The other barmaids were visibly shocked that Maddy and the cigarette girl, aptly named Cigarette, had made the cut. Maddy had helped the girl because Cigarette reminded her of herself at that age—hungry, desperate, praying for a break.
Wait. That was Maddy now—
Oh, deuce it! Berthé was here, sneering at her from behind the counter. Sometimes Berthé and Odette worked the taverns, but only to solicit new customers. Berthé’s presence boded ill.
Maddy hadn’t been in the Silken Purse in years, but she’d never been this impassioned to save her arms before. That group of women outside would be waiting for her later, ready to make her pay. Maddy prayed she’d be able to do so in coin.
The interior hadn’t changed since the last time she’d seen it. There was an entrance hall and then two large rooms—the main area where food and drink were served and the darker back room, where popular girls like Berthé served drinks while arranging to sell more.
Gaslights dotted the tavern’s walls, their cut sconces stained yellow from tobacco smoke. Behind the bar, the wall was lined with vast mirrors, the glass etched with the brand names of ales or gin.
Some older men were already drunk and singing songs from the revolution, but other than their small gathering and a few lone drinkers, the place was empty. She’d heard the bell on the front door ring a few moments ago, but she’d been watching out for Berthé and hadn’t seen who’d entered.
Naturally, the one time she’d contrived to get into the usually packed tavern it would be slow. Leaning her elbow on the bar, her chin in her palm, she regarded herself in the back mirror. Even with rouge along her cheeks and a dash of face paint to cover the smudges under her eyes, she appeared tired.
Suddenly she frowned, rubbing her hand over the back of her neck. She had the eerie feeling that she was being watched. Her gaze darted in the mirror, but she didn’t see anyone in the main room watching her. The back room was shadowed, and she saw the outline of a man, but she couldn’t distinguish features or even determine if he was turned toward her. She was curious but knew better than to go back there.
Assuring herself it was nothing—just overwrought nerves—she turned back, resting her head on her hand again. One little break, she thought again. A single crumb of luck.
When she did get her break, she wouldn’t hesitate to take it, as so many in La Marais would. She had to believe that someday she’d leave this place. She, Corrine, and Bea always used to dream about sailing away somewhere, maybe even to America. Maddy would open a dress shop in a city like Boston, and Corrine would sew Maddy’s designs. The first time they’d hit on this idea, Bea’s face had fallen. “But what will I do?”
“Model, of course,” Maddy had said as Corrine nodded earnestly. “We can’t very well open a dress shop without a model.”
Bea’s blue eyes had lit up. “I am so good at standing still! Oh, Maddée, you won’t believe how still I can be!”
Maddy grinned at the memory even now….
As if Maddy’s prayers had been answered, a big party of English tourists filed in. Berthé got them, but then a group of rich University of Paris students entered. Mine, all mine, Maddy thought as she donned her brightest smile and swooped in on them.
Soon, the place was packed with businessmen, lower bourgeoisie shopkeepers, and les Bohèmes. She steered clear of the latter—especially the ones with cheap clay pipes and wear on the elbows of their coats.
She was earning a small windfall in gratuities, doing better than she ever had, and she’d even managed to eat two lemons and at least half a dozen cherries off the bar service. As she prowled to make it a solid dozen, the barkeep noticed and rapped a cane over her fingers—hard.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she shook her hand out, and again had the sense that she was being watched.
Luckily, she could still hold a tray. And over the next two hours, she served countless tankards of ale, bowls of punch, and opaque bottles of absinthe. Berthé was jostling her whenever they met at the bar, but Maddy could still balance a full tray—she was light on her feet, even for all that her boots were two sizes too small.
Yet at every turn, she felt pinpricks of awareness over the back of her neck.
When Cigarette sold out, Maddy felt generous with her windfall and gave her fifteen sous to pay off anybody who might want to beat her up. The girl deftly swung her hanging tray aside to hug Maddy, then skipped away, her braids flopping.
Just as Maddy turned back, one of the university students took a firm hold of her waist and yanked her into his lap. She studied the smoky ceiling as she listened to his comparisons of her to Leda and various nymphs and to all his hopes and dreams for his and Maddy’s future. His musings grew tedious, so she accidentally knocked his drink off the table onto his feet. She vowed to replace the drink at once—putting the charge on his bill, of course.
A group of four middle-aged men were more direct in their propositioning. When Maddy caught their eye, they waved her over, and one asked how much it would cost for her to sleep with all of them. One hundred francs? She smiled tightly, choking back a retort. When the man got up to four hundred francs—what she could only imagine earning in a really bountiful year—she still firmly shook her head. To mollify them, she directed them to one of the more likable girls in the back, asking them to remind her to passez le gras back to Maddy.
Surprisingly, the men were still nice to her and even ordered a bowl of punch. That was one of the most expensive orders in the Silken Purse. She dashed away to get it.
On her return, she rushed to serve the sizable bowl, grinning at her fortune….
Ethan had decided to examine what a typical night in Madeleine’s life was like, garnering insights into her present situation—such as why she was forced to work so hard instead of eating chocolates on a divan in St. Roch. With each minute passing, he grew more uneasy.
Though this was just another tavern and he was here to observe as he had night after night in his job, he had to struggle to retain his customary detachment. He found himself engrossed with Madeleine’s behavior—the skill with which she eluded groping hands, her generosity with the young cigarette girl, the way she made the men laugh with her sly sense of humor.
He could tell every time she received a proposition—she seemed to stifle a haughty air, biting back angry words. He’d counted at least a dozen, meaning he’d wanted to kill at least a dozen admirers.
If Ethan was to be an objective observer, then why had he decided to come back later and punish the barkeep for striking her with a cane? And why, when a young man had planted Madeleine in his lap, had Ethan come very near to wiping the floor with the man’s face?
In the end, Ethan had learned much about her tonight—and everything he saw, he grudgingly admired.
Even now, the chit worked tirelessly, carrying that punch bowl with a proud expression—
Suddenly, Ethan saw another girl’s foot sweep out, hooking Madeleine’s ankles, tripping her forward. Before he could react, Madeleine and the full crystal bowl crashed to the ground.
The tavern grew silent except for some men snickering. Ethan wanted to thrash every single one of them.
She tried to get up, but her foot slipped in the liquid. She hit her little fist on the floor, her expression a mix of exhaustion and resolve. Just as he rose to help her, she scrambled up. Brushing off her skirt, she swallowed and closed her eyes, as if praying the crystal bowl wasn’t truly broken. When she opened them once more, her eyes were dazed and glinting.
The barkeep roared Gallic curses and opened his palm, stabbing it with his other forefinger. Chin up, she dug into her skirt pocket as she scuffed to the bar. As she paid the coins out, she clutched each one, unwilling to part with them. Once she’d surrendered at least what she’d made this night, the barkeep pointed to the door. Patrons booed, but the man was unmoved.
Shoulders back, she trudged to the entrance, but she had to know the women from earlier would be waiting. Ethan quickly followed. In the
entrance hall, a loud party was entering, and in the commotion, she smoothly filched an umbrella from the stand as she exited.
Ethan slipped out behind her and silently trailed her down the crowded stairs. Sure enough, Madeleine’s enemies awaited her. With false bravado, she hit the umbrella into her cupped palm and asked, “Who wants to be first?”
He stood directly behind her, casting the women his most murderous expression over Madeleine’s head.
The closest one’s eyes went wide, and she backed away. The others followed, until they’d all scattered.
“That’s right!” Madeleine called after them. “Remember my name!”
Suddenly she froze. After a hesitation, she began to turn toward him.
Ethan’s heart thundered. After waiting weeks, he was finally going to see her again. He wiped his sleeve over his damp brow.
She needs me more than I need her, he reminded himself, then asked, “Friends of yours?”
Sixteen
Maddy didn’t shriek or startle, just gripped the umbrella like a cricket bat as she turned.
She gasped in recognition. “The Scot!” It couldn’t be him, yet those eyes, that accent, and his towering height told her it could be no other. She surveyed his face, shocked to find that the man she’d thought was so perfect was horribly scarred.
He stood motionless, as if steeling himself for her reaction. She didn’t think he even breathed while she stared at the jagged mark.
“Well, I see now why you wouldn’t take off your mask.” She tilted her head. “You had to cover up the ten-inch-long scar twisting across your face.”
His eyes narrowed. “Aingeal, there is only one thing on my body that’s ten inches long, and if you’ll recall, the scar is no’ it.”
“The scar is that long.” She gave him a smirk as she said, “Regarding the other, well, I hardly even remember.” As if she’d ever forget that searing pain. “How long have you been spying on me?”
“I was no’ spying on you. I was making sure you dinna get waylaid by bloodthirsty French barmaids. Now, I think it’s time I told you my name. I’m Ethan MacCarrick, and I’ve—”
“Why?” She tossed aside the umbrella, then skipped down the steps, starting down the street.
When he caught up to her, he was frowning. “Why what?”
“Why do you think it’s time I learned your name? Why would you think I care to? I don’t, so bonne nuit.” Maddy hadn’t thought this day could possibly get worse. She quickened her pace to get home before something else happened. She would rid herself of these torturing boots, crawl under the covers, not to wake for days—and forget she’d ever seen the Scot.
“You doona even want to know why I’m here?”
As ever, she was curious. How did he find me? How much does he know about me? But after his cruelty the last time she’d seen him, and after the day she’d had…
She couldn’t think of much more than the money she’d lost on the punch bowl and how badly her feet hurt and how she craved the oblivion of sleep. “No.” She paused, tapping her chin. “Not unless you’ve come to return my virginity, which, regrettably, I misplaced in a cab in London.” She raised her brows in question. “Don’t have it with you? No? Then…good-bye.” She reveled in his expression before she hurried on. Priceless. That bastard had actually imagined that she’d be happy to see him.
“Are you going home?” he called from behind her. “Say hello to the henchmen on your way in.” When she slowed, he added, “How much do you owe?”
At that, she snapped over her shoulder, “Why would this be any business of yours?”
He caught up with her once more, striding beside her. “Because I might offer to help.”
“And why would you do that? Out of the goodness of your black heart?”
“No. I admit I want something from you. If you’ll just listen to my proposition—”
“MacCarrick, is it?” At his nod, she said, “I think I can predict what your proposition might be, and I’m emphatically not interested!”
“Maybe, maybe no’. Share a meal with me, and we’ll discuss it.”
“I’m not stupid. You want to go to bed with me again. Which will never happen. I couldn’t have been persuaded to even before I saw your face. Now? I won’t even waste my time talking about it. There’s nothing you could offer that would affect that.”
She could almost hear him grinding his teeth to a pulp. “I believe you’re in need of a lot of things I could offer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Winter’s coming and you’re living in a wet, drafty hovel.”
She nearly stumbled. “You were inside my apartment?”
“Aye, Bea let me in. We talked for a bit.”
“So she’s the one who told you where you could find me? Why would she do that? Did you threaten her?” she demanded. “Were you cruel to her because she’s…because she’s popular?”
“No, she helped me because she said you liked me,” he answered, raising his eyebrows.
Bea had revealed that? How embarrassing! Maddy sounded like a simpering girl at her first cotillion.
“Corrine told me how to find you at this tavern.”
Corrine, too? “I can’t imagine why they helped you—my last word on the subject of you was that you were an ass.”
“Corrine entreated me no’ to let you get hurt by some woman named Berthé.”
She slanted a glance at him. “How did you find my apartment in the first place?”
“Quin Weyland gave me an address in St. Roch, and I followed your trail to La Marais.”
“You’re friends with Quin?”
“I’m a family friend of the Weylands. Even related to them in a way—my brother recently married Jane Weyland.”
“That makes no sense. The last I heard, Jane was supposed to marry some rich English earl.”
“Believe me, I doona see it either.”
“So you knew who I was the night of the masquerade?”
“No, only that you were an acquaintance of theirs as well. Listen, Madeleine, with the rate you’ve lost weight since I last saw you, the apple I found in your garret is likely the only dinner you’re returning to, and the men outside your building are no’ the type to show mercy.”
She could deny none of it.
“All I’m asking you to do is share a dinner with me and hear me out.” When she was still shaking her head, he snapped, “Do you really need to mull over the choice of a warm meal with me or facing those men?”
If Toumard’s men were there, she’d be forced to wander the streets again. Yet still she said, “Yes, MacCarrick. Yes, I do. You were hateful that night, and the only thing that got me through it was telling myself I never had to see you again. ‘Decide what’s to be done with you,’ you said. How galling. I want nothing from you—not then, and not now! I’ve taken care of myself since I was fourteen.” She was almost home, to her bed, to oblivion.
“Aye, and a capable job you’re doing. With the poverty, hunger, and debts. Seems you might have stuck around Quin’s till I came back if this was what you were returning to.” He waved a hand at the street.
Homeless men gathered around fires in clay pots, casting long shadows over the buildings. Gunfire popped in the background. Somewhere in the dark a fistfight broke out.
“Quin told me you were intelligent and practical. Surely you’ve the sense to at least hear me out.”
“Quin talked to you about me?” she asked, slowing.
“Aye, and he knows I’ve come to Paris to see you. He would no’ like to learn that you live in a place like this.”
She would die if Quin knew! She twined her fingers. But would her pride force her to go along with the Scot? At that moment, she feared pride had just taken a generous lead over curiosity toward her downfall. She finally stopped. “I don’t want him to know.”
“Then come along,” he said in a stern tone that must usually send people scurrying to do his bidding—because he l
ooked perplexed when she only raised her brows at him. “Come with me, and I’ll get you a room at my hotel, and you’ll enjoy a nice hot meal.”
“Now it’s to your hotel? Do you think I’m a fool? Besides, I thought you preferred intercourse in moving conveyances.”
He made a sound of frustration, then dug a small jewelry case from his pocket, presenting it to her. “Have dinner with me, listen to my proposition, and I’ll give you this. No strings attached.”
Her hand shot out for the case so swiftly that he had to blink. She whirled around, opening it. A diamond ring! “You don’t mind if I examine this more closely?” she asked over her shoulder.
He quirked a brow, waving her forward. “No’ at all.”
She needed a streetlight. Of course, the sole one in La Marais had been torn down, its iron sold for scrap. But she could feel the stone’s weight and knew it couldn’t be paste. A diamond, a real one. This would pay off Toumard and keep her for years. “One dinner earns me this?”
“Aye, you can keep the ring, regardless of your decision.”
“Would you vow you won’t try anything unseemly with me?”
“Unseemly? Aye, I can vow that.”
She could tell the ring wouldn’t fit her thin fingers, so she pulled her key ribbon from her skirt pocket. After untying the red ribbon and threading the ring along it next to her apartment key, she stowed it back into her deep pocket.
When she faced him again, he appeared to barely check a smug smirk, no doubt thinking she’d just agreed. “It’s obvious you always get what you want,” she said. “Maybe it’d be good for you to be turned down flat by a girl from the slum.”
At that, he obviously reached his limit. He took a step forward, looking as though he planned to toss her over his shoulder.
“Ah-ah”—she wagged her finger at him—“I wouldn’t do that. You won’t catch me, not in my neighborhood.”
He seemed to grind his teeth again, then clearly lit on an idea.
From his jacket, he pulled an apple—it was her precious apple, abducted from her home.
“No!” she cried, forced to watch as he took a big bite, chewing with exaggerated relish.
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