Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 03] (15 page)

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

A
ny 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 were 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.

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.