by Cheryl Holt
Her protests had fallen on deaf ears, so a different track seemed wise. She decided to brazen it out.
“Yes, I saw you. At the village dance, and I mentioned it to Victoria.” She squared her shoulders, refusing to be cowed. “You were courting disaster chasing after her.”
He loomed up, crazed with rage, and he bellowed, “My private life is none of your business!”
“Not my business? I am your mistress. I am the only woman in the world who truly understands you. So stop shouting at me. Miss Barnes was a flirtation, and now, she is gone from our lives. You’ve married Felicity, and we’ll carry on as planned.”
“I didn’t marry Felicity.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you did.”
“No, I didn’t. So you see, Mrs. Bainbridge, there is no money. There will never be any money.”
She scrutinized his hard features, and she murmured, “What have you done?”
“I cried off.”
Her heart pounded with alarm.
They were at the end of their financial rope. Jordan had long since abandoned his bachelor’s lodgings and slept in a free room over a gambling club.
She still had the cozy house he’d purchased for her, but only because he’d staved off his most vehement creditors with promises of Felicity’s dowry.
If he didn’t wed Felicity, what would become of them?
She had no family and no real friends. If she lost her home, where would she go? What would she do?
“You cried off?” she scolded.
“Yes.”
“Then, you’ll just have to cry on again, won’t you? We’ll travel to Barnes Manor tomorrow. We’ll talk to Victoria and set everything to rights.”
“There is no we, Mrs. Bainbridge, and I never intend to speak with Victoria Barnes again.”
“You can’t be serious.” She was growing angry and frightened. “Not after all the effort I expended in choosing Felicity!”
“You played your cards, but it was the wrong hand. If you had left Mary alone, I’d have sent you on your way with a stipend and a fond farewell, but you didn’t. You had to hurt her, and thus, you hurt me, too. Your callous behavior has guaranteed the result you are about to suffer.”
“What result? What do you mean?”
“I am surrendering the house to the bank. First thing in the morning.”
The announcement was so unexpected, so dire, it made her dizzy with dismay.
“But . . . but it’s mine! You bought it for me! You don’t have my permission to relinquish it.”
“It’s not up to you. I decline to continue supporting you, so I am authorizing the foreclosure. I’m sick of the fight. The house, the furniture, the carriage—it’s all going. The bank’s clerks will be here at ten o’clock.”
“No! You will not get away with this.”
A violent rage swept over her, as she thought of all the years she’d groomed him to be the man she wanted.
To have him simply change his mind! To have him fritter away property that she considered her own! And all because of a mousy, worthless spinster!
“You bastard!”
Fists flying, she charged him, managing to land a few punches before he clasped her wrists behind her back.
She was kicking at his shins, trying to butt him with her head.
“Stop it!” he ordered, but she kept on and on.
“You bastard! You bastard!”
She was weeping, her chest heaving, as she caught him with a glancing blow to the chin. He pushed her away, and she fell to her knees.
There was a terrible silence as she huddled on the floor with him towering over her. His disgust was palpable; it rolled off him in waves.
“I will return tomorrow at noon—to see how the foreclosure is proceeding. I have never hit a woman before, but I swear to God that if you are still here, I will beat you within an inch of your life. Vacate the premises by then so I don’t have to prove how eager I am to follow through.”
“What will happen to me?”
“Your future, Mrs. Bainbridge, matters not to me in the slightest. Just be sure that I am never forced to lay eyes on you again.”
He started toward the door. She wanted to shout at him, to rail and scream, but she remained on the floor, stunned to submission.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m off to Barbara’s brothel to fetch Mary, and you had best pray that she is all right.”
He stomped out, and she staggered to her feet and stumbled over to the window, casting open the shutters. He was down in the street, and she watched as he leapt onto his horse, kicked it into a canter, and raced away.
“Jordan!” she wailed, reaching out as if she could make him stay simply by wishing it fervently enough. “Jordan! Jordan!”
He rounded the corner without looking back.
Chapter 23
“SHE’S waking.”
“Quick! Let’s run and tell Miss Barbara.”
The unfamiliar voices roused Mary, and she rolled onto her back. Her head pounded so hard that she winced, and she stared at the ceiling, feeling very dizzy, very confused. She gazed around the room, not recognizing her surroundings.
The entire space was decorated in shades of blue. Blue drapes, blue wallpaper, blue rugs. She was stretched out on a blue divan.
She glanced down at her torso, perplexed to find herself attired in a white negligee and robe, and she lay very still, trying to piece together what had happened.
Mrs. Bainbridge had brought her to visit Barbara Monroe. They’d chatted. Mrs. Monroe had ordered tea, and in the middle of the interview, Mary had grown very sleepy.
She didn’t recollect anything after that.
How much time had passed? Who had undressed her—and why?
Obviously, treachery was planned, and she had to escape her predicament. She stood, groaning at how the sudden movement made her head throb, but she ignored her discomfort.
There was a dressing room behind her. Hoping to locate her clothes, she took several steps toward it before being halted by the bizarre realization that her ankle was shackled to the sofa.
She peered at the chain, and the sight was so strange that she wondered if she wasn’t dreaming.
But no. From the aches and pains shooting through her body, she was very much awake.
She sat and studied her manacled foot, and as she fretted over it, the door opened and Mrs. Monroe entered. A burly footman followed her in.
“Hello, Miss Barnes. I’m delighted to see you’ve come back to us. From how long you were out, I’d begun to think you would never stir.”
Mrs. Monroe pulled up a chair, and she was as calm and composed as she’d been when Mary had first met her. Yet Mary was nearly nude and chained to her sofa.
Was Mrs. Monroe insane?
“What have you done to me?” Mary asked. “I wish to leave. Where are my clothes?”
“There is a bit of a problem with them.”
“What is it?”
“You can’t have them—unless you pay the storage fee you’ve generated. Nothing here is free. I’ve had them laundered and pressed and hung, so you will have to reimburse me before they can be returned.”
“Fine. Give me my reticule.”
“Did you have a reticule when you arrived?”
“You stole it from me! You stole my money!”
“It’s not stealing... exactly. I prefer to call it a case of finders keepers. I found it; I kept it.”
“Give it back!”
Mary rose, as if she might attack Mrs. Monroe, but Mrs. Monroe wasn’t intimidated, and apparently, the footman was a guard.
He stepped closer, threatening Mary with his size and demeanor, and his warning was clear: If Mary tried anything, he would deal with her. Physically.
She eased down.
“What do you want from me?” she inquired.
“It’s really quite simple, Miss Barnes. You’re in London, with no family or friends to help you.
The city is a dangerous place for a naive female such as yourself, so I am offering you safety and shelter.”
“Why am I certain that any support would come with strings attached?”
“Of course it would. As I previously mentioned, nothing here is free.”
“Whatever price you’re demanding, I’m sure it would be much too steep.”
“Not necessarily. I’ve assisted many others in your same position, and most of them are content with the arrangement.”
“Most of them?”
Mrs. Monroe sighed. “It’s not possible to make everyone happy.”
“Where is Mrs. Bainbridge?”
“Lauretta went home after she delivered you to me. She’s preparing a magnificent party to celebrate Redvers’s wedding.”
As Mrs. Monroe blithely referred to Lord Redvers, Mary flinched as if she’d been struck. She shouldn’t have indicated an acquaintance, but hearing his name was so hurtful.
Did he know what Bainbridge had done to Mary? If Mary disappeared for good, would he ever know? Would anyone?
The pitiful fact was that she was completely alone. She could vanish, and no one would care enough to wonder what had happened to her.
Mrs. Monroe was very shrewd, and she noticed Mary’s reaction.
“Lauretta told me that you were extremely fond of Redvers. How sad for you. After all that’s transpired, you must realize that he wasn’t worth it.”
“Yes, I realize it.”
“So, this is what I propose.” Suddenly, Mrs. Monroe was all business. “You will work for me for two years. During that time, I will feed, clothe, and house you. You will receive a percentage of each guest’s fee, and I will keep it in an account for you at my bank. After the two years, you may renew our agreement, or you may retrieve your money and move on to other ventures.”
Mrs. Monroe smiled and continued. “As you might imagine, this will be very lucrative for you. Some of my girls have ended up married to a customer. Others have gone on to be mistresses of some very grand noblemen. It is a win-win situation.”
Mrs. Monroe had spewed so many details that Mary couldn’t absorb the information.
“Your customers,” Mary broached, “visit you for what sort of enterprise?”
“Why, this is a brothel, Miss Barnes. Surely you’ve figured that out by now.”
“You’re asking me to be a prostitute?”
“Not a prostitute, precisely. You’d be a gentleman’s companion.”
Mary looked around at the oddly decorated room, at her scanty attire, and she began to laugh. She kept on till her disturbed merriment brought tears to her eyes.
A brothel! How fitting!
In her entire life, had any single thing ever gone right?
She’d been disowned by her kin, then duped and kidnapped and drugged inside a brothel.
What else could possibly go wrong?
“What is so funny, Miss Barnes?”
Mary just shook her head. “No. Thank you for the offer, but I never could.”
“I urge you to reconsider. What you don’t understand is that we intend to proceed whether you consent or not. It will be much easier for you if you’re amenable.”
Mary’s laughter rumbled to a halt, and she glared at Mrs. Monroe.
“What are you saying?”
“You will work for me of your own volition, or you will work against your will.”
“What do you mean, against my will?”
“We are about to hold an auction, where patrons will bid on you.”
Mary gasped. “You’re selling me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“In a few minutes.”
A vicious rage swept over Mary, and she jumped off the couch and lunged at Mrs. Monroe; she must not have been the first beleaguered woman to attack. The chain on Mary’s ankle grew taut as she discovered that Mrs. Monroe was positioned just out of reach so that Mary could inflict no damage.
Still, Mary stretched and strained, trying to grab Mrs. Monroe, as Mrs. Monroe silently and unemotionally watched her failed attempts.
Ultimately, the footman approached and wrestled her onto the sofa. A towel was pressed over her nose. It smelled of chemicals, and though Mary struggled to avoid its effect, she was swiftly overcome.
She went limp and sagged onto the cushions.
The man drew away.
As she lost consciousness again, Mrs. Monroe said, “Go fetch our guests.”
JORDAN leapt off his horse, his riding crop clutched in his fist, as he raced up the steps of Monroe’s bordello.
Over the years, he’d been to the place many times, had partaken of the whores, had drunk and gambled, so he was aware of the routines.
A customer was supposed to politely knock, to request entrance, then speak with Mrs. Monroe so that money could change hands.
The harlots with whom Jordan fornicated had always been happy with their lot, had remained because they enjoyed the high wages and access to the upper echelons of London’s male society.
He hadn’t met a single one who’d been coerced into staying, but rumors about Monroe abounded. If they turned out to be true, he’d likely commit murder before the night was out.
He marched to the door, planted his boot in the middle, and kicked it open. Wood shattered, shards flying into the front parlor.
The salon was full, and at his abrupt arrival, there were shocked glances. Several men shot to their feet as others grumbled over the rude interruption.
“Where is Barbara?” he bellowed.
“Calm yourself, old boy,” an acquaintance advised. “She’ll be here shortly.”
He gazed up the staircase and saw her hiding on the landing, peeking over the railing to assess the commotion. On espying him, she blanched with fear, indicating her complicity in Bainbridge’s scheme.
As he’d hurried to her establishment, he’d been curious if Bainbridge had lied about Mary in order to garner Monroe’s assistance, but there had been no deception.
Monroe had freely participated, so Jordan would show no mercy.
“Redvers?” she wheezed. “Why are you back so early? I thought you’d be gone another week.”
“Is that what Bainbridge told you?”
“Yes,” she admitted, sealing her fate.
“Well, Bainbridge was wrong.”
He ran over, taking the stairs two at a time. He seized her by the throat and started up, dragging her along as she choked and sputtered and fought to escape.
“Where is she?” he roared, as he stomped down the corridor, slamming open each door. None of the rooms was occupied, and there was no sign of Mary.
“Redvers, let’s discuss this.”
“You will make no deals with me!”
He tightened his grasp, and she winced. “Redvers! Please!”
“Tell me where she is,” he demanded. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”
“The next floor. The blue bedchamber at the end of the hall.”
He continued on, pulling her with him, wanting her to be close by when he saw what she’d allowed. He would give her no chance to slip away before he extracted his vengeance.
On the third floor, he burst into the room as an inebriated man staggered over and asked, “Barbara? Redvers? What’s the meaning of this?”
Jordan knocked him aside, his grip on Monroe still very firm.
Mary was prone on a divan, and she appeared to be unconscious. There were four scoundrels present, lounging in chairs and watching her.
The degenerate reprobate, Chippingham, was leaned over Mary and lecherously ogling her.
“Move away from her,” Jordan commanded, “or I will kill you where you stand.”
“Redvers? Have you come to bid?” Chippingham was drunk, slurring his words. “It’s not sporting of you to enter the wagering after we’ve already started.”
Jordan stormed over and hit the man so hard that he flew back against the wall, his head banging with a dull thud. F
or a moment, he hovered, looking perplexed, then he slid to the rug in a dazed heap.
Jordan spun on the others, and he began flogging them with his riding crop, lashing wounds on their faces and arms.
They cowered and tried to protect themselves, but they couldn’t evade his wrath.
“It’s pistols at dawn, you bastards,” he shouted. “I’ll see each of you at Marley Field tomorrow morning.”
“Redvers, stop!” one of them nagged, which provoked him to a greater frenzy.
He was herding them out, slashing and slashing until they were in the hall and running for their lives.
“I know all of you!” he warned as they reached the stairs and tumbled down. “Choose your seconds!”
A noise sounded behind him, and he whipped around. Monroe was over in the corner, agog with terror.
Jordan strode over to her.
“Has she been raped?” he hissed.
“No, no. She’s asleep. She’s fine.”
He raised the crop and slapped Monroe across the face, rending a deep gash that would leave her scarred for life. Blood welled up and flooded down her cheek, staining her dress.
“Bring me the warmest blanket you have,” he ordered.
She skittered by him and returned in a thrice. She went to the couch and carefully wrapped the quilt over Mary, easing a flap over her head to shield her features as he carried her out.
She stood, seeming ashamed and petrified, a prisoner at the gallows.
“Depart England tonight,” he said, “and wherever you slither ashore, don’t ever own or manage another brothel. If I discover that you are, I will hunt you down and murder you.”
“Yes, Lord Redvers.” She curtsied as she swiped at the dripping blood on her cheek.
“You might think I am joking. You might think you can trick or deceive me.”
“No, no, I wouldn’t dare.”
“Be gone by first light, or I’ll have you hanged.”
Gently, he picked up Mary and walked out.
Chapter 24
MARY opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, feeling very groggy; her sense of disorientation was extreme. For the second time, she’d roused while having no idea where she was.