The walls were covered in a burgundy red paint, and comfortable chairs and settees were scattered throughout the room. The bar to the side of the large parlor did a brisk business as patrons awaited tonight’s main event. No whores mingled downstairs, and Warren frowned as the men became increasingly restive. He coughed as the heavy smoke vied with the cloying sweetness of perfume for supremacy. He watched as the Madam’s shadow and henchman, Ezekial, stood at the base of the stairs, his strong arms crossed over his chest and a billy club protruding from his back pocket, discouraging any foolish man from attempting to climb the stairs for a preview.
Warren nodded at Ewan MacKinnon, the youngest MacKinnon brother, who sidled up next to him. “I would have thought you’d given up such entertainment,” Warren said in a low voice as he accepted a glass of whiskey from his friend. He raised his glass as though drinking from it but failed to take a sip.
Ewan noticed his actions and nodded in understanding. “Do you believe the town’s reporter would be denied her story? She sent me in her stead with a demand to memorize everything said.”
Warren chuckled. “Only you would end up newly married to a woman who encourages you to continue your debauched ways.”
Ewan shrugged in agreement, his lips turned up in a mischievous smile. “Some men have all the luck.”
“Well, you better wish me mine if I’m to save that young woman from a complete disaster.” Soon the regular prostitutes sashayed down the stairs, and Warren stood taller, still exuding an air of bored ennui.
The women formed a sort of honor guard around the base of the stairs, bland, impersonal smiles pasted on their faces. When men catcalled, the women would flip a skirt, flashing pantaloons or hitching a shoulder so a dress slipped scandalously close to baring their breasts. Two thunks at the top of the stairs quieted the growing excitement of the men as they looked up to see the Madam with a woman dressed in white, a veil covering her face.
“For the love of God,” Warren muttered. “She’s consigning Helen to a life in a whorehouse, not …” He grunted when Ewan jabbed him in his side. However, Warren remained quiet and kept his thoughts to himself as the Madam remained motionless at the top of the stairs, drawing out the onlookers’ anticipation.
The Madam, dressed in a well-fitting, yet relatively demure scarlet dress with black lace at the wrists and neck, murmured something to the woman under the veil. Her hand was clamped around the young woman’s wrist, and they slowly walked down the stairs.
“That’s different,” Ewan muttered in Warren’s ear. “Generally the woman in the veil remains at the top of the stairs and comes down alone. It’s how the Madam likes to do things here. She believes it makes it more of a spectacle for her customers.”
When they reached the bottom step, the Madam continued into the room, while the veiled woman remained on the last step, slightly elevated for the men of the room to see her better. Grace reached up and took her hand, with Ezekial to one side near the Madam.
“Gentlemen! I thank you for joining in this momentous occasion.” She spread out her arms as though in a magnanimous gesture. “For tonight, you will have the opportunity to avail yourself of a rare and priceless gift.”
She walked in front of the stairs, preventing any overeager man from attempting to remove the veil earlier than she would like. She murmured to Helen, “You know what is expected of you.” She nodded at Grace who still gripped the veiled woman’s wrist, as though bolstering her courage or preventing her from bolting from the scene.
“Show us the girl first! We shouldn’t pay for what we haven’t seen!” one man yelled out, and others bellowed their agreement.
“Gentlemen, have I ever led you astray?” She opened her arms like a showman and pointed to the overly rouged and corseted women who worked for her. At the men’s resounding catcalls, the Madam smiled like a satisfied feline. “However, I agree you should see how remarkable she is, as I suspect many will be willing to bid, and bid well, for her.”
Warren eased farther back into the shadows of the room and remained out of the Madam’s sight. He watched as she moved to the veiled woman’s other side, her lips moving as she again whispered something to the woman. Rather than calm her, the veiled woman shook. He saw Grace’s hold on her tighten.
“Gentlemen, I give you … Angel!”
In an instant, the veil was raised and tossed into the rabid crowd. Warren cursed, his faint hope dashed that Alistair had been incorrect. Helen Jameson stood in a mockery of a woman approaching her groom on her wedding night. Although she wore a white nightdress, a tight-fitting corset that pushed up her breasts was worn underneath. Her hair was tightly curled, cheeks heavily rouged although her cheeks were as pale as a porcelain doll’s, and her eyes were heavily kohled, making her look like a raccoon.
“She already looks like one of ’em,” Ewan muttered.
Men shouted out bids, and the Madam preened with delight. The fear in Helen’s eyes seemed to spark even more intense bidding, and soon the highest bid stood at $150.
“Is that the final bid?” the Madam called out as she looked around the room. “One hundred and fifty? Going once.” She paused. “Going twice.”
“Two hundred,” Warren said in his deeply authoritative voice.
“Oh, my!” The Madam fanned herself. “It seems you are highly sought after!” When no one challenged Warren’s bid, the Madam shouted, “Sold, to the man in the corner. And might I congratulate you on your winning bid.”
Her smile dimmed as he stepped from the shadows and met her now-horrified gaze. The crowd separated to form a path for him as he approached the Madam. She belatedly shooed her girls to work the room and to distract the men present. Her hand clamped around Helen’s wrist, although Helen appeared rooted in place at the sight of Warren.
“Hello, Madam,” Warren said with an undertone of steel in his low voice. “I believe we should take this conversation to a more private location.”
“You tricked me!” she hissed.
“I did no such thing. You held a public auction. And I participated. Nothing was said about excluding lawyers.” He met her panicked gaze. “I believe your office is that way?” He nodded toward a darkened hallway.
The Madam turned and spoke with her henchman, Ezekial, who hovered behind her, motioning for him to circulate around the room. “Ensure they remain safe. I want no fights tonight.”
Warren held out his elbow for Helen after glaring at the Madam to release her. When Helen stood with a moment of indecision, he whispered, “Either grab my arm and allow me to help you out of this debacle you created or I will throw you to this roomful of men who know no mercy.” Helen wisely grabbed his arm and walked with him as they followed the Madam down the darkened hallway.
They entered her office, and he shut the door behind them. He felt Helen quivering beside him, and he settled her into a chair, although he remained standing as he faced the Madam. He waited with feigned patience as she paced behind her desk.
“How could you, Mr. Clark? You know how important nights like this are to me! To the success of the Boudoir.” She glared at him. “How could you?”
He cocked his head to the side in confusion. “I have aided you with a few contracts. Nothing more. I owe you nothing.”
She stilled. “Except two hundred dollars.”
He studied her. “If we come to an agreement, you’ll have your money.”
She let out an indignant huff before sitting in her high-back chair. She took a deep breath, as though to calm herself, and crossed her hands in front of her. “Always a lawyer. What are your terms?”
He sat next to Helen and battled a frown as he sensed her cringe away from him. “What were your plans for Miss Jameson?”
The Madam glared at Helen as though she were an expensive object, promised and then denied. “She’s yours for the evening. There will be a less profitable auction tomorrow night. Those with less-discerning tastes still find a woman with minimal partners worth a premium.”
Warren nodded. “And then?”
The Madam shrugged. “Then she will learn the meaning of hard work.” Her voice cooled. “For the first time in her life.”
“How does that sound to you, Helen? Is that the life you desire?” He waited as she maintained a bowed head while she studied her clasped hands in her lap. “Do you dream of being passed from man to man, dead by the time you are thirty from some disease? Is that what you imagine for the next eight years of your life?”
“Stop it!” she whispered. “I knew what I was doing when I came here.”
He cupped her cheek to force her to look at him. “Did you? Truly?” He saw the embarrassment and shock in her gaze, and he turned to face the Madam. His hand dropped to cover her tightly laced fingers.
“Here is my proposal. Miss Jameson leaves with me tonight. You were a fool if you believed I would ever be content with a few stolen hours in a small crib upstairs.” He glared the Madam into silence when she opened her mouth to protest. “Where Miss Jameson goes and what she does from now on is of no concern to you.”
“You couldn’t be more incorrect. She made a contract with me.”
“A binding contract?”
The Madam nodded.
“If so, I would be interested in seeing it.” He waited as he saw the Madam blush. “I know you aren’t foolish enough to have a written contract. Thus, a verbal contract between you and your girls is not binding. If Miss Jameson chooses to leave, she has every right to.”
“She’s cost me money!” The Madam’s roar was loud enough Warren suspected those in the front room heard it.
“On the contrary. She’s earned you more than you generally earn in a month.” He pinned her with a dark glower. “If you’re worried about a little makeup and a white nightgown, your finances must be in worse shape than is rumored.”
“She was to work off her brother’s debts. He’s had a bad run lately, and I foolishly allowed him credit.”
Warren’s gaze cooled further as he beheld the Madam’s desperation. “Miss Jameson has no responsibility for Walter’s debts.” He watched the Madam with a calculating glint in his eyes. “Does he really have debts, or is that another fabrication you created in your argument to convince Miss Jameson to work here? For, although you understand little about family and loyalty, Miss Jameson does.”
He waited, but the Madam clamped her jaw shut as she refused to respond.
“As for my bid, you’ll have your money. I refuse to have you attempt to sully my reputation in this town, even though I doubt you would be successful.”
“Always so chivalrous, aren’t you, Mr. Clark?” the Madam said in a seething tone. “I hate to think of what will happen when your high standards aren’t met.”
He met her challenging gaze and continued as though she had not spoken. “However, you will not earn any more money from Miss Jameson ever again. Nor will you discuss what you perceive to have lost with anyone.” He speared her with an intense glare. “Is that understood?”
She nodded her understanding that the town lawyer had outmaneuvered her. “You won’t always be around to help her.”
Warren took a deep breath. “I sincerely hope you are mistaken.” He tossed a bagful of coins and bills onto her desk. “I believe you’ll find I’ve been generous, Madam.” He rose, his hand gripping Helen’s as he tugged her to her feet. “We’ll bid you a good evening.”
When they departed the Madam’s office, he paused. He slipped out of his dark winter jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “If I could, I’d find another dress for you. However, as it is, you must walk to my home as you are currently dressed.”
“I can’t possibly—”
“Not now, Helen,” he hissed, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him. He led her farther down the darkened hallway, through the empty kitchen and out the back door.
“Should I be alarmed at how well you know the inside of the Boudoir?”
“I’ve been here only during the day and only to review contracts.” He slung an arm over her shoulder in an attempt to keep her warm on the short walk to his house. They crossed the street, and he glared at a few men who loitered outside the Stumble-Out, the town’s most popular saloon, gratified when she burrowed into his side.
He unlocked his front door, ushering her inside his home as he lit a lamp in his parlor. When he saw her hovering at the parlor entrance, her shaking intensifying, he scratched at his head. “Come.” He walked down the hallway, thrusting a door open. He waited, his agitation mollified by her hesitant steps. “I’m not going to attack you.”
When she reached him, he backed up another step so she could peer into the room. He handed her the oil lamp. “This is your room. I borrowed a dress from Annabelle, and fresh water is in the ewer.” He paused as he saw her raise a hand to her mouth as she fought tears. “I’ll await you in the parlor.”
He turned to give her privacy as her hand snagged his arm. An embarrassed entreaty in her eyes prevented him from teasing her, and he waited for her to speak.
“I … I can’t undo the laces at my back,” she whispered. She hunched over, showing him the intricately tied row. He grabbed one of the laces, pulling it free. After a moment, the dress gaped open. She huffed out mortified laughter as his hands had deftly untied her corset.
“Come find me when you’re comfortable,” he whispered as he saw her clutching the clothes to her chest. The door slammed shut, and he returned to the parlor to pour himself a drink from a decanter near his chair. He built up the fire and then sat in his worn high-back leather chair, taking a few sips of his drink before setting it aside while he awaited her return.
When she poked her head into the parlor, her wheat-colored hair was in a braid down her back, and all traces of makeup had been scrubbed away.
He sighed, wishing he could as easily erase the trepidation from her hazel eyes.
When he remained silent, she slipped into the room and curled onto the settee. She tugged at Annabelle’s dress, her curves more generous than Annabelle’s.
He frowned at her actions. “I’ll see if Sorcha can come and help you with your clothes.”
“There’s no need. I won’t be here longer than tonight.”
Her husky voice sent a shiver down his spine. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. “Where will you go? You will have spent the night in my house with no chaperone. You will be seen as damaged goods. You are damaged goods after your time at the Boudoir.”
She hugged her arms around her middle. “I’m sure I can find a miner who would take me.”
He glared at her. “So a miner is better than me?” He flushed as she jerked at his harsh words. “Why, Helen? Why did you go to the Boudoir?”
She blinked rapidly, but tears coursed down her cheeks. “I had no choice.”
“You always had a choice. Tell me you knew that!”
She flushed and nodded.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t come tonight? If I hadn’t been able to bid highly enough for you?” He set down the crystal tumbler with a loud crack. “What do you think would have happened when the man who bid on you realized you weren’t a virgin?”
She flushed. “I doubt—”
“Oh, I can assure you, you would have been found out. And rather than hear about your downfall at the Boudoir, I would have attended your funeral.” He took a deep breath. Then another. “Why, Helen?”
She rubbed at her cheek and shook her head. “I’d already fallen for your false promises once. I wasn’t about to fall for them again.”
He rose and paced to the mantel. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “You wanted nothing to do with me after … after we made love.” His whispered words emerged as though ripped from him. “You treated me as though I were a leper.”
She let out a scoffing laugh. “Yes, make this my fault. Seduce me, bed me and then be affronted because I have enough pride not to want to spend my life tied to a man who saw me as a duty and an embarrassment
.” She glared at him when he spun to stare at her. “You couldn’t even meet my eyes when you proposed. And you looked as though you wanted to vomit.”
“I did want to be ill. I’d consumed a god-awful amount of whiskey the night before.” He flinched when he saw her shrink into herself at his harsh words. “Forgive me. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I had, but …” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Helen, for three years I’ve avoided you. I’ve tried to abide by your wishes. But I couldn’t tonight.”
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“Marry me. As we should have three years ago.” His hopeful expression dimmed as she rose, her cheeks flushed with agitation.
“How dare you continue to make a mockery out of me.” She shook her head in disillusioned wonder. “Do you remember these words?” She poked him in his shoulder. “‘No man could find true pleasure with her, but I suppose she’ll do.’ Or how about these? ‘She’s as attractive as a heifer, but I don’t have to see her in the dark.’”
He stared at her dumbfounded. “Helen, you’re speaking utter nonsense.”
She screeched with fury and belted him in his chest. “I never wanted to see you again after the misery of the following morning when I realized your cousin had made a bet that you wouldn’t be able to seduce me.” She backed away before she touched him again, even in anger. “I found a way out of the misery of my life with my mother. I found a way to survive. Now you’d have me be dependent on you, and I hate you for that.”
He gripped her shoulders and gave her a small shake. “You’d be dependent on me rather than a bunch of randy miners.” He watched her with a tortured expression. “I swear, I don’t remember saying those words you recited. I remember nothing about a bet.”
“And you, a lawyer? I thought you’d have a better memory,” she taunted, pushing him so hard he stumbled until he sat in his chair again. She turned away, her shoulders shaking as a sob burst forth.
Montana Renegade (Bear Grass Springs Book 4) Page 2