame V over his shoulder and carried her out of the theater,” Hunter added helpfully.
“She seemed rather upset about the whole thing,” Vane said, his face turning an unpleasant pink as he struggled not to laugh.
“Bravo, Saint,” Frost drawled, clapping his hands. “I did not think you had the bollocks to tangle with such a spirited wench again. Or did she castrate you the moment her hands were free?”
Saint smirked as he resisted raising his hand in a vulgar, insulting gesture that was bound to lead to fisticuffs. “Though it’s no business of yours, I left the Golden Pearl at dawn with my bollocks intact.”
Sin made a soft sputtering noise of surprise. “Christ, you and Madame V? When I asked you to approach the woman, I was not suggesting that you bed her.”
Frost crossed his arms over his chest. “It was a sacrifice our friend was willing to make.”
“No one asked for your opinion, Frost,” Saint muttered.
“A pity,” Frost replied, grinning at him in his smug fashion. “When I have so many to share.”
Saint knew he was being baited by his friend, but it was difficult not to respond with a fist or a swift kick to the man’s arse. “Enough. No one is interested in your games.” He looked at Sin. “Tell me more about this violence on King Street.”
Ignoring Saint’s hint, Vane leaned forward with eagerness. “Oh, I disagree. I’m very interested in hearing more about you and Madame V.”
“I concur,” Dare added before Saint could respond. “Someone once told me that the woman was celibate. Practically a nun.”
“I thought she fancied women,” Reign admitted grudgingly.
Warming to the topic, Hunter opened his eyes. “I daresay Madame V has diligently studied at the school of Sappho, so she probably prefers both men and women.”
“I can personally attest that she has a fondness for males,” Frost said, his voice softening as he recalled his night with her. “Or perhaps Saint is having difficulties—” He pinched his fingers together, his meaning all too clear to everyone.
Saint lunge
d across the table before Frost could finish his sentence. He glided on his belly, his hands going for the bastard’s throat before anyone thought to stop him. His momentum sent them both crashing to the floor.
“Not again,” muttered Sin, happily willing to step out of the way.
Reign stood next to Sin and stared down at the fighting men. “Another typical afternoon at Nox, I say. I can recall a time or two when you wanted to throttle Frost.”
Sin nodded absently. “No truer words spoken. Though Berus should be pleased. He will not have to send servants to clean this room when we have these two stubborn clods polishing the floor with their arses.”
Saint was too angry to follow his friends’ inane conversation, so he shook Frost to make certain he had his attention. “Finish that sentence and you will be gathering your scattered teeth from the rug. I have no intention of pulling out my cock for your inspection, but I can assure you that Madame Venna is not seeking to replace me with you or any other gent.”
He froze as he realized the gravity of his confession just uttered in the presence of his closest friends.
“And what of Catherine, gent?” Frost asked, flashing his white teeth. “Think she’ll mind sharing you with the proprietress of the Golden Pearl?”
Several of his friends murmured their astonishment at Frost’s audacity in provoking Saint further. Unlike his mocking friend, they were unaware that Catherine and Madame Venna were the same lady.
“One day, someone is going to grant you the eternal peace you seem to be begging for, Frost,” Saint said, releasing the earl’s throat and standing.
Frost sat up, his hands moving to his throat to straighten his cravat. “If I am to die, it will not be by your hand.”
Probably not, but he was in no mood to comfort his friend. “Just do us both a favor and refrain from speaking of Madame V in my presence.” He rubbed his temples, acutely aware that his friends were staring at him. “And Catherine. I will handle the matter on my own terms.”
Saint glanced expectantly at Sin. Thankfully, his friend took the hint.
“So we were discussing the violence on King Street,” Sin began as Reign picked up Frost’s toppled chair and Frost braced his hand on the table to stand.
Aye, by all means, let us discuss the violence just beyond the doors of Nox, Saint thought. It spared him from explaining to the Lords of Vice the reason for the seething violence within the club.
Chapter Thirty
Five days had passed since Saint had punched one of the Golden Pearl guards and pushed his way into her bedchamber, where he spent the night making love to her. He had sent a note on the second day of his absence. Accompanying the note was a beautiful half-mask to replace the once he had shattered. It was an exquisite piece created from silver that reminded Madame Venna of delicate angel wings. She treasured his thoughtful gift, and anticipated seeing him again. However, as the days passed, she began to wonder if the mask had been his way of repaying her for their night of passion.
Or some twisted form of revenge for her rejection six years earlier?
Saint had been absent from Catherine’s life as well, but the news was of little comfort to Madame Venna.
A knock at the door scattered her private thoughts.
At her command to enter, Abram opened the door. “Pardon my intrusion, Madame V.”
She waved away his apology. “What news do you bring?”
“Mulcaster has arrived. He awaits you in the blue parlor.”
“Excellent.” She rose from her chair and walked around her desk. Noting his expression, she asked, “You disapprove?”
“After what he has done, you continue to treat him like a guest,” he said starkly.
“And what would you suggest? That we toss him headfirst into a burlap sack and beat him with cudgels?” Her servant’s expression revealed that he would welcome the violence if this man was responsible for Mina’s attack. Her throaty laughter filled the room. “While I appreciate the sentiment, after some consideration, I believe a more reserved approach is necessary if we hope to gain the man’s assistance.”
“And if he refuses?”
Madame Venna hesitated. “Then by all means, you may use your cudgel, Abram.”
* * *
Saint’s afternoon showed no signs of improving when his butler announced that Lord Greenshield was requesting an audience.
Greenshield.
Saint grimaced as he slipped his arm into the empty sleeve of a freshly pressed frock coat that his valet was holding up. He did not have to be a soothsayer to know what had brought the older gentleman to his door.
“Thank you, Peters, that will be all,” he said, checking his appearance in the mirror before he turned away.
“Very good, milord.” The valet quietly collected the discarded clothing and slipped out of the room.
Saint had no inclination to speak with Greenshield about his daughter. First the man had tried to warn him off from Catherine. Understandable since his intentions were not all that honorable in the beginning. Now it was apparent that the earl was aware that his daughter was Madame Venna.
If Greenshield thought to gain his daughter’s cooperation by blackmail, their recent altercation proved it was a failed endeavor. Whether she was Catherine or Madame Venna, the woman was stubborn as well as unforgiving.
Saint was aware he had to tread carefully when it came to his dealings with her. It was one of the reasons he had decided to keep his distance for a few days. Madame Venna had a terrible habit of jumbling his thoughts.
Chapter Thirty-one
In the end, it seemed all too simple. She intended to disappear.
People went missing all the time in London. The reasons varied: accidents, murder, suicide, or mere boredom. Certainly, no one would connect Madame Venna’s abrupt departure to Catherine Deverall’s decision to leave town for a more tranquil setting. While there were some who might long for Madame Venna’s return, very few people would miss Catherine. In many ways, she was the flamboyant proprietress’s demure shadow. She had walked London’s streets with quiet confidence, but no one had truly noticed her until Saint had come into her life.
He had brought her to life in many ways, and in doing so, he had destroyed her.
Even as she mentally surveyed the wreckage of her two lives, Catherine could not work up too much anger about it. When she had created Madame Venna and opened the Golden Pearl’s doors, she knew that it would not last forever. Too many people knew her secrets. When Royles appeared on her doorstep, she should have taken it as a sign and departed.
By then, however, Saint had come into her life, and she had grown arrogant with the power she wielded. She foolishly believed that she had everything under control. In the end, people she cared about had gotten hurt because of her arrogance. She would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.
Catherine straightened as one of the servants knocked and opened the door. She glanced down at the silver half-mask in her hands. Saint had this one commissioned to replace the porcelain mask he had shattered. In truth, she no longer needed it, but she loathed to give it up since it had been a gift. Such selfless gestures were rare in her life.
She glanced blindly over her shoulder. “Take the small trunk and store the others. I will send for them when I have established my new residence.”
“Will you be taking a new name, as well?”
Catherine spun about at the sound of Saint’s voice. He looked the same, she thought as she devoured him with her gaze, memorizing every detail. She had not expected to see him again. It seemed kinder for everyone to avoid the awkward, emotional farewells her departure would have engendered.
“You—you know?”
He gave her a level look and shut the door so no one would overhear them. “Know what, Catherine? That you are Madame Venna, one of the most infamous madams in London? A heartless jade who has been lying to me since our first meeting?”
Catherine flinched. She deserved every accusation
and more, but the disappointment she read in his eyes stung. “Not heartless, Saint. Never with you, and that was always the problem.”
His expression did not lose its harshness at her admission.
When Saint remained silent, she could not resist asking, “How long have you known?”
“The evening at the Sinclairs,” he said in a clipped voice.
Saint had behaved oddly that night. Catherine recalled him and Frost arguing about something. Her? “Does Frost know?”
“All of my friends know the truth, Catherine. We try not to keep secrets from one another.” He stepped toward her, his hands behind his back, stopping when his face was inches from hers. “Lying to those who love you never ends well.”
She bit her lip, fighting back the urge to cry. Clearing her throat, she struggled to keep her calm demeanor. “Well then, your news only confirms my suspicions that it is time to leave London. I should have done so years ago, only I—”
“What?” He leaned closer, refusing to let her go quietly. “Did you stay to be close to the family who never wanted you? Or did you remain because you could not let me go … let us go? For once in your life, why do you not try the truth?”
Her eyes narrowed at his disrespectful tone, and her own temper flared. “I remained because the Golden Pearl was making me a very rich woman. Why would I give up such a lucrative business venture?” Madame Venna rose to the surface as she boldly caressed his handsome face. “Wealth, power … and the gentlemen wielding it were so eager to share my bed.”
“Enough! No more games.”
“Oh, and here I thought we were just getting started, mon coeur,” she said in the proprietress’s heavy accent. She did not believe it was possible, but Saint’s austere expression became even grimmer.
Catherine sighed in defeat.
Saint was correct. It was time to end the games between them. “Fine. You win.”
“You never answered my question,” he said, touching her on the arm to keep her from retreating. “Will you change your name?”
Catherine shrugged. “I—I suppose so. Madame Venna can never return to London. It makes sense that Catherine Deverall disappears, too.” She began to fidget when he neither agreed nor disagreed. Finally, she blurted out, “What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you before I departed.”
All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess Page 20