by Alyson Chase
Mrs. Bonner batted at his hand. “Will you desist. Matters are bad enough already without you adding making merry to the mix.”
He sighed. One thing he’d learned from these months of association with the woman was that she smiled little. Not that he could blame her. She had little to smile about.
He swallowed past the thickness in his throat. “Let me assist you.” Reaching for the rope around her ankle, he tried to slide it past her boot. The rope caught at a small hole in the heel.
She slapped him away. “I can untangle myself.”
Max rocked back on his haunches and gave her a couple of moments of flailing about. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like she managed to wrap another rope about her elbow. Her chances of success were low, but she looked delightful twisting this way and that. Strands of dark red hair had escaped the tight knot at her nape but they couldn’t hide the angry flush reddening her face, or the heaving of her breasts.
“Do you concede defeat?” Really, he had all evening to enjoy the spectacle. Her skirts crept past her knees, and he would love to see just how far gravity would take them. But he began to suspect the blood in her face had more to do with hanging upside down than pique. And the way she was managing, she could end up wrapping one of those ropes around her neck.
“No. Just …” She heaved a sigh, and a lock of hair blew away from her face and drifted back to her lips. “Fine.” She reached out a hand. “Please help me up.”
He pulled her upright and set her on the one foot that was free. Max eyed the harness, trying to determine which rope to attack first. “Do you mind my asking what, pray tell, you were doing?”
“I was putting the ropes away.” She tilted her chin up and sniffed. Her left leg was still caught in the ropes, torqued at an indecent angle away from her body, ruining the sanctimonious effect. She swayed, hopped on one foot, and clutched the ropes.
“An inventive method, to be sure.”
Mrs. Bonner narrowed her eyes, and he bit back a grin. The woman was all starch and misguided propriety, and Max enjoyed ruffling her tail feathers.
Ignoring her yelp, he hefted her to his shoulder and dragged the now slack ropes from her body. His fingers scraped across her hips and thighs and he forced himself to make the contact as fleeting as possible. His face was at her waist and he couldn’t help but breathe her in. Her clothing smelled of lavender with an undertone of lye, a combination that shouldn’t be appealing. His cock didn’t agree and gave an interested twitch. It was such a mismatch of odors, a contradiction much like the woman. He wondered how long it would take a man to know Mrs. Bonner completely.
He set her on her feet and gripped her shoulders when she wobbled.
She shrugged him off. “I’m fine. I thank you.” Shaking her skirts, she heaved a sigh. “This place is awash in filth and oddities, and I cannot understand how it continues to turn a profit.”
Max unknotted the ropes and began to loop them around his hand and elbow. “What exactly is so filthy about people seeking pleasure?” He slid the coil on his shoulder and started on another rope.
“What happens under this roof is a sin, as you well know.” Mrs. Bonner took one of the coils and strode to the far wall. She hung the rope from a large nail. “I am quite happy that my employment here is almost at an end.”
Max plodded to the wall, avoiding her gaze. When her employment ended, so would their association. He would miss her wide-eyed shock at the scenes played out in The Black Rose. The way she would press her lips together in disapproval, but sneak glances of the so-called sin when she thought no one was looking.
Perhaps convincing her that The Black Rose wasn’t a den of iniquity would help change her mind. She needed employment. His paid well. It was only sensible. “How can it be a sin to enjoy what God has so freely given us? Minds and interests, and bodies to revel in it all. Isn’t it more sinful to waste our lives by denying our blessings?”
She shook her head as she pulled a coil of rope from his shoulder. “By that way of thinking, we’d have license to do anything we wanted. Steal, cheat, murder …” She paled and turned for the wall.
He hung the last length of rope. “Has your time here been so unbearable?” he asked hesitantly. “I had thought when I offered you this job that it would help your situation.”
Clasping her hands together in front of her, she stared up at him. In the dim light, her deep blue eyes looked as dark as the night sky. “No. I was fortunate to get the work and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But you were high-handed about it. Ignoring my objections to the manner of work, insisting I take the apartments here above the club.” She shook her head. “I almost thought you were going to drag me to your carriage unless I agreed.”
Max remained silent. He wasn’t quite certain he wouldn’t have. The woman had been damn stubborn. And he was responsible for her well-being. Knowing she was safe and provided for had eased his mind.
“But, much as I dislike this establishment and your general bossiness”—she arched an eyebrow and his damn cock twitched again—“you have done more for me since my husband died than anyone. I need to remember that.”
“I would have done more, if you’d let me.” That still burned. The fact that she wouldn’t let him set her up in her own apartments after the fire. That she’d lived in a cramped home with her cousin, his wife, and his five children. But she hadn’t wanted charity from a stranger. When The Black Rose’s former owner and manager, Madame Sable, had been arrested, asking Mrs. Bonner to replace her had seemed the perfect solution. Honest work for honest pay. Even though it was work she loathed.
Maybe he should have told her he was responsible for her condition. Maybe then she would have accepted his help freely.
“You did plenty.” She strode for the door. “No other landlord would have done so much for a tenant. Especially as you’d only just purchased the building the week before it burned to the ground.”
He’d bought it a week after, making sure the previous owner wouldn’t sustain a loss. But if she knew that, she’d ask questions. And if she asked questions, he’d have to tell her more lies. And lying to such an honest woman made his stomach tighten and his throat go dry.
She’d refused the damn fire insurance he’d offered. Saying she knew she and her husband hadn’t purchased it and she didn’t want anyone to be cheated. How many people did that? She was broke, a widow, her home and clock shop burned to the ground, and she refused easy blunt.
He followed her down the hall and into the main room. A raucous game of Beast of Burden had broken out. Max couldn’t see which club member was down on all fours bearing the woman about on his back. The beast crawled around the room, carrying the chit to every gentleman. The places on her body where she received her kisses were most … inventive. The music from the small band on the landing competed for dominance over the howls of laughter.
“Why don’t we go to your rooms?” he asked. “I need to discuss something with you.”
“Of course.” She circled the edges of the room, on the opposite side of Lord Halliwell, Max noticed. That man needed a talking to.
She led him up the staircase to her private rooms. Her threadbare skirts hinted at shapely legs and displayed to admirable advantage the swaying of her wide hips. Max greedily ran his eyes up and down her form. Unlike the other women of Max’s acquaintance, Mrs. Bonner had neither the gracefully sloping shoulders of the lady-birds of the club nor the affectations of languor practiced by the coquettes of the ton. From the determined set to her broad shoulders to her firm steps upon the stairs, Mrs. Bonner looked capable instead. Sturdy even. Like a woman with the strength to face the world.
She was completely unfashionable, and Max found her unutterably appealing.
She took him to her office instead of the sitting room and settled herself behind the elegant Queen Anne table that served as a desk. She indicated the chair across from her. “Have a seat.”
Max turned to the fireplace instead. Picking up the tongs, h
e laid more coal on her fire and stoked the flames higher. “As you know, when you first agreed to manage this club, it was on the condition that it would be for three months.”
“Or until the owner found a permanent manager. Whichever came first.”
“Yes. About that.” Max lit a taper in the fire then went about the room lighting the rest of the candles. He considered how to broach the subject.
“That one candle there is quite enough light.” Mrs. Bonner pointed to the taper on the corner of her desk.
“You’ll ruin your eyesight with how stingy you are with the wax.”
“It’s not stingy to avoid extravagance. Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you about the candles in the chandelier downstairs. There are one hundred and—”
“The candles stay. They add ambience.” He set the taper in a candlestick on the mantle then strode to the chair in front of her desk, taking a seat.
He eyed the woman across from him. She’d been so reluctant to work in a Venus club. But she had a roof over her head now and three square meals a day. Surely, she’d come to appreciate the employment. “I now own this club. Madame Sable ran into some difficulties, and she had to sell in order to pay her legal fees. I purchased it.”
Mrs. Bonner gaped at him, her full, open lips giving him all sorts of indecent ideas.
He gritted his teeth. Why was he always attracted to the strait-laced women? The ones who were shocked by his predilections? Who thought him immoral?
“But why would you want to own a bawdy house?” she asked. “I knew you were interested in its management and in ensuring the club’s survival, but to actually enter into such a trade … You’re a member of the gentry!”
“And the gentry are above such filth?” Max raised an eyebrow. She truly was too naïve for words. “All the members are of the Beau Monde. With the fees we charge, they need to be. Why is it so surprising one of us would own it?”
Mrs. Bonner rested her elbows on the desk. “But you don’t … that is, I’ve never seen you ….” A delightful blush crept up her cheeks, a lighter shade of red than her dark auburn hair.
“You’ve never seen me use one of the rooms?” He hadn’t, not since Mrs. Bonner had become manager. But she’d have to find out sooner or later. Especially if she acceded to his wishes. “I’ve been busy lately.”
She pushed a piece of paper back and forth with the tip of her index finger. “Everything here is so strange. What is it, exactly, that you do here?”
“Next time I play, you’ll have to come and watch.” Blood rushed to his groin at the thought, and he draped one leg over the other. It hid his burgeoning erection, but the pressure on his length only made him harder. “Or, if you’re interested, I’ll even let you play with me.”
Her eyes flared before her spine snapped straight. “No, thank you,” she said, her voice clipped. “Now, would you like to look over the books? My three months here are almost at an end, and I believe you’ll see that my management has maintained sufficient profit for you to pay me the premium you promised.”
She jumped to her feet and reached for a ledger resting on the shelf behind her. She laid it on the desk, spun it around, knocking a piece of parchment to the ground. She ran her finger down a neat column of numbers. “As you can see, net earnings have grown by two percent. Not a huge increase I’ll grant you, but as I’m not certain of my authority to change vendors, it was the best I could do.”
Max picked up the fallen piece of paper. “Would you like to have that authority?”
“What do you mean?” A tiny dent appeared in her forehead. “After you pay me my premium, I won’t be working here anymore.”
He tapped the paper against his thigh. “I wanted to discuss your leaving. What would you say to staying on? Now that I’m the owner, I’ll need a full-time manager. And as you said, you’re doing a fine job.”
“Absolutely not.”
Max pursed his lips. “You don’t need time to think about it?”
Mrs. Bonner tugged at the hem of her absurd waistcoat. Even amongst the lower classes, a woman wearing something so masculine was unusual. But Max had to admit the fitted garment did cup her breasts and torso nicely. Much better than those formless gowns women typically liked to wear.
“No. I already have plans for my premium.” She fingered the chain than ran from a buttonhole in the waistcoat and disappeared into a pocket. “And frankly, I’ve spent all the time I should at this establishment. It isn’t proper.”
Well, that was disappointing but not unexpected. Not with how difficult it had been to get Mrs. Bonner to agree in the first place. But he did need a good manager. He glanced down and frowned. “What if I offered you a pay increase? I could …” His eyes flew to the paper again. “What is this?” He pushed from his seat and slapped the letter down on the desk.
Mrs. Bonner flicked her gaze down and up. “That is one of many correspondences directed to this business and a good example of why my time here must come to an end. To engage in such lewd behavior is bad enough, but to discuss it so openly is beyond reproach. Why that Mr. Zed thinks I’ll tell him stories about what goes on within these walls, I don’t know.”
Grinding his back teeth together, Max tried to swallow his frustration. She couldn’t possibly be so simple. “The author of this letter isn’t asking you to write a lewd novel. He wants information on the members.”
“Yes, that was clear.” Mrs. Bonner leaned back in her chair. “I believe his exact words were, ‘I will make it more than worth your while if we came to a mutually-beneficial arrangement. I’m more than willing to pay, and pay well, for information regarding your members’ less savory inclinations.’” She sniffed. “I don’t know how he wants me to determine which behaviors are more or less savory when every act in The Black Rose is shocking. It would be like choosing between the Tyburn Tree or the guillotine.”
It didn’t surprise Max that she would remember the letter word for word. From running numbers to solving problems, Mrs. Bonner had proven herself a most intelligent woman.
She was also the stupidest smart person he’d ever met.
“Do you not understand why Zed wants this information?” The alias burned in the back of his throat. It was one he recognized. “The man isn’t planning on reading your little stories in bed as he pleasures himself.” Mrs. Bonner’s mouth dropped open, but he ignored her dismay. “He wants information about the members in order to blackmail them.”
“He doesn’t say that.”
“Not in so many words, no, but the intent is clear.” Max blew out a breath and reread the letter. Zed had been the head of a crime ring that he and his friends had been instrumental in taking down several months ago. The Crown had arrested many perpetrators, including The Black Rose’s proprietress Madame Sable, but others had fled England, evading capture. The identity of Zed had never been determined. The man had been as elusive as smoke, and Max had thought he had drifted out of their reach.
Tension coiled in his gut. He’d thought that part of his life was over. He’d wanted a fresh start, and purchasing The Black Rose was the first step. An investment that would keep him as occupied as he’d like, one that did nothing more than make money and people happy. No more sneaking and spying for the Crown. He was done soiling his soul for the greater good. Finally, he could live a life of peace and pleasure.
But Zed was back. And sniffing around his club. That idyllic future would have to wait. Tucking the letter into the inside breast pocket of his coat, Max stood. “I have to go.”
“What about the books? You wanted to see them.” Mrs. Bonner tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And we have yet to discuss the exact date of my departure.”
“Later.” He strode for the door.
“But, my premium—”
“Later.” Max turned at the door and bowed. “I’ll return tomorrow and we can discuss your employment.” He fled, not wanting to see the confusion crossing her honest face.
The letter changed everything.
His options for his new club were now forced. And Max had a creeping suspicion that Mrs. Bonner wouldn’t like the new terms of her employment.
***
“So, he’s back.” John Chaucer, Earl of Summerset tossed the letter onto the low table in front of his chair and kicked his feet up onto it. He pulled out a lilac pocket square and wiped his fingers, as though the blackmail letter held a taint.
Marcus Hawkridge, Duke of Montague, and Sinclair Archer, Marquess of Dunkeld, laid down their cue sticks and strode over to join them. The men were in a private billiard’s room at Simon’s, a gentleman’s club they all belonged to, and a favored location for confidential conversations. Dunkeld knocked Summerset’s boots off the table and picked up the letter.
The marquess ran a hand through his copper hair. “What is this ‘Zed’ business, anyhow? I detest affectation.”
Montague snatched the letter from his friend’s hand. “Says the man whose castle in Scotland boasts a dungeon holding fifty suits of armor chained to the walls.”
“Sixty-five. One for each Englishman who dared fight my clan at Prestonpans.”
Summerset crossed one silk pantalooned leg over the other, swinging his foot back and forth. “And which clan member was it who sold out to us English in order to receive a marquisate?”
A deep growl rumbled from the Scotsman’s burly chest.
“Gentlemen.” Montague raised a hand. “Can we please get on to the matter at hand? I was on my bridal tour when you took down this crime ring. I don’t know who this Zed fellow is.” Marcus and his new duchess, Elizabeth, had faced trials of their own when they’d first met. But fortunately for them, the pair had missed Zed’s arrival to England.
Max picked up a cue stick and rolled it between his hands. “That’s the problem. Neither do we. All we know is a man—”
“Or woman,” Summerset interrupted. “We never had any confirmation of the miscreant’s sex.”