Revealing Ruby (4 page)

“I will need to talk to her. Tonight. You know there are things that are not allowed here. Not by anyone.”

The Countess looked about to argue.

Ruby felt Billy materialize behind her. The man had good instincts when it came to trouble.

The Countess took one look at him and stepped back. “I will send the girl out.”

Ruby considered. “I think Billy, here, can go in and wait with her until I am ready.” She turned to Billy. “You can send for Marie if the girl seems to need further help. I’ll come and talk to her as soon I finish with my business.”

“I tell you she’s fine. Just a little whore I picked up on the street,” the Countess protested.

Ruby wanted to slap her. She hated for one woman to have so little consideration for another. Men were bad enough. Instead, she pasted—and it took a lot of glue—her professional smile on. “I am sure everything will be fine, then, and we will have no further trouble. I do hate trouble.”

The Countess was not happy, her lips pressed even tighter—and then softened. She smiled, let the robe fall open until all of her charms, and they were quite substantial, were revealed. She leaned forward a little, running her long fingers over the welts that marked one thigh. Licking her lips, she fastened her eyes over Ruby’s left shoulder.

Ruby turned, already knowing what she’d see, sensing him. Captain Price.

He stood leaning against the door, hips cocked to the side, one foot resting against the other. And his eyes were on her, not the Countess. Now, wasn’t that a surprise?

“Do you need any help?” he asked. His voice a low growl.

“No. You are not waiting where you were supposed to,” she replied, turning from the Countess without another word.

“I am not good with idleness.”

“You should have asked if you wanted entertainment.”

“I did. You said no.” His eyes raked over her. One hand rose, brushing the air, and she felt as if it caressed her. Her nipples peaked and she could only hope that the heavy velvet hid them.

She tried to pull back her power. “Do you wish to have the discussion in the hall, where anyone can hear?”

“I’ve always preferred privacy.” The growl turned to a purr.

“Follow me.” She was not going to play this game. Take care of business and then he would leave.

Unless he asked for a girl. Her gut knotted at the thought. She might have joked about it a moment ago, but now she realized how shallow a jest it had been.

Still, if he asked, she would send someone. She just wouldn’t like it, but she’d done plenty of things in her life that she hadn’t liked.

The hallway turned and she led him past several closed doors and then up a small flight of stairs.

“This is not where I was waiting,” he said.

“I know. I felt the need to be a little further removed from my company. I am sure you will find the room adequate.” She opened the door and they entered.

The room was all dark wood and white linens, hints of gold woven through brocade coverings and edged curtains. The bed rose high and grand against the far wall, the massive canopy a work of art in itself. It was a room fit for a lord—or a lady. Indeed, it was often chosen by couples seeking privacy from society.

“This is certainly different. Not quite what I’d expect from the rest of the house,” the captain said.

“Is there a problem with the rest of my house? I am quite fond of it,” Ruby answered.

“No, but it doesn’t look like you’re about to entertain the queen.”

Ruby smiled. “No, I don’t imagine the queen will be making social calls anytime soon—but the regent has come by, although not to this room.”

The captain shrugged. “To each his own. Are you going to tell me what happened there in the hallway?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” Ruby walked toward the empty hearth. “This was Madame Noir’s room. She owned the house before me. She’d been a duke’s mistress and when he paid her off she opened the house. She brought her bed with her.” Ruby turned and walked to the bed, running her hands along the ribbed bedpost. “I’ve changed the mattresses and the bedding, but still it does remain a duke’s bed, somehow.”

“You are avoiding the subject.” The captain walked toward her. Why did she feel as if she were being stalked by a large cat?

“No. I am simply choosing not to talk about it.”

He stopped so close she could feel the heat of his body. “Does that woman work for you?”

“Why, do you want to buy her for the evening?” The knot formed again in Ruby’s belly. It would be bad enough if he called for a girl; if he wished the Countess she might be ill.

“God forbid. That was a harpy if I’ve ever seen one. I think I’d rather sleep in a net full of fish than spend the night with her.”

The knot loosened. “I am glad to know you have some taste.”

“So does she work for you?”

Ruby turned to him. If she drew in a deep breath her breasts would brush the buttons of his shirt. “No. Only a piece of my income comes from my girls. Often I just provide a room and a meeting place. Sometimes couples who cannot be together come here. This room is very popular with the lords and ladies who do not happen to be married to each other. I also on occasion provide a meeting spot for men who do not choose female companionship.” She watched his eyes closely as she spoke, saw the slight widening as he took her meaning. “And sometimes I provide space—and toys—for couples of particular needs. That is what you saw this evening. The lady and the gentleman have met several times to…play games. Unfortunately tonight they discovered that they did not suit as well as they thought. I could have told them that, but they did not ask.”

Ruby felt the captain’s eyes drift down to her lips. She felt conscious of every breath she took. Her mouth was dry and she wanted to lick her lips. She held back, not wishing to send that message.

His eyes drifted up to her face. “It is an interesting establishment you run here, different than I had expected.” His breath brushed across her cheek.

She’d expected the scent of brandy and smoke, but all she smelled was mint. She drew in a deeper breath. Soap. Sandalwood, she thought. The sea, but like the wild coastline she’d once visited as a child, not the crowded docks of London. “I do try to keep everybody happy.”

“Except me.”

What would happen if she did give in and make him happy? Would it really be so bad? She was tempted. Oh so tempted.

Stepping back she tried to cool the heat rising within her body. “You seemed pretty happy when I saw you last night.”

“When you saw me?” He took a step forward, following her.

When I saw you. When I watched you. Her mind filled with images.

Damnation. She should not have said that—for so many reasons. “I keep an eye on all my patrons.”

He reached out, a finger lifting her chin until their eyes met. “Exactly when did you see me?”

“Does it matter?”

“I rather think it does.” His eyes darkened.

“You were a new patron. I always check to be sure all is as it should be.”

“And how do you check?” His voice became a low growl.

She was in for it now. “There are peepholes in each of the rooms. It is part of our security. It is not an unusual thing in this business.”

He turned and walked from her, shrugged from his coat, and lay it across a table. Damnation, the man had a fine behind, firm and well muscled, but not overly so. For the briefest of moments, her mind filled with images from the night before. That hard ass thrusting, slamming, again and again, the indented cheeks straining, and Tilly’s cries of delight. That last bit of memory brought down the walls. She did not like remembering there had been another woman.

And that truly centered her back in this room.

Caring what a client did and with whom could not be her concern outside of a ledger book.

Unless he was with her.
The tantalizing thought floated through her mind like a butterfly refusing to be netted.

He turned back to her, his eyes growing cold. “And were you the only one to watch me?”

“We do not cater to voyeurs—not unless the client wishes to be watched.” She felt her own hackles rise. She’d worked hard to make sure that everything that happened between her walls involved willing participants.

“So it was only you.” His voice softened, slightly. “And how long did you watch?”

“It only takes a few seconds to ensure that everything is fine.”

“So you watched for only a few seconds?”

“Why would I watch for more? It was clear you were not hurting Tilly.” She had to force the girl’s name from her mouth. She must remember what this was really about, how it was that she made her living.

“I notice you are not answering.” Did his lips curve, even if just slightly?

“Yes, I watched you—for some time. I quite like dragons.” She had to force herself to hold his gaze; she would not be cowed. She was a woman of some experience. She could manage this.

One of his hands dropped to his waistband and skimmed across his belly, stroking the hiding beast. “You did watch.”

“Yes.” Keep it simple. She was a woman. He was an attractive man. There was nothing wrong with staying with those facts. “I had never seen anything like it. I’ve seen tattoos, of course. Not all that many. My normal patrons do not sport them and not many sailors can afford my house. It is quite something.” She allowed her eyes to drop to the hand that still stroked across his hips.

“So, you like him?” Another stroke.

She could almost imagine the dragon moving as his hand stroked his muscles. Only in her imagination it was not his hand that stroked, but her own.

Stop it,
she told herself firmly. “It does not matter what I like. I am here for business, not pleasure.” Reaching into her bodice, she pulled out the small piece of cloth she’d wrapped about Tilly’s coins. The parcel spun in the air as she tossed it to him. “Here. Let me know if it is all there. I do not know how much you gave her. I trust my girls, but I always check.”

He grabbed the parcel in the air, his eyes locked on her bodice, and the fingers that still hesitated there. “I am sure it is fine.”

“Check.”

He opened the fabric and glanced down. “It’s here.”

“Did Madame Hawkes agree to help you? Did you find a girl for your mate?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I did not ask. I still think Tilly is the girl.”

“You mean you don’t think one pretty whore is as good as another?” The harsh words spat from her lips. A reminder.

He took a step nearer.

She wanted to back away, but held her ground.

Another step. His eyes fastened on her lips. “No. I’ve always seen women as quite different. I definitely do not find one as good as another.”

Small fires glowed in her belly. She must put them out—she must. “Then should I send her to you? You clearly have the money to pay.” Her eyes fastened on the cloth-covered coins. This was business. Business.

“No. I’ve decided that Tilly is for Thompson. I don’t know how yet, but I will make it happen. And I do not like to share.” His eyes blazed in the candlelight.

Neither did she. Her foot lifted to step toward him. Why not? It would be so easy. This room did not have peepholes. Nobody would ever know. Her breath quickened. It had been so long. She deserved this, deserved him.

She stepped back, turned, drew in a breath. “Is there no way you can get Thompson here?”

“At the moment I am considering throwing him over my shoulder and just carrying him. I am not sure, however, that it would do much for his sense of being a man.” He took another step, following her, a cat on the prowl. Or the hunt.

This must be stopped. She must not let herself feel this way. She knew better. “If our business is finished then I will take my leave. I must take care of that little situation you just witnessed—make sure the girl really was willing. And then I must smile and make sure all are welcome.”

She turned to leave. “Do you wish me to send you a girl other than Tilly?” The words had to be said.

“What I saw in the hallway. The woman with the whip. The welts on her thighs. The bound girl within the room. Does that happen often here?”

Was the captain getting ideas? She did hope not. Bondage had never been to her taste, although her tastes did not matter, not in the slightest. She did not look back at him. “If you mean the disturbance, no, my house is very orderly. If you mean a little mastery and control, Madame Rouge’s is known for it, although only between willing partners. My girls are rarely involved. Most who seek mastery are not seeking to pay for it. I only supply the rooms and the equipment. Are you interested? There’s often a willing player waiting.”

“God, no. I am a man for simplicity. Quite happy with a good hard fuck. Never have understood the need for toys.”

Was he a little embarrassed by the conversation? His voice had become suddenly clipped.

She smiled over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Some toys can be quite—quite fun.” Let him think on that.

“I would like the room for the night. This room.”

He wanted a girl after all. She would not let it bother her. “Do you have any preferences? Blonde? Brunette? Large? Small? Someone similar to Tilly?”

He took one more pace nearer.

Again she felt the mouse to his cat.

When he spoke she could feel the air move. “No. I just want the room. I’ve never slept in a king’s bed before. How can I miss the experience? You did say you just rented rooms—for willing participants.” His voice curled around her ear.

“It was a duke’s bed—or rather a duke’s mistress’s, hardly a king’s.”

“Can you be sure a king never slept in it?”

Ruby considered what she knew of Madame Noir. There was very little that was not possible. “Who can be sure of anything?”

“Then leave me my fantasies. Who knows when they may become real?”

Did the man really think she was that easy? The problem was she just might be.

She turned once again and stalked away from him until she reached a corner of the room. Leaning forward, she pressed on the second strip in the wallpaper. A small passage eased open. “There is a bath and shower bath in a chamber at the bottom of the steps. I will have hot water supplied in about half an hour, after I deal with other things. If you are going to take the room you might as well enjoy the amenities.”

She turned to leave.

“I thought you required payment up front?”

Blast. She turned and held out her hand. Not stating a price.

He walked to his coat and pulled out a sheaf of notes. He pulled one out, dropping it in her hand.

She glanced down. It would do.

She nodded, turned, and forced herself to leave the room. “If you call, someone will bring you anything you require.”

Except you.

She could not be sure if she’d really heard the words.

Why had he taken the room? He certainly hadn’t intended to. It was a foolish thing. Well, he definitely knew why he had—but he doubted the curvy madame’s thoughts were running the same way. She’d made it quite clear what she thought about the idea of spending time in his bed.

Bed.

He turned and stared at the thing. It was absurd. It was probably as large as his cabin on the
Dawn’s Light
and equally as sturdy if those posts were anything to judge by. It might have been a handsome piece of furniture if it weren’t for the ruffles and gilt. Who embroidered their bedsheets with gold? And that canopy—he imagined Spanish treasure galleons had been sunk for less. He took a step closer, glancing up at the underside of the canopy.

He stared. It was painted. Nymphs and satyrs frolicked freely. If “frolicked” was the right word. No, he imagined that no king had ever stared up at that. He was a man of wide experience. What sea captain was not? But there were some things he’d never even thought were possible. Not that seeing a painting actually made something possible. Could a woman’s left foot really curve about a man’s neck while her right foot rose high behind her back? And why would you want it to?

For a moment he pictured the madame in such a position. His cock stirred—but no.

His mind moved to other positions, bent over a desk, her skirts above her waist, her legs spread.

Or lying across that wide bed, splayed and willing, and glistening.

Or kneeling before him, lips parted…

His cock stood at full attention. Waiting.

Yes, he was definitely a man of simple tastes.

He glanced at the open passage. A bath—and at the moment even a cold one—would be wonderful. There were few enough chances for a proper bath at sea and he’d always been partial to cleanliness. And a shower bath? He’d heard of them, but never tried one himself.

With little thought, he shed his clothes, letting them fall to the floor.

He pushed the panel open and walked down the narrow passage. The small chamber at the bottom was already lit with candles. Ruby must have given the order before dealing with the other matters. Steam rose from a large oval bath. The scent of something clean and green filled the room. Fresh, not feminine. Ruby did understand men.

A wooden contraption stood in a round copper tub. He walked over and examined it. A metal chain hung from the tub above. Interesting. He pulled the chain, and stepped back as a shower of water fell from a wooden bucket above. The bucket was not large, the water would run out quickly. He could not imagine having a servant standing by ready to refill it.

Ah, a foot pedal. A pipe. It would take some effort, but…

He stepped over and in.

Braced himself and pulled. Warm scented water fell all about him.

It was not the cold brisk cleansing he had imagined, but given what he’d paid for the room, why not indulge?

Ruby heard the drum of the water. She closed her eyes and tried not to imagine that rock-hard body being pelted with drops of warm water, tried not to imagine the water rolling over muscled shoulders and a lightly haired chest, tried not to picture a single drop catching at the nub of a small brown nipple, not to imagine her lips moving closer and…

She opened her eyes and stared into the mirror.

Why had she not stayed downstairs, not performed her duties as she did every night? Why had she come to her own chamber? To the only other room in the house that led to the bathing chamber?

The scene downstairs had not been pleasant. The girl had been all big eyes and trembling lips. It was impossible to determine her age. The child swore she was seventeen and more than willing. Ruby doubted the first and questioned the second, but what could she do? She told Mary to care for the girl for the evening and made a note to have the Countess watched. She would have liked to ban the woman from her house, but unless the girl changed her story there was little she could do. Rules were rules.

And Madame Rouge’s rules were very clear. The Countess had skirted them, but not broken them.

She wished she could just run away from it all, let somebody else be responsible.

Ruby focused on the mirror again.

She stared at cherry-stained lips and shining crimson hair. Madame Rouge would never give into such foolishness.

Turning from the mirror, she walked to the washstand and lifted the soft cloth, dipping into the fresh, warm water. Lavender met her nostrils. Sweet, pungent, relaxing. She breathed deep and then, soaping the cloth, scrubbed at her face, wiping away blackened lashes, pink cheeks, reddened lips.

It was the only moment of the day when she felt herself, remembered the world beyond the walls of the house.

Back to the dresser, to the mirror. Her skin glowed, colorless beneath the shining red curls. Her blue eyes faded without their black lining. Her lips were still full and dark, but even they were less without the brush of paint. She was just a girl, any girl. Although at twenty-eight it was hard to think of herself as a girl.

With trembling hands she reached up and pulled the wig from her head, setting it upon its stand. A quick pull at the pins and her own soft blond hair tumbled about her. It was not long, only brushing the tops of her shoulders. When she’d been a girl it had reached her waist, but now it needed to fit beneath the heavy wig.

She ran her fingers through it, fluffing it. Rolling her neck, she enjoyed the freedom. Was there a better moment of the day than this?

She pulled the ear bobs from her ears and set them aside with care.

Clear blue eyes met clear blue eyes in the mirror.

Emma Scanton.

Miss Emma Scanton stood before her, alive for the few private moments each day she was allowed. She looked out of place in the heavy blue velvet of the dress. A young girl playing dress-up, although she’d already established that she was not young—not that she’d ever been young.