Ethan had recalled that Sylvie’s former address had been in La Marais—and he’d discovered that, for some reason, it was Madeleine’s present address.
Her trail had been easy to pick up here. It seemed everyone in La Marais knew “Maddy Anglaise” or “Maddy la Gamine,” and they obviously liked her, because they were closemouthed with information concerning her.
A group of older women sitting on a stoop had ignored him, smoking their pipes and chatting—until he’d flashed the diamond ring he’d brought with him in case Madeleine proved…averse. When he revealed his plans to wed her, the women couldn’t seem to direct him to this building swiftly enough, and they only asked that Ethan remember their names so that Maddy would “passez le gras,” or “pass the fat”—give a kickback to the ones who’d assisted in securing her good fortune.
As Ethan waited, he mused that Madeleine might actually be persuaded to come with him. Even after she saw his face. Surely she’d be desperate to leave this place any way she could.
Madeleine Van Rowen beholden to me. He liked that idea—
Ethan tensed when he spotted the door to her building opening. A tall, gray-haired woman with a bucket emerged from the dark interior. She strode around the drunken men fixed on the stoop, seeming not to notice them, then made for a pump not a block away.
The door was easing closed behind her. Fearing Madeleine might have warned others about a tall Scot, he dashed for the entry, then slipped through the doorway. Inside, he made for the pitch-black stairwell, forced to use the rope banister as he climbed blindly. The steps were unsound, the corridor so tight he had to sidle up.
What if she was indeed upstairs? He could see her in mere seconds….
As he alighted on the sixth-floor landing a board groaned beneath him, and a blowsy woman shot out of her room—a whore, by the look of her heavily painted cheeks and lips. A glance behind her confirmed Ethan’s guess. In a haze of cigarette smoke, a man lay tied to her bed and blindfolded, turning his head dumbly at different sounds.
Ten minutes in this neighborhood—not to mention in Madeleine’s home—had certainly answered Ethan’s question about how the lass had learned to fondle him so well. She must see men serviced hourly.
“I’m looking for Madeleine Van Rowen,” he told the woman.
“And who are you?” she asked, blinking.
Good, she spoke English. Ethan could speak French but preferred not to, outside of penalty of death.
“Are you the man from London?”
Had Madeleine spoken of him? If so, he couldn’t imagine what she’d said. Still, he took a chance. “Aye.”
“Which one? The first one or the second?” At his nonplussed look, she said, “The Englishman or the Scot?”
Madeleine must have been talking about Quin. Still thinking about that bastard. “The…Scot.”
She shut the door behind her, ignoring the man’s protests, then clasped her hands, her mien delighted. “Maddée told Corrine and me all about you! The masquerade, n’est-ce pas?” She wagged her finger at him. “You were très mauvais to our Maddée. But here you’ve come for her at last!”
Madeleine told her friends all about me? He couldn’t imagine what she’d said, or what, in particular, they had deemed très mauvais.
She leaned in and said in a conspiratorial tone, “You’re just in time, too, with the debts coming due.” What debts? “I’m Bea.” Bea was simple, he realized. Kind, but simple. “I’m one of Maddée’s good friends.”
“Aye, Bea.” He feigned a look of recognition. “I’ve heard much about you.”
She patted her hair, pleased. Then she frowned and pointed directly at his face. “Maddée didn’t say you were battle-scarred. From the Crimean War, yes?”
“No, no’ exactly—” He broke off because she’d already shrugged and turned to another apartment door.
“Maddée’s not here just now—out working.” She dug in her blouse for a ribbon around her neck with keys strung together. “But I’ll let you into her room to wait.”
“Perhaps you could direct me to her place of employment?”
“Who can keep up with her? The bridge or the corner. Different taverns and cafés. Who knows?”
He felt his face tighten. “And what exactly does she do?” In the nearly seven weeks since he’d been with her, she’d become destitute. Who knew if she’d succumbed to her neighbor’s profession?
At his expression, Bea cried, “Oh, no, Maddée serves drinks or occasionally sells cigarettes.” She proudly added, “Turkish ones.” Then in a chiding tone, she said, “Our Maddée’s a good girl. Not popular in that way at all.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, relieved. “I just doona like that she has to work.”
Bea’s eyes lit up. “Exactement!” she exclaimed, bustling to open the door. “So, here is her room.” She smiled widely as she showed him in.
Ethan drew his head back, stunned by the interior.
“Amazing, n’est-ce pas?” Bea was right to be proud. Though Madeleine’s apartment was basically part of an attic room—the ceiling was slanted until he could barely stand up straight even at the apex, and beams crisscrossed overhead—Madeleine had made it into a fantastical space.
The top floor of an old mansion like this would have been used for servants’ quarters or possibly a schoolroom, and there were remnants of the mansion’s former glory—elaborate gilt and wainscoting decorated the long, narrow space. Above the wainscoting along the more damaged wall, she’d pasted colorful posters.
Two large windows dominated her bedroom area and were framed by red drapes and fronted by a small balcony outside. Glancing out, he found that she had an unimpeded view of Montmartre. On her balcony, plants grew in profusion and wooden wind chimes clanked.
“Maddée loves to sit out there.”
He nodded, then said, “Do you no’ need to get back to your…friend?”
“He is not going anywhere,” she said, stating the obvious with an insouciant wave. “Well, go on, open up.”
Ethan unlatched one of the windows, swinging it wide. An unseasonably warm breeze blew, and the chimes began tolling, the curtains fluttering. A black cat leapt inside from the balcony, pawed at Ethan’s trousers, then wound around his legs. “Her pet?”
“Non, she cannot feed Chat Noir. He doesn’t often take to people like this. This is a good sign.”
Ethan shrugged. Considering how people universally disliked him, the fact that some animals took to him always surprised him. Indeed, beasties seemed to either love him or hate him.
Turning his attention back to Madeleine’s home, he crossed to the second of the two windows. When he found a bucket hanging beside it, he realized Madeleine didn’t haul water and supplies up those rickety stairs. She pulled them up, and easily too—with two pulleys working in tandem to lighten the load. Clever girl.
Past the second window, a velvet curtain cordoned off a ridiculously small wooden tub—but then, she didn’t have to fold six and a half feet of body inside it. Atop a simple plank bed was a bedspread, intricately sewn together of rich-looking materials, yet wearing thin.
He’d suspected that perhaps Sylvie had thrown Madeleine out after they’d lost the count. But Ethan felt a sense of permanence here—this was Madeleine’s home and had been for some time.
Though pleasing now in the warm afternoon sun, her apartment would prove a hell to heat in the winter. The roof undoubtedly leaked, and many of the panes in the windows were cracked or missing, replaced with thin cloth. Artistic flare wouldn’t keep her warm in the coming months.
Another thing he noticed—though she had a stove and kettle, there wasn’t a scrap of food but for a single shining apple.
An unfamiliar, heavy feeling constricted his chest. No wonder she’d had that air of weariness about her, one of the tantalizing things that had first drawn him to her. And no wonder she’d been hunting for a rich husband. But why would she endure this destitution for so long when she had a wealthy parent
and even wealthier friends?
“Why doesn’t she live with her mother?”
Bea blinked again. “She did not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
From the stairwell, a woman called up, “Bea! Is that you?”
“Oui!” she yelled near Ethan’s ear.“C’est moi!”
“The drunks said a man slipped in—is he one of your regulars?”
“Non! I saw no one.” To him, Bea whispered, “I have to go now! Corrine would be very upset to know you are here.” She sighed. “But then, she does not understand l’amour as I do.”
In a low tone, Ethan said, “When will Maddy return?”
“I could not say. Best make yourself comfortable. Knock across the hall if you need anything.” With that, she left him.
Alone, but for the cat weaving around him, Ethan searched through Madeleine’s meager belongings. She had a few dresses, all of them frayed, yet bold in color and design, with a modern look to them. He didn’t find clothing fitting for London, but she’d probably already sold that wardrobe. Had she given up the blue gown she’d worn that night with him?
In her chest of drawers—which only boasted two of the four possible drawers—her wee underthings were meticulously folded and overly mended.
He uncovered a stash of contraband in a hollow under a loosened windowsill. Inside, a silk handkerchief enfolded two silver engraved money clips, which she would no doubt have melted down after a waiting period. Also inside was a betting book, and her personal tally had more pluses than minuses. Stacked neatly by the book were coupons for coal and fruits—purchased this last June.
Fascinating. She was a thief, a gambler, and someone who bought discounted coupons in the summer for goods that grew dear in the winter.
After he replaced her belongings, he spied a milk crate beside her bed. Atop it lay fashion periodicals—Le Moniteur de la Mode and Les Modes Parisiennes—and a book,The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter: Scenes de la Vie de Bohème. He frowned, recalling that he’d heard of that book. It contained sketches of “Bohemians,” poor artists, as they went about procuring food, drink, and sex. Did Madeleine consider herself one of those artistic garret types? She definitely had talent to have transformed this place.
He exhaled, sinking down on her small bed, with the purring cat quick to follow. Ethan knew he was alone but still glanced around before petting it.
Admitting that his revenge plot had glaring holes, he wondered if Sylvie would even care if he took her daughter away out of wedlock. The idea of removing Madeleine from the woman’s use no longer seemed to apply. The girl was already very distinctly removed.
Perhaps he should merely walk away.
He picked up Madeleine’s pillow and brought it close, wanting her scent. His eyes slid closed in pleasure. No, there’d be no leaving until he had her beneath him again.
Besides, he liked solving mysteries, and if Madeleine’s life wasn’t a mystery…
Decided, he stood and began pacing as if he was…nervous. A man of his experience, cynicism, and bitter derision was anxious about seeing the chit again.
Because now she would see his face.
He crossed to stand before the partially cracked mirror hanging above her chest of drawers. Every time she looked into this glass, beauty stared back at her. Regarding his own brutish reflection, he gave a harsh laugh. Beauty and the beast.
But this beast has money, he reminded himself, something she obviously lacks.
Dusk was coming soon, so he climbed out onto the balcony, hoping to catch sight of her before the sun went down. He noticed that two neckless bruisers, obviously henchmen, had begun casing the front of the building. Bea had mentioned something about debts. Were the men here for Madeleine?
Ethan rotated his shoulder, testing the stitches in his chest. If he had to fight the two, he might not tear his wound too badly—
The stair head groaned. His entire body tensed with anticipation. He lunged for the door and yanked it open. He found himself staring at Bea, who’d yanked open her own. They frowned at each other across the hall.
The woman he’d seen earlier with the bucket stood at the stair head, only now she carried a broom. Though gray-haired, she had a wholly unlined face, making her age difficult to approximate. “And who might you be in Maddy’s room?” she demanded. “Who let you in?”
Out of sight of the woman, Bea was shaking her head frantically, waving her arms.
“I’ve come for Madeleine. I’m waiting for her here—unless you know where she is.”
“You’re the Scot! The one who hurt my Maddy!” She changed her grip on the broom, raising it above her. “I’ll be damned before I tell you. We’re going to get rid of you before she comes back. She has enough on her plate without you!”
Bea finally stepped forward. “Corrine, maybe we should wait. Maddée said he’s the one she truly liked. Truly—”
“Shut your mouth, Bea!”
She liked me? Ethan thought, then castigated himself. As if he gave a damn.
But Bea persevered, saying out of the corner of her mouth, “Maddée said that the Scot was the one she—”
“That was before this one threw money at her, treating her like a whore.” She glared at Ethan, then turned back to Bea to say, “No offense.”
“Non?” Bea blinked at Corrine as if she didn’t comprehend the offense.
Was that how Madeleine had viewed the money he’d tossed to the bench? He’d thought he’d simply been paying for the cab. “I wish to make amends to her,” Ethan said. “And to explain a few misunderstandings.”
Corrine studied him from head to toe. With one shrewd look she’d probably nailed his net worth within five hundred pounds. Strangely, his scar received only a passing glance.
“I just want to talk to her,” Ethan said, sensing she was wavering, “If you’ll tell me where she is.” For good measure, he added, “And I liked her, too.”
“See!” Bea cried.
At length, Corrine lowered her broom, setting it against the wall. “Unless you’ve come to offer for Maddy, you don’t have any business here.”
“That’s precisely what I intend to do,” he said.
She exhaled a relieved breath. Over Bea’s excited clapping, Corrine said, “In that case…Maddy told me she was going to try to get work in the Silken Purse, in Montmartre.”
He nodded. “Excellent. I’ll go there directly.”
“That’s up the hill,” Bea chirped, smiling encouragement. “Look for her waiting in line in the back.” Then her face fell, and she turned to Corrine. “The Silken Purse? Corrine, are you sure?” When Corrine nodded, Bea spoke in French so rapidly that he couldn’t keep up. All he could catch was “she said that he said,” “then her cousin heard,” “he told them,” and finally, “Berthé.”
Corrine paled.
“What?” Ethan demanded. “What exactly did all that mean?”
“It means you have to hurry. Maddy’s about to get attacked.”
Fifteen
Any question as to if he’d be so fiercely attracted to Madeleine again was answered the moment he spotted her outside the tavern.
At a nearby corner, he rested his shoulder against a wall and watched her waiting in line. In the light of the dying sun, he could see she was more breathtaking than he’d figured. When she’d worn her mask, he’d been able to see her bright blue eyes, full lips, and determined chin, but the rest of her delicate features had been hidden. He now saw her nose was slim and pert. Her cheekbones were high and aristocratic.
Stunning.
Yet even with her seemingly guileless blue eyes, she didn’t look innocent. Far from it. Her blouse was opened wide to reveal cleavage he hadn’t recalled she had. She wore a black ribbon choker around her pale neck, and though part of her hair was braided atop her head like a gold crown, the rest curled long and loose down her back.
Her cheeks were rouged, and her skirts were strangely cut—they didn’t flare out at the waist as usual but w
ere tight around her hips and backside.
Madeleine looked older and a bit…wanton, as if she was ready to be tupped, and he responded with a swift heat that shouldn’t even have surprised him anymore.
Her gaze was darting over the other women in line as she examined the situation. She reminded him of a fox, crafty and wary as she calculated her next move.
When an aproned barkeep opened the back door, all stood at attention. The man spoke in French, saying something about taking only two more girls for the night—anyone else seen on the premises would be arrested for loitering.
Immediately they jockeyed for position. Madeleine didn’t stand a chance against the bigger women—the ones glaring at her and crossing their thick arms over their chests in warning. If she challenged them, she would get attacked.
Obviously realizing that fact, she backed from the fray, pausing only to squire to safety a young girl wearing a cigarette tray.
The wee girl looked like she was about to cry over not getting in. Madeleine furtively chucked her under the chin, then held up a gold coin, pinched in her fingers. “I’ll bet a hundred francs against any of you,” Madeleine began in a carrying voice, “that I’ll be one of the two in tonight.”
Like vultures surrounding carrion, they circled Madeleine and the girl, tensed to pounce. Ethan pushed up from the wall, striding forward to intervene; Madeleine turned her head to meet some of their stares, taking her eyes from the money. Surely she would know better—
The brawniest one lunged for the coin, slapping Madeleine’s hand. The coin went flying into the air, pattering on the bricks ten feet away. The group dove for it, pulling hair and slapping. Madeleine slipped inside, dragging the wide-eyed cigarette girl behind her.
From the pile of women, one exclaimed in French, “It’s a stage coin!”
The rest began a chorus about killing la gamine.
Ethan grinned from the shadows. La gamine—the name fit. She did have an impish air about her. He hurried to the front entrance of the tavern, suddenly finding it imperative to see what the chit would do next.
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