“Of course you are, dearie,” Annabel said and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “But no worries. The door has a lock on it.”
Chapter Four
Avilon stood inside her assigned room on the second floor, clutching her cloak tightly in her arms. The area was sparse in both appearance and charm, threadbare down to the bones. A small bed, an armoire, and a washstand, that was all. Not even a blanket bedecked the white-on-white décor.
“Are all the rooms like this?” she asked.
“Eh,” Annabel replied, her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t look like much, but you can decorate however you want.”
“I think I’ll stay at my current place of residence for now.”
Annabel’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t know about that, dearie. Mr. Masters might not be too keen on one of his girls—”
“I’m not one of his girls,” Avilon stated firmly. She turned to walk out of the room, ending that line of conversation. “I suppose I should spend time with the piano man. What’s his name?”
“Homer,” Annabel replied as she fell into step next to her. “He’s a decent bloke.”
Avilon looked down at the floor below them, seeing Jason Braddock talking with several men, including the one named Ellis from earlier. “What about him?”
“Mr. Braddock?” Annabel snorted. “I’ve heard stories about him and Mr. Masters. They like to share women.”
Avilon had meant Ellis, but her mind went completely blank as she wondered if she had heard Annabel correctly. She stopped walking and turned to her. “Did you say ‘share’? I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes two men can put a woman between them during the sex. One in front and one in back.”
“In the back? Do you mean…as in, back there?”
“Ah, don’t knock it till you try it, dearie. It can feel amazing with the right man. Or men.”
Avilon shot a quick glance back down to Jason. Visions of him and Eli Masters suddenly filled her imagination, both men surrounding her, kissing her, caressing her. Annabel’s words swirled through her mind, and the thought of both men possessing her filled her with a sense of confusion. Would they be potent lovers? Demanding? Would they treat a woman with kindness, affection?
Her parents had been devoutly pious people, perhaps a tad harsh in their beliefs. Her Aunt Verity had been the complete opposite, with a brand of parenting that had included hugs, kisses, and praises. Even on their travels throughout Europe, her aunt had always sought out the more tantalizing aspects of human nature. The two views had clashed horribly, and it took Avilon a while to reconcile both upbringings.
As if sensing her, Jason looked up and caught her gaze. For a moment, the world dimmed, as if someone was slowly turning down the lights until only he and she were left. His brilliant green eyes pinned her, and she couldn’t look away. Threads of something…intangible pulled at her, until all she wanted to do was run toward him. That inexplicable need baffled her. Never in her life had she ever wanted to touch a man more than she did at that moment. Her palms actually itched to run over his hair, his face, to trace the smooth lines of his chest and shoulders.
It wasn’t until Annabel actually shook her that the ethereal connection with Jason broke. Avilon blinked and stepped back from the railing. When her back hit the wall, she stopped retreating, but her heart continued to pound in her chest. She felt hot and cold all over, and a fine mist of sweat graced her forehead.
“Oh my,” Annabel murmured, causing Avilon to look questioningly at her. “I never thought I’d see it.”
“See what?” Avilon rasped in a dry voice.
“That was more than lust, dearie. That was destiny.”
Avilon took a deep breath as she pushed away the incredibly erotic moment. “I haven’t the foggiest notion what you mean,” she replied and continued on.
“Well, I can assure you Mr. Braddock has never looked at one of us girls that way,” Annabel mused.
Despite herself, she felt relieved. “No?”
“Not one time has he or Mr. Masters visited us girls.”
As they walked down the stairs, Avilon couldn’t help but look for Jason, but he was no longer around. Still, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she felt inordinately pleased knowing that Annabel didn’t know Jason’s touch.
Homer sat at the piano, seducing a mournful tune from the beautiful instrument. His eyes were closed as his long, leathery fingers stretched for the keys, playing the song by memory. It struck her that her style of singing may not mesh with Homer’s more down-to-earth playing, and her mind started sorting how they were going to work together.
When the music ended, Avilon clapped, causing Homer to start in surprise. He shot her a steady but carefully blank look.
“That was lovely,” she said as she walked forward. “Where did you learn to play?”
His eyes flickered back down. “In the house I grew up in. My mama taught me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Avilon.”
She held out her hand. Homer’s obsidian eyes glanced from it to her face and then back down again. He didn’t take her hand.
“Yes, miss,” he said, his voice deep and slightly gruff. “My name’s Homer.”
Slowly, she lowered her hand back to her side.
“I thought since we’re going to be working together, we should rehearse,” Avilon said softly.
“I don’t know no opera, miss,” he replied.
“That’s fine. I can sing lots of different music. I liked that song you were just playing. Are there words for it?”
He nodded and shuffled through the sheet music in front of him until he found what he was looking for. As he handed it to her, she took it and managed to grab his hand. His shocked eyes flashed to her.
“It’s nice to meet you, Homer,” she said, smiling at him. She squeezed his hand once before letting it go. “Are you new, too?”
“Oh no. I’ve been with Mr. Masters since he opened the club.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three years.”
“Did you always play piano for him?”
“No, miss. I was hired for the kitchen, but when I found the piano, well, I couldn’t help myself. Mr. Masters told me he didn’t care what color my skin was long as I could tap the keys.”
She wanted badly to question him about Amelia, but she sensed his distance. He was loyal to Eli Masters, and right now, he didn’t trust her one bit. Reluctantly, she held her tongue, deciding to wait.
“The song I sang today will be all right without music, but I thought to liven it up we could change the arrangement. Do you have any thoughts on a piece of music that could blend nicely with it? Also, I was thinking…since the area has a certain reputation for bawdiness, do you know any appropriate songs?”
Homer, his eyes still down, nodded. For the rest of the afternoon, they worked together, comparing songs, changing tunes. For a while, she forgot about Amelia and the reason she was there, trying to figure out where her sister was and what trouble she was involved with. She had spent many years traveling with her Aunt Verity, attending many opera performances, practicing the songs in her private time, and as much as she enjoyed that experience, it all faded in comparison to the thrill she felt actually singing out loud on a stage. It was liberating, fiery, and everything in her life suddenly condensed down to this moment. The tilting world righted. The searching hunger found nourishment. And Avilon found what she had been born to do.
Chapter Five
Once again Avilon found herself walking to Sydney Town, although her perspective had changed dramatically since yesterday. Then she had been all about finding her sister, and now a guilty pleasure had taken root in her soul.
When she turned to the alley to approach the club’s back entrance, she saw Eli standing outside with a young boy. He looked about ten or eleven, with dirty clothing and a hat pulled low on his brow that had red curly hair sticking out the back.
“I don’
t have any work here, but visit McGinty’s Tavern off Channel,” Eli said and patted the boy on the shoulder. “Ask for Sherman, and tell him I sent you. Here’s a few coins to keep you fed in the meantime.”
“Thank you, sir,” the boy said and took the money. As he walked past her, he reached up and tipped his hat.
Eli gave her a brief look before disappearing into the club.
She hadn’t thought Eli would be a helpful type of man, especially toward children, but obviously he was a surprising man. He had left the door open for her, so she closed it behind her, giving the kitchen staff a cheerful good morning.
The club lay quiet and dark. She took a moment to look around, seeing details that she had missed before. Inlaid mother-of-pearl accentuated all the gambling tables, complementing the burgundy velvet cushioning. The high-back chairs were polished to a high gleam. The massive chandelier hung over her like a crystal stalactite, silent and tenebrous. She noticed the crown molding had small mirrors attached, which would reflect any bit of light back to brighten the room, and thought it highly clever.
“I read about it in a book about Egypt,” Eli said from behind her.
Startled, her hand flew to her heart as she spun around.
“The mirrors on the crown molding,” he went on as if he hadn’t just scared the wits out of her. “Mirrors were used to refract light into the interiors of the pyramids, so I thought it would be a cost-efficient solution to alleviate the darkness in here.”
“Less of a fire hazard as well. Though I have a hard time picturing you reading about the architecture of ancient Egypt.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’m a man of many talents.”
For some insane reason, she wanted to smile at him. “Excuse me, but are you the same man who was an absolute cad to me yesterday? First you help an urchin boy, and now you’re being nice to me. I’m confused.”
“Perhaps you were being overly sensitive,” he replied. “Or maybe I was having a bad day.”
Intuitively she knew there was more to the story than simply a bad day, but she realized now might not be the right time to ask for clarification.
“How did you acquire the club?” Avilon asked.
“I won it from a man named Mr. Broon,” Eli answered. “This place had great bones, a great location, and as soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew I had to have it. So I became a patron, a regular at the tables. And one night, Mr. Broon was playing. The stakes went higher, and during one particular game he had placed the club as the bet.”
“Is that what you had wanted?”
“It’s what I maneuvered.”
“What does that mean?”
“He lost, and I won. As I had him escorted from the property, he was screaming I cheated him.”
“Did you cheat?”
He shook his head. “No. And the other twenty witnesses backed me up, but Broon was out of his mind, threatening to get even if it was the last thing he did.”
“What happened?”
“About a week later, I was walking from the club, and he shot me.”
“Shot you!”
He shrugged. “Inevitable for someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“I can be a bit ruthless.”
“Really?” she asked dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Anyway,” he went on, “Ellis rushed Broon, disarmed him, and took me to his brother, Jin Li, who had been a doctor in China. The Chinese have a different approach to medicine. I’ll never trust another sawbones again.”
He moved farther into the room until he came to stand next to her. The strange vibration she had felt toward him yesterday still lingered, drawing her eyes to his profile. He stared at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his back, offering an unfettered view of his stubborn jawline.
There should be a law against a man being so handsome. His black hair almost matched the hue of hers, so deep and dark it rivaled midnight. She could tell he had bathed recently because wet strands still clung to the curve of his ear. A slight hint of soap and musk wafted to her, tickling her nose and making her sharply aware of his presence.
“Are you ready to sing tonight?”
“I suppose so. What time do I perform?”
“Every night at ten.”
“The club is open on Sunday?”
He turned toward her, cynicism heavy in his eyes. “Do you uphold the Sabbath?”
“I attend church, if that’s what you mean.”
“Then you’ll have no trouble being ready to sing in the evening.”
She didn’t respond to the taunt. He stood in front of her, one eyebrow quirked, eyes narrowed as he watched her, assessing her. She had the strangest feeling he was waiting for something, but she couldn’t for the life of her determine what.
“Is there something you want from me, Mr. Masters?”
“Call me Eli.”
“That’s hardly appropriate.”
A sardonic smile creased the corners of his mouth. “You’re going to sing in a gaming club, surrounded by whores and drunks. I hardly think calling me by my first name will impinge on your reputation.”
Avilon sighed and straightened her already ramrod-stiff spine. “Do you enjoy being rude and condescending to people? It’s not attractive, by the way.”
He took a step closer to her, and suddenly he was too close. His body heat enveloped her, causing her palms to grow slick and her mouth to go dry. She became hyperaware of him, of his nearness, and her breath hitched as she tried to suck in a lungful of air.
“Do you think I’m attractive?” he asked in a low, seductive voice.
Her gaze fell to his lips. “That’s, um, not what I said.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I…better go.”
His hand took hold of her arm, holding her still. Even through her clothes, his touch felt hot and branding. “Answer the question, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” she ordered.
He bent and leaned down to her, letting his mouth fall near her ear. His warm breath tickled the wisps of hair near her temple and moistened her skin. “All right…Avilon.”
She bit her bottom lip with her upper teeth and regarded him cautiously. “If I say yes, you’ll no doubt feel as if you can take advantage of my answer, and if I say no, then you’ll—”
“I’d know you were lying.”
“Then I don’t need to answer the question.”
The flash of white from his smile showed genuine amusement. Eli brushed his lips against her skin before letting go of her arm and stepping away. She felt the slight kiss all the way to her soul.
“And no answer at all is, of course, all the answer I need,” he murmured. He winked at her, then turned and walked away without once looking back at her.
* * * *
Still contemplating the odd yet disturbing exchange she’d had with Eli Masters, Avilon went to the auditorium. Yesterday she had been so focused on accomplishing her mission, as well as performing in front of strangers, she had missed how intimate the room felt. Since no chandelier hung in the room, oil wall sconces were spaced evenly around the walls, and candles were placed on every table to provide a sensual mood for the patrons.
The theater platform lay higher than the tables, with a set of small stairs to the right. A blood-red velvet curtain framed the area in heavy scallops with gold fringe hanging along the edges. The piano sat off to the side, in front of the drapes.
Avilon took the stairs up to the platform and stared out, eyeing the empty room, trying to envision it filled with the raucous cacophony of men too deep in their cups, and wondered why Eli Masters thought they would want to hear opera. She took a deep breath. She had sat in the audience of many performances, the last one being La traviata by Giuseppe Verdi at the Teatro San Benedetto in Venice. She had heard the first performance had been jeered and ridiculed, so Verdi had revised some of it, and she couldn’t imagine a more wonderful piece of music. She and Aunt Ve
rity had decided to travel to Vienna to hear it again when they had received the news of Cousin Odell’s passing.
Now she stood in a disrespectable gaming club, about to perform the same piece of music she and her aunt had loved, and a flash of shame poured through her. Ruthlessly, she pushed it aside. She had no time for any type of remorse or regret. The only family she had left needed her, and she’d be damned if she let anything stand in her way.
Turning, she moved offstage and saw a door. Curious, she opened it to a dark dressing room. A small vanity stood along one wall with a velvet-lined bench tidily pushed into the table. Above the vanity hung a large mirror, slightly fogged with age. A well-worn chaise lounge and an armoire completed the furniture.
The heavy footfalls on the stairs had her turning to see Jason Braddock walking toward her. He held up a lantern.
“Would you like some light?”
“Thank you,” she murmured and stood aside as he walked into the room and placed the lantern on the vanity table. He pulled out a small cylinder container of lucifers and proceeded to light the lantern before laying them down next to the lantern.
“Now you’ll be able to see as you get ready,” he murmured, looking her up and down. “Is that the only garment you have?”
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Nothing. If you’re getting ready to join a cloister.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth to correct him. “Yes, I know you’re not. Lucky for you there’s a dressing room full of acceptable dresses.”
“There is?”
“In the armoire. Go ahead and take a look,” he said and took her arm to gently guide her toward the wardrobe.
Avilon felt her heart stutter at his touch and then race like a runaway horse. Thoughts flooded her mind, scorching-hot visions that made her breath catch in her throat as she suddenly envisioned her and Jason. Together. Naked.
She removed her arm from his hand. He gave her a knowing look, as if he were very aware of her thoughts. Warmth suffused her cheeks, and she turned away from him to hide her embarrassment.
The Song Bird (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 3