In Deep

by Chloe Harris

  This wasn’t the man she’d just spent two glorious days with.

  Neglecting to tie his hair back, he put on his clothes, still draped over the chair, in a hurry.

  Jaidyn sat stunned on the bed, helplessly watching the fantasy world of the last few days fade back into harsh reality so swiftly and unexpectedly that her head and her heart both ached.

  He stalked to the door.

  There he looked back at her. She could see the scorn and contempt in his eyes. He was leaving her. Just like that.

  Biting her lower lip, Jaidyn averted her eyes and reached blindly for the blanket, turning away from the door, away from him. She couldn’t bear to watch him go. She thought her heart was smashed into a thousand pieces. She covered herself even more, hiding her face in the sheet, and blinked a lonely tear away. The stifling feeling of yet another betrayal made her heart howl and thud like a wounded beast against the bars in her chest.

  The doorknob turned.

  And the worst part of it all was, she couldn’t even blame him. She’d fooled herself.

  Jaidyn flinched when the door fell shut.

  Then there was silence. Silence, confusion, and an ache in the soul so bad and abrupt she thought she’d go mad.

  4

  _____________________________

  Looking out the window to the busy street below, Jaidyn sighed to herself. Here she was, right back in Madame Poivre’s sitting room that was tucked away at the very back of the house. The room was different than the rest of the bawdy house or whatever fancy name the Madame preferred. Still, it was what it was. But in here friendly cream-colored wallpapers with golden fleurs-de-lis patterns welcomed her; a cream and burgundy striped settee invited her to sit.

  Only a week before, Jaidyn had bravely declared she was willing to do anything to earn as much money as possible to get to Georgetown in the Carolinas. The Madame was reluctant, but Jaidyn had insisted.

  And what did she have to show for it now? A broken heart and the knowledge that she couldn’t continue to do this. After all she’d been through, she couldn’t have imagined that it could have gotten any worse.

  Jaidyn was hurt and angry. But at least this time it had been her own fault. She’d decided to go to work for the Madame.

  She’d been a bloody fool, let herself get caught up in her own stupid fantasies and fall for Connor. She’d known it was wrong.

  It couldn’t have lasted anyway.

  It was stupid, and there was really no one to blame but herself.

  The sound of the door opening drew her out of her thoughts. Madame Poivre and her turban swept into the room and Jaidyn gave her a hesitant smile. Silently, they both took their seats at the small tea table. After a quick perusal, the knowing look in the Madame’s eyes had Jaidyn ever more wary.

  “Vell, my dear Jaidyn.” The rouge on the older woman’s lips was melting into the tiny wrinkles around her mouth as she frowned. “I ’ate to say it, but you look a little vorse for vear.”

  Jaidyn took the cup she offered, her mouth as dry as parched leather. The sleeves bit into her shoulders and upper arms. The stomacher was too wide and the skirts ended above her ankles, but what could you expect from a borrowed dress? “Actually, what I’d like to talk to you about has something to do with that.”

  “I can only imagine.” Madame Poivre let out a grave sigh that sounded a bit too exaggerated. “And if you don’t mind me asking, it vouldn’t be because you ’ave fallen for Monsieur O’Driscole, vould it?”

  Jaidyn’s cup shook slightly in her hand, so she set it back down. “No, of course not,” she retorted quickly.

  “Tut-tut-tut!” Madame Poivre clucked her tongue. “I alvays tell my girls that is the number one rule!” She flicked her wrist and rolled her eyes, gasping, “But there you go vith your very first client.”

  “But I didn’t!” Jaidyn protested. Perhaps if she denied it often enough, she’d believe it herself.

  Madame Poivre waved her objection away and that blasted turban jiggled like flotsam, chiming in the Madame’s disapproval.

  “Oh please, you think after all this time in the business I can’t tell.”

  “Fine.” Suppressing a grumble, Jaidyn crossed her arms on her chest and tapped a foot a few times. There was no point in contradicting her any more.

  “So now maybe you’ll agree vith me that this isn’t the best vay to earn your passage north?”

  Squaring her shoulders, Jaidyn thrust her chin up. “Yes. But what can I do?”

  Madame Poivre patted her knee in a soothing manner. “There must be something else. Vat other skills do you ’ave?”

  Jaidyn searched her brain for something else she could be of assistance with here. Sadly, nothing came to her mind. She wasn’t even fit to clean carpets, never having done such chores before.

  “As I said before …” Jaidyn hated that her voice sounded so meek. “I’m best with–”

  “Yes, yes, ’orses, I know. I can’t use that. And you don’t make ’ats.”

  Jaidyn shook her head. “I never especially liked hats. Neither wearing nor embellishing them.” In her frustration, Jaidyn picked up a currant cake and took a huge bite.

  “Sew or embroider?”

  Ridding the corner of her mouth of a few stray crumbs with the tip of her tongue, she gulped down the bun. “I kept pricking myself too much.”

  “Hmm.” Madame Poivre tapped the side of the sugar cone with her teaspoon. “Maybe you could entertain clients in some vay vile they vait. Do you sing?”

  “Not well, no.” Jaidyn was tempted to reach for another roll of currant cake.

  “Do you play the pianoforte?”

  “I quit my lessons when I was ten. I couldn’t stand the boredom,” Jaidyn conceded and forced her uncommonly greedy gaze away from the plate of sweets.

  Madame Poivre raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “The fiddle, then? Surely an Irish girl like you can–”

  “Sorry.” Jaidyn blushed.

  “Vell, I can’t imagine you vere on ’orseback your entire life. Is there not anything else you did to pass the time?”

  “I did catch toads and hide them in my mother’s bed.” Was that a talent to be exploited here? Jaidyn wondered. “The maid making her bed always gave such a funny squeal.”

  Then Jaidyn thought of another thing she was good at. “My cousins taught me to use bow and arrow.” It was still so painful thinking of what a wonderful life she’d had back in Ireland and how far away it all seemed now.

  “Non, non, non.” Rolling her eyes, the Madame pulled a small flask from her pocket and added the contents to her tea. When she offered to add the liquor to Jaidyn’s cup as well, Jaidyn held her hand up to say no.

  “Did you never ’ave ’ouseguests or parties? Is there not anything you did for entertainments?”

  Jaidyn stopped short. “Yes, of course we had parties.”

  “And?” Madame Poivre nodded with glee to encourage her to continue.

  “Plays,” Jaidyn stated. “We would stage plays or just collections of scenes people were familiar with, sometimes musicals–but I only helped with the scenery and costumes on those.”

  Madame Poivre rose from her seat. Teaspoon still in hand, she paced the room, tapping it on her chin while the turban bobbed in thoughtful unison.

  “Scenery … and costumes … staging …” Jaidyn was convinced the Madame’s mumbled soliloquy was actually a dialogue between her and her turban.

  When Madame Poivre slapped the spoon loudly on the palm of her other hand, Jaidyn jumped in her seat.

  “My dear, I think that’s it!”

  “What is?” Jaidyn narrowed a skeptical eye at her. “You want me to put on plays here?”

  “Not the plays themselves, but the scenes.” Madame Poivre looked triumphant. She obviously thought herself and her idea very clever.

  Jaidyn was still confused. “The scenes? What do you mean?”

  “Well, you see, there are always those clients who prefer a little drama wit
h the love play. We ’ave an extensive variety of costumes and quite a few props for that matter, but vat if I could give them the ’ole fantasy?”

  Seemingly enamored with her new idea, she was pacing faster now using her hands in grand gestures to illustrate her points. “Say there is a customer who wants to play a duke spanking a naughty maid. Or the sheep to a shepherdess. Or a majordomo in Macao …”

  Now Jaidyn was getting the idea. “I think I know what you mean. So, instead of the room looking like a bedroom, it would look like a study, or a field, or the Orient?”

  Cupping her chin, Madame Poivre muttered, “I wonder how much they would pay to not just ’ave the girl dolled up in their choice but the ’ole scene set for their personal fantasy experience.”

  Deep in her own thoughts already, Jaidyn didn’t listen to the Madame’s deliberation. There was one problem the Madame might have overlooked. “That might get rather expensive.”

  Madame Poivre wagged her finger at her in a friendly way as if to say she’d thought of it already. “So ven you staged these plays you spent a fortune each time?”

  Now that Jaidyn thought about it … “No, we were clever about using what people had with them, what we had on hand in the house and what we might be able to paint or have the staff craft.”

  “You see, there is a talent I can use!” Madame Poivre threw both hands in the air. “Create a fantasy room for me at a reasonable price and if it’s a ’it I will pay you vell for it. Not as much as you vould have made if you’d continued, but enough. Oh, and I almost forgot …”

  Walking to the desk, she pulled out a pouch. “Here. That should be a good start toward your goal in addition to vat you’ll make vith our grand new idea.”

  When Madame Poivre went back to her seat, she tossed the bag onto Jaidyn’s lap. It felt rather heavy, so she pulled the drawstring and peeked inside. She was shocked with what she found. “What is this?”

  The moment she’d spoken, she knew. It was Connor’s money. Her heart sank while at the same time she fought the urge to toss the pouch into the cold fireplace or out the window.

  “It’s much more than we agreed on before.” Jaidyn’s voice broke. She didn’t want it. But she needed to get to the Carolinas. And that was more important than that scoundrel Connor O’Driscoll.

  “I know.” The Madame looked highly amused with herself. “At the last minute, Monsieur O’Driscole saw fit to pay for ’is time ’ere plus ten more days.”

  “Ten more days? What? Why would he do that?”

  Madame only shrugged. “Men. ’oo knows.”

  It just didn’t make any sense. He obviously wanted nothing more to do with her. Even if he hadn’t walked out without a word of why, the girls had already told her Connor never saw the same woman twice. “No, he couldn’t have.”

  “Vy not? ’e seemed very adamant that you not take on any more clients in the near future.”

  What in the world … unless … Jaidyn felt queasy all of a sudden. “Pity? I don’t want his pity.” No, that was more than she could bear.

  “Pity?” Madame Poivre snorted. “Oh no. That wasn’t it at all. Mark my words.” Again that finger waved in front of Jaidyn’s nose, the turban underlining the Madame’s statement. “Ve ’aven’t seen the last of Monsieur O’Driscole.”

  “You may not have seen the last of him, but let me assure you, Madame, I have.”

  She tipped her cup to Jaidyn with a wink. “Vatever you say, my dear, of course.”

  Notwithstanding Madame Poivre’s implication, Jaidyn swore she’d never again want to see Connor–even from afar. She just wanted to forget she’d ever met the man. And that was the end of it for her. “Good. Let’s get back to what we were discussing before, my staging a room for you. Where should I start?”

  “Let me think about who might be coming …” She was tapping her chin again. “Vere to start …”

  The Madame’s eyes glittered, her beam broadening until Jaidyn could see slightly yellowed teeth. “Rome! Someone is coming soon vith a taste for the classics. Give me ancient Rome and let’s see vat it will bring.”

  Jaidyn grinned. “Consider it done.”

  Now she had something she was confident about to occupy her time and make the money she needed. After all, wasn’t it similar to what she’d been doing all along–creating a character and acting the part? Now she’d switch to the much less dangerous part of set designer.

  5

  _____________________________

  The ale wasn’t what it used to be at the Admiral’s Bones, Connor thought morosely while emptying another mug and setting it on the table with a loud clank. The Admiral, now reduced to a skanky old mongrel with an unpleasant smell, sat next to him, wagging his sad excuse for a tail and cocking his head. With a hesitant poke of one front paw, the Admiral begged Connor as his oldest friend for a friendly pat on the head.

  Maybe he should visit another pub here on Grenada, like the White Rig, Connor thought as he obliged the ancient and blind dog. Or the Jolie Rouge, a dump only the lowest of low frequented. Even though the rum would only be more watered down the worse the company got. But Connor could definitely pick a fight there.

  Yes, he needed to thrash somebody–or something; Connor wasn’t particular on which of the two came first. He dropped some coins on the table and stood.

  Maybe the rum and ale were finally working, because his knees were a bit shaky as he walked around the Admiral toward the door.

  No, he could still remember why he’d wanted to drink himself to unconsciousness in the first place. Reinier’s words rang in his ears like a clarion over the loud rumble in the pub.

  You’re thinking of her all the time and yearn to see her again. She’ll be waiting for you.

  Connor left the Admiral’s Bones in search of trouble. A good brawl with some hard fists, a little breaking of ribs, and definitely the spattering of blood was what he needed. And he knew just where to get it.

  The warm Caribbean breeze slapped him as he stepped outside and gulped in some fresh night air. Without thought, he started walking.

  You were her first–technically speaking.

  Technically. What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean anyway? There was no technically in that matter; she’d either had others or she hadn’t.

  Dammit. Connor’s mood darkened even more at the thought of some other man’s hands on her. Had she sucked in her breath and let it out in a gasp of pleasure when that bugger had touched her? Bowed her body to his with a moan and urged him on like she’d done with him?

  Had she longed to kiss that bastard like Connor longed to kiss her–insanely, with every fiber of his being, with all his heart?

  Connor hadn’t been able to ban the image of her from his memory. Or her taste. Wild, syrupy honey. He’d never tasted something as seductive, as addictive as her.

  Her scent was like the lush green forest he used to roam as a boy–a memory he thought he’d forgotten over the years. He’d almost been able to hear the birds of Erin chirping merrily when he’d inhaled her natural fragrance for the first time, then tasted her on his lips …

  Her honor hadn’t really been ruined before you seduced her.

  Screw that. If she were a lady, she had no business being at Madame Poivre’s. True, she was a gentlewoman. But Connor knew firsthand that she was no lady.

  Not that he was pointing fingers.

  Or complaining.

  Firsthand was perhaps a poor choice of a word.

  Even her eyes had the color of the woods right outside the village he grew up around in Ireland.

  Everything about Jaidyn had felt like he’d come home, and that was why he was convinced he must be under some kind of spell–or maybe even cursed. That’s why he mustn’t see her again. He’d prove she had no power over him whatsoever.

  “Good evening, Mr. O’Driscoll. How nice to see you again so soon.” The blond whore’s eyes wandered down his body once. Wetting her lips, she fluttered her eyes reluctantly up to his aga
in. “Let me know if I can be of any assistance to you. I’d gladly … submit to your every wish.”

  The lass batted her eyelashes invitingly. Normally, he’d mentally rub his hands in glee at such an offer. But tonight–

  Connor jolted out of his thoughts, blinked a few times, and looked around. He’d come here? To Madame Poivre’s? The one place he didn’t want to be? The one place he, in fact, wished–just this once–didn’t exist?

  As if strings were attached to his limbs, he crossed the threshold and tried to give the blond whore a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  After a quick survey of the room, he knew Madame Poivre would be in her private quarters at the far back of the bawdy house. Connor found himself stomping toward her rooms, determined to tell her that … What exactly?

  That she could do whatever she wanted with Jaidyn; he wasn’t interested in her any longer.

  Indeed, that was exactly what he’d do. Then he’d leave and not come back here for a very long time. If ever. Never mind that he once again felt that peculiar shortness of breath and those cold talons wrapping around his heart.

  He didn’t knock more than once; he didn’t wait for permission to enter. The more time he lost, the more–

  The sight that greeted him stole his breath. And not in a good way.

  Madame Poivre was sitting there, smiling extremely foolishly, watching as right that moment Jaidyn, with an exuberant cheerful laugh, embraced a young, bulky man and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yes! Oh, yes!”

  Something indefinably, inexplicably dark roiled inside of Connor. He let out a scathing snort, kicking the door behind him shut with his boot.

  “Well, well, well,” he scoffed and all three pairs of eyes settled on him. His lips quirked. “Obviously, she took to her new profession. Who would have thought?”

  Madame Poivre stood as if that had been her cue. “O’Driscoll.” She sounded so taken aback that she’d even let her fake French accent fall. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Connor brushed her comment aside with a casualness he didn’t feel. “Of course. It never is. I, more than anyone, would know.”