The Copper and the Madam (14 page)

“Then I probably am not the man for you,
Caroline. I have done many things that are not honorable or
respectable, some as recent as a year or so ago. Here at the Cupid,
I—”

She placed her fingers over his lips. “Hush.
I don’t want a confession. I don’t want to talk of our pasts. In
this moment, moving forward is all that counts.” Caroline rested
her hand above his heart. “Don’t ask me how I know, but in here
beats the heart of that honorable man.”

Sweet Jaysus
. Her words caused such a
whirlwind of emotions. He longed to be that man for her. He could
try, no, he
would
be that man.

She continued, “I want a man to bring
flowers, take me for walks in the park. Escort me to the museums I
love so much. Take me to see the new cinematographe, then supper,
and on the way home, perhaps pull us into a private alcove so he
can kiss me passionately. I want a man who wishes to share his life
with me with all its ups and downs. I want a man to love me and no
one else. I want you, Cian.”

He embraced her tight, resting his head
against her abdomen. She burrowed her hand through his locks and
smoothed his hair while whispering words of affection. A deep, male
voice cleared his throat.

“Sorry to disturb you both. Cian, we have to
go.”

He stood and whispered softly, “You have me,
lass. You have me.”

He stepped back, reached for his coat, and
followed Rory toward the back entrance. He turned to look at
Caroline, and then headed back to her. Lifting her hand to his
lips, he kissed it.

Cian followed Rory out the door.

“Things are quite serious between you.” Rory
said as they head toward Kennington Station.

“Aye, so it seems. I can’t fathom it. She’s a
sweet lass, but fiery as well. She stands up to me. I like it.
Also, her scent is enticing—fresh bread, bacon, and sweet
innocence.”

Rory smiled. “A heady combination, to be
sure. Finding love at a brothel, who knew?”

Cian grinned. “You and all?”

“Aye, me and all.”

***

Rea sat at her desk and allowed herself a few
minutes of wasted time. Jacob had just left to deliver her two
messages and Caroline had brought her a tray with a pot of black
tea to sip it as she began a review of her correspondence. She
could not help but notice how Caroline glowed; her face shone with
expectation and hope and perhaps—love. She chuckled.

She had named her brothel “The Blind Cupid”
for a couple of reasons. One, it was slang for ass, or more
specifically a woman’s ass. Titillating to be sure, the name fit
for a den of vice and sin. She ran her house with her rules.
Clients were vetted. Very little alcohol served; she believed the
more men drank, the more unruly they could become. She also served
very little food, a few appetizers for her more exclusive
clientele. Again, too much food mixed with drink led to vomiting,
and she did try to keep the bodily fluids to a minimum. She also
did not allow games of chance, not even cards. There were places
men could go to gamble; they would not do it under her roof.

The main reason she chose “The Blind Cupid”
had been cynical and bitter at its truth. The little cherub she’d
seen grace Valentine cards had no business at her whorehouse. Love
would never take root here. Never.

But it had, in one form or another. Lila
Jenner and her scarred Baron of Stonecliff. Desmond and his mousy
spinster, Anne Sommer. Now Caroline and the rough and wild Cian
O’Connor. Her and the wonderful, sensual Rory Kerrigan.

Rea became so lost in thought she did not
hear the slight creak of the secret passageway door open. Not until
she heard that voice dripping with cold venom was she shaken from
her reflections.

“There you are. We are alone at last.”

Rea gasped. She tried to scream, but her
throat had closed over in stark fear.
Southen
. He was
handsome enough in a cold, emotionless way, with threads of white
hair at his temples. The memories of five years before flooded
back. She’d last seen him covered in Lila’s blood, crazed eyes
peering out from his crimson face. That horrible night, he had
begged for mercy as Desmond, Nigel, and Jacob dragged him away.

“Not a word, not a whisper,” he crooned, his
fancy silver cane thumping the floor as he approached her, his
long, black coat hanging past his knees.

A potent wave of terror snaked along her
spine.

“You know who I am?” he asked, his
leather-gloved fingers twisted around an at least eight-inch blade.
So he hadn’t lost use of them.

“Ah yes. My hands. The pain is quite intense
during damp weather, which in London is a constant. Tell me, the
hulking young lad who did this to me, is he here?”

His well-modulated voice held a faux
politeness that dripped with ice and menace.

If she kept him talking, then perhaps she
could stall until someone came to check on her.

Rea cleared her throat. “He no longer works
here.”

He licked his lips as he ran the blade up her
arms and across her breasts. She shivered at the scrape of its
sharpness against her skin and the vile slowness of its
movement.

“A great shame. Guess I will have to focus on
you. Again, I ask, do you know who I am?” he asked with a soft,
mild voice. He applied pressure on the soft tissue of her cleavage.
His gaze fell to her breasts as the blade pressed against them.

He moved the knife to her shoulder snagging a
piece of material from her gown. The point now rested on her
throat.

“The Earl of Southen.”

“Oh, very good! Now, I take it Kerrigan and
his gorilla have left the premises?” He asked breathless.

“Yes.”

“I had all night to plan what I would do. I
hid in one of your secret rooms. I could run this knife across your
throat and let you bleed out across your desk. Too quick. But know
I will do it if you should raise your voice in alarm. I have other
things planned.”

In her mind, Rory’s voice urged,
Keep him
talking. Stay calm
.

“Other things? Why, because you received a
beating you deserved? Any brothel would have done the same under
the circumstances, or worse.”

The blade nicked her throat. A single droplet
of blood snaked down between her breasts. The metallic coppery odor
filled her nostrils.
Easy, don’t anger him
, Rory
instructed.

“We have a history, you and I. One you may
not be aware of. My late father had a taste for fat young virgins,
male or female. Close to twenty years before, he came home and told
me of his deflowering of a particularly plump and luscious
golden-haired virgin at The Harvest Moon. From the time I reached
ten years of age, my father shared his carnal adventures with me in
great detail, his version of a bedtime story.” Southen laughed, a
cruel smile curved about his lips.

She processed the information. The man who’d
brutally raped her all those years before turned out to be the
former Earl of Southen? Her breakfast roiled and churned in her
stomach. She swallowed back the bile clawing up her throat.

He continued in his slow, mellifluous tone,
“It is a small world, is it not? But this part will surprise you.
My father painted such a carnal and lustful portrait of what
happened, I had to see and experience it for myself. My friend and
I came to The Harvest Moon the next night. I was a young, lustful
man of one and twenty. I requested you. We came on Mask Night.” His
hot, vile breath burned her ear, the knife point still at her
throat. “Think back, two young men with masks. You had my cock in
your mouth.” With these words, his face twisted into a wolf’s grin,
and she recoiled in horror.

Rea vomited on her desk. Southen grabbed her
arm and dragged her toward the sideboard. She still heaved, though
there was nothing else to bring up.

“Pour me a drink, bitch.” he commanded.

Oh, my God
. She ran her sleeve across
her trembling mouth. No. This could not be. Rea made her way to the
sideboard, her knees knocking together under her skirts. She
reached for the decanter with a shaky hand.

“After you had me beaten, I had you
investigated. Imagine my surprise to find out you had worked at The
Harvest Moon. It wasn’t hard to link Rea the madam to Rea the fat
virgin. My father told me what he did to you, how he bent you over
a table, spread you apart, and tied you down. I think I will do the
same. I brought rope,” he laughed maniacally. He slid the blade
back to her breasts. “Then I will cut you here, piece by piece,
while I fuck you.” Southen leaned forward and kissed her on the
ear. She shuddered in revulsion. “And I will keep the pieces to
remember you by. You won’t need them anymore.” He kissed her again,
his breathing rapid as he pressed his arousal into her side. He
stepped back. “Now, pour the drink.”

Rea glanced at the heavy marble statue lying
next to the decanters. She poured the bastard his drink and held it
out toward him. With one hand on his cane and the other on the
knife, he would have to relinquish something to grasp the glass.
When he shifted to lay his cane against the sideboard, Rea clutched
the statue and sent it careening into the side of Southen’s
head.

***

Rory and Cian and their two constables,
Johnston and Smith, cloistered themselves in a room they used to
interrogate prisoners and suspects.

“He has been gambling, and we have found out
he’s been moving around,” Johnston relayed. “Sponging off his
aristo friends and borrowing their carriages, so he is never in the
same conveyance more than once.”

“Clever bastard.” Cian snorted.

“Not sure where he’s hangin’ his hat right
now, but I managed to find out what carriage he is usin’. Shouldn’t
be hard to spot the Marquess of Blaine’s orange and black
monstrosity. You can’t miss it,” Smith interjected.

Rory clapped the men on the shoulders. “By
God, great work. Better than we did. I will put in a word to
Carlson that you two should be promoted. You have my word.”

“Jaysus Christ!” Cian yelled.

“What is it?” Rory questioned.

“When we left the Cupid earlier this morning,
I noticed an orange and black carriage parked down the lane, half
hidden in the alley. I didn’t think anything of it.”

Rory pulled his revolver out of his coat
pocket and checked the ammunition. Loaded. His gut alarm screamed
and clamored.
Southen
.

***

As Southen teetered on his shaky leg, the
glass fell to the floor and shattered, but he did not relinquish
his hold on the knife. His free arm flailing about, he clutched her
hair as she tried to scurry away from him.

Rea screamed in wretched pain as the wig came
away from her head, pins pulling clusters of her blonde hair along
with it. She lost her grip on the heavy statue, and it hit the
floor. As she scrambled, and as Southen fell, he raised his knife
and brought it down on the top of her foot.

The scream that left her mouth was ear
piercing. The agony became intense; blood poured onto the wood
floor. She swung her free leg around and kicked him in the head
with her booted foot. Twice. At last, the man fell unconscious.
Blood trickled from his nose.

She felt dizzy, disoriented, but hobbled to
the door. Glancing back to make sure Southen remained down for the
count, she noticed a trail of blood from her grievous wound
followed her shaky steps, the knife stuck in her foot. She
swallowed back a wave of nausea.
Almost there
. Distant
shouting met her ears, and footsteps pounded toward her study. Her
unsteady legs gave out, and she fell to floor. The intense ache
caused her vision to blur.

Rory and Cian burst into the room with Nigel
and two constables right behind them.

Rory handed his revolver to Cian, inclining
his head toward Southen. Rory dropped to his knees and pulled her
into his arms. She must look a fright with her disheveled hair,
blood everywhere, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Johnston, get a doctor, now!”

The man ran from the room.

He kissed her cheek. “There lass, you’re safe
now.”

The room spun. A blanket of unconsciousness
covered her. Everything went black.

The darkness held many past phantoms. These
ghosts were Southen and his late, wretched father, the former earl,
and her own miserable excuse of a father. They all haunted her
dreams. Her father supposedly loved her, yet gave her up without a
thought for her well being or future. He had left her to lascivious
wolves who picked the meat from her carcass until all that remained
were the bones. All dignity and honor stripped from her, along with
her innocence. Her self-worth ground into dust. She’d built a solid
wall around her heart, and then hidden herself away under a
disguise. She rarely ventured out, choosing to watch life pass
under the second-story window of The Blind Cupid.

One person had managed to breech her
protective prison and self-imposed exile from life. From the
darkened corner of her mind, he stepped forward, pushing aside the
sniveling, miserable men of her past. He stood taller than the
rest, proud and determined. His handsome face showed affection and
admiration. His broad-shouldered, self-assured stride reflected the
confidence that radiated from every pore. As he moved closer, the
dark, shadowy fog dissipated. The other men disappeared. All that
remained? That glorious man, hands on his hips, a wicked smile
curved about his sensual lips. He….

“Rory?”

Her eyes opened.

“Oh, my love.” He kissed her hand.

Rea tried to focus. She lay in her room, her
bandaged foot propped up on a fluffy pillow.