All Afternoon with a Scandalous Marquess (26 page)

Saint glanced expectantly at Sin. Thankfully, his friend took the hint.

“So we were discussing the violence on King Street,” Sin began as Reign picked up Frost’s toppled chair and Frost braced his hand on the table to stand.

Aye, by all means, let us discuss the violence just beyond the doors of Nox,
Saint thought. It spared him from explaining to the Lords of Vice the reason for the seething violence within the club.

Chapter Thirty

Five days had passed since Saint had punched one of the Golden Pearl guards and pushed his way into her bedchamber, where he spent the night making love to her. He had sent a note on the second day of his absence. Accompanying the note was a beautiful half-mask to replace the once he had shattered. It was an exquisite piece created from silver that reminded Madame Venna of delicate angel wings. She treasured his thoughtful gift, and anticipated seeing him again. However, as the days passed, she began to wonder if the mask had been his way of repaying her for their night of passion.

Or some twisted form of revenge for her rejection six years earlier?

Saint had been absent from Catherine’s life as well, but the news was of little comfort to Madame Venna.

A knock at the door scattered her private thoughts.

At her command to enter, Abram opened the door. “Pardon my intrusion, Madame V.”

She waved away his apology. “What news do you bring?”

“Mulcaster has arrived. He awaits you in the blue parlor.”

“Excellent.” She rose from her chair and walked around her desk. Noting his expression, she asked, “You disapprove?”

“After what he has done, you continue to treat him like a guest,” he said starkly.

“And what would you suggest? That we toss him headfirst into a burlap sack and beat him with cudgels?” Her servant’s expression revealed that he would welcome the violence if this man was responsible for Mina’s attack. Her throaty laughter filled the room. “While I appreciate the sentiment, after some consideration, I believe a more reserved approach is necessary if we hope to gain the man’s assistance.”

“And if he refuses?”

Madame Venna hesitated. “Then by all means, you may use your cudgel, Abram.”

*   *   *

Saint’s afternoon showed no signs of improving when his butler announced that Lord Greenshield was requesting an audience.

Greenshield.

Saint grimaced as he slipped his arm into the empty sleeve of a freshly pressed frock coat that his valet was holding up. He did not have to be a soothsayer to know what had brought the older gentleman to his door.

“Thank you, Peters, that will be all,” he said, checking his appearance in the mirror before he turned away.

“Very good, milord.” The valet quietly collected the discarded clothing and slipped out of the room.

Saint had no inclination to speak with Greenshield about his daughter. First the man had tried to warn him off from Catherine. Understandable since his intentions were not all that honorable in the beginning. Now it was apparent that the earl was aware that his daughter was Madame Venna.

If Greenshield thought to gain his daughter’s cooperation by blackmail, their recent altercation proved it was a failed endeavor. Whether she was Catherine or Madame Venna, the woman was stubborn as well as unforgiving.

Saint was aware he had to tread carefully when it came to his dealings with her. It was one of the reasons he had decided to keep his distance for a few days. Madame Venna had a terrible habit of jumbling his thoughts.

Chapter Thirty-one

In the end, it seemed all too simple. She intended to disappear.

People went missing all the time in London. The reasons varied: accidents, murder, suicide, or mere boredom. Certainly, no one would connect Madame Venna’s abrupt departure to Catherine Deverall’s decision to leave town for a more tranquil setting. While there were some who might long for Madame Venna’s return, very few people would miss Catherine. In many ways, she was the flamboyant proprietress’s demure shadow. She had walked London’s streets with quiet confidence, but no one had truly noticed her until Saint had come into her life.

He had brought her to life in many ways, and in doing so, he had destroyed her.

Even as she mentally surveyed the wreckage of her two lives, Catherine could not work up too much anger about it. When she had created Madame Venna and opened the Golden Pearl’s doors, she knew that it would not last forever. Too many people knew her secrets. When Royles appeared on her doorstep, she should have taken it as a sign and departed.

By then, however, Saint had come into her life, and she had grown arrogant with the power she wielded. She foolishly believed that she had everything under control. In the end, people she cared about had gotten hurt because of her arrogance. She would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.

Catherine straightened as one of the servants knocked and opened the door. She glanced down at the silver half-mask in her hands. Saint had this one commissioned to replace the porcelain mask he had shattered. In truth, she no longer needed it, but she loathed to give it up since it had been a gift. Such selfless gestures were rare in her life.

She glanced blindly over her shoulder. “Take the small trunk and store the others. I will send for them when I have established my new residence.”

“Will you be taking a new name, as well?”

Catherine spun about at the sound of Saint’s voice. He looked the same, she thought as she devoured him with her gaze, memorizing every detail. She had not expected to see him again. It seemed kinder for everyone to avoid the awkward, emotional farewells her departure would have engendered.

“You—you know?”

He gave her a level look and shut the door so no one would overhear them. “Know what, Catherine? That you are Madame Venna, one of the most infamous madams in London? A heartless jade who has been lying to me since our first meeting?”

Catherine flinched. She deserved every accusation and more, but the disappointment she read in his eyes stung. “Not heartless, Saint. Never with you, and that was always the problem.”

His expression did not lose its harshness at her admission.

When Saint remained silent, she could not resist asking, “How long have you known?”

“The evening at the Sinclairs,” he said in a clipped voice.

Saint had behaved oddly that night. Catherine recalled him and Frost arguing about something. Her? “Does Frost know?”

“All of my friends know the truth, Catherine. We try not to keep secrets from one another.” He stepped toward her, his hands behind his back, stopping when his face was inches from hers. “Lying to those who love you never ends well.”

She bit her lip, fighting back the urge to cry. Clearing her throat, she struggled to keep her calm demeanor. “Well then, your news only confirms my suspicions that it is time to leave London. I should have done so years ago, only I—”

“What?” He leaned closer, refusing to let her go quietly. “Did you stay to be close to the family who never wanted you? Or did you remain because you could not let me go … let us go? For once in your life, why do you not try the truth?”

Her eyes narrowed at his disrespectful tone, and her own temper flared. “I remained because the Golden Pearl was making me a very rich woman. Why would I give up such a lucrative business venture?” Madame Venna rose to the surface as she boldly caressed his handsome face. “Wealth, power … and the gentlemen wielding it were so eager to share my bed.”

“Enough! No more games.”

“Oh, and here I thought we were just getting started,
mon coeur,
” she said in the proprietress’s heavy accent. She did not believe it was possible, but Saint’s austere expression became even grimmer.

Catherine sighed in defeat.

Saint was correct. It was time to end the games between them. “Fine. You win.”

“You never answered my question,” he said, touching her on the arm to keep her from retreating. “Will you change your name?”

Catherine shrugged. “I—I suppose so. Madame Venna can never return to London. It makes sense that Catherine Deverall disappears, too.” She began to fidget when he neither agreed nor disagreed. Finally, she blurted out, “What are you doing here? I did not expect to see you before I departed.”

“Really?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the bedpost. “Then you have not been paying attention.”

Catherine glanced down at the half-mask in her hands. “I suppose I should apologize for not sending word to you.”

“Why bother? You do not truly mean it.”

This time there was a hint of anger to his tone, and it was expected considering all that she had done. She winced as the sharp silver edges cut into her fingers. Worried that she might ruin the half-mask, she carefully placed it on top of the small trunk at her feet.

“It seemed kinder this way.”

Saint’s brows climbed at her admission. “Kinder for whom, Catherine?”

She made a vague gesture with her hands. “For you … and me. You should be grateful that I was willing to leave without a fuss.”

“Grateful,” he said, tasting the word. His expression clouded with frustration as he unfolded his crossed arms and stalked toward her. “You are fortunate that I don’t flip you over my knee and paddle your backside for your damn kindness.”

His harsh reproach caused her to straighten. “See here, Sainthill, you have no right—”

“I have every right, you little fool!” he said tersely, reaching for her and pulling her close. “Did you think you could just leave London and me without a backward glance?”

She was bidding farewell to her home, friends, and the Golden Pearl, and throughout it all she had not shed a single tear. Saint had managed to ruin her composure within minutes of his arrival.

“Why are you making this so difficult for me?” Catherine demanded, fighting back tears.

“Why aren’t you fighting for us?” he thundered back.

Catherine flinched as if he had slapped her. “Saint, you can’t always get your way. Not even you.”

She turned away, wondering if she could reach the door before him. Saint picked up on her intentions and caught her in his arms before she had taken her second step.

“Oh, no, Miss Deverall…” He gave her a vigorous shake. “You took the coward’s way out six years ago, and I let you, because I thought you felt nothing for me.”

“I don’t.”

Saint’s eyes widened in amazement. “Christ, your sharp tongue would provoke a weaker man to murder!”

His eyes were blue flames of fury at her outrageous lie. Saint spun them halfway and shoved her onto the bed. Her backside bounced against the mattress, and she would have scrambled away if Saint hadn’t used his knee to pin her skirt in place.

“Bully!”

“Coward,” he jeered. “Damn it, woman, I am in love with you!”

The declaration should have brought her joy, she thought. Instead, falling in love with Saint had brought her nothing but pain and misery.

Her silence only infuriated him. Crawling on top of her, he grabbed her flailing wrists and pressed them against the mattress on each side of her head. “And you’re in love with me. Desperately. Hopelessly.”

She slowly shook her head.

Saint glared down at her. “Obstinate wench!” He released one of her wrists, and his hand moved to his waist. “You deny me the words I crave, but never your body. I vow it is the only time you were truthful.”

He unfastened his trousers and freed his cock. It sprang free from the opening, beautifully aroused and straining to be used. Saint pushed up her skirt and petticoat, exposing just enough of her bare thighs to gain access to the secret folds that were already dampening and eager for his invasion.

“Saint,” she whispered brokenly.

“I’m finished arguing, Catherine.”

He was asking for everything, but he seemed willing to settle for scraps. She was being unfair to both of them, but one of them needed to be sensible.

Catherine gasped as the blunt head of his cock covered her wet core. One quick thrust and Saint ruthlessly buried himself into her welcoming heat. They groaned in unison. However, Saint gave her body no time to grow accustomed to his rigid length. There was no lazy exploration or playful seduction. This was raw need, she thought, as his narrow hips pounded against hers.

There was no pain in his claiming. Her body recognized and yearned for him. Lost in his frantic tempo, he had freed her other wrist. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, her hunger for him matching his.

She loved— Yes, she loved Saint.

Catherine loved not only his beautiful body and skillful hands, but his heart, as well. Whether she was Madame Venna or Catherine, he had treated her like a lady. His equal. While she had been acutely aware of her flaws, he had been blind to them. It had been difficult for her to accept his kindness. Even now, it was difficult to believe that he truly loved her.

“Stop thinking,” he growled, driving into her with such vigor that that she was slowly inching across the mattress. “Just feel.”

Saint cupped her buttocks and held on to her, deepening his strokes. Catherine arched against him, sensing he was close to his release. She felt the telling shimmer of sensation deep within her, and she embraced it, mentally flying toward a fluid rush of light, thunder, and joy. Saint joined her, his cock pulsing as her muscled core tightened around him.

Neither one of them spoke or moved away from their passionate embrace. As her breathing slowed, she was unaware of how much time had passed. Was it minutes or hours? She gave a passing thought to the coachman who was supposed to be waiting for her on the street. If she could have summoned the energy, she would have left the bed and gone to the window.

“My feelings are deeper than just the physical connection we share,” she said, startled by how husky her voice sounded to her.

Saint rolled them onto their sides so she was not burdened with his weight. “I know. If I had been paying closer attention, I would have realized it six years ago, when you decided to shut me out of your life. It frightened you, did it not? Falling in love so fast with a gentleman you barely knew.”