When Marrying a Scoundrel (4 page)

The resolution strengthened her, and she told herself that this wasn’t disappointment but acceptance. She had seen Jack again and she hadn’t fallen apart. She was stronger than she ever could have thought, and now she was free to get on with her future, and get on with it she would.

But it wasn’t her future that claimed her thoughts as she sank further into the warm caress of the bath, it was her past. And as she reluctantly remembered falling
in
love with Jack Friday, she began to fear that she’d never actually fallen
out
.

C
hez Cherie’s might have sounded like a burlesque house, but it was one of, if not
the
, most exclusive brothel in all of London. It was also one of the most discreet, its location practically a national secret. It was known to stand somewhere between St. James’s and Covent Garden, in a pretty stone townhouse more fitting a respectable widow than a house of ill repute. The only indication of anything licentious happening there was apparently the suggestive knocker on the red door. No one ever revealed the details; to do so would result in being blacklisted, and no gentleman—at least not one who counted his prick as his best mate and wanted to keep said organ clean, healthy, and happy—wanted to be banned from Chez Cherie’s.

The ladies of the house were beautiful, exotic, and from all over the globe. They were trained in every manner of sensual art, kept their bodies limber and strong. They came in all shapes and sizes, hues and temperaments, and they chose their clients, not the other way around. That was part of the appeal of the club—a gentleman
could pursue his fantasy if he so wished, but there was something to be said for being the pursued. It was the height of self-satisfaction to know a beautiful, talented, and educated woman with a healthy sexual appetite had chosen you, not because of the size of your purse (every gentleman who walked through the door had to prove he could afford the privilege), but because she believed you would be the most satisfying.

Jack only managed to make it inside because he had a letter of introduction from Trystan. Being the younger brother of the Duke of Ryeton had its advantages, and being the friend of a brother of a duke obviously had its share as well.

He was there to meet a client. He’d had meetings in less posh places, and he certainly wasn’t a stranger to associates trying to buy their way into his good graces with women—whether she be a charming wife whose cook made a delicious pie or a skilled lady for hire meant to cater to his other appetites.

Jack would behave no differently than he had in all those other situations: he’d eat the pie, but sex had no place in business, no matter how delicious the lady in question might appear.

He was told to wait in the foyer, so he did. The space was small, but welcoming—the cream-colored walls decorated with tasteful paintings, the wooden planks of the floor gleamed with fresh polish, the main walking area protected by a richly hued Morris carpet.

The man who had opened the door, and taken his letter of reference, returned from whence he had gone
and bestowed upon Jack a benevolent smile. “This way, Mr. Friday. May I take your coat and hat?”

Jack removed both and handed them to the man before following him through a set of French doors into the main body of the house. Damn, but he’d seen upscale residences that had nothing on this place.

Dark paneling, pale embossed wallpaper, plaster ceilings and carpets of the finest quality in shades of crimson, sage, cream, and gold. The space was divided by smooth oak pillars that matched the rest of the buffed woodwork. On one side there was a small smoking area where gentlemen could enjoy a cigar with their scotch or brandy while relaxing in large, wing-backed chairs or plush sofas. The other side had small round tables with chairs set up for dining or playing cards or chess. A good idea, keeping the horny bastards occupied while they waited for some nubile young thing to come sit on their lap.

“Please wait here.” The majordomo gestured to the smoking side. There were several available, comfortable looking chairs. Jack nodded his thanks and slipped the man a pound note.

Jack didn’t smoke himself, but he liked the smell of it, especially a good pipe tobacco. His grandfather had smoked a pipe and the scent always reminded him of the old bastard—and of a time when Jack thought of him with more kindness than he did now.

There was a decent-sized bookcase built into the wall with a selection of novels and more “intellectual” reading, also a table with copies of the day’s newspapers neatly
folded on its glossy top. There were a few knickknacks on the shelves and tables, but not a one had a feminine edge to it. There weren’t even flowers. Jack had never been to a female establishment were there wasn’t at least a picture of flowers if not an entire bouquet. Chez Cherie’s might be a house of women, but it had been designed with men in mind. Perhaps that was the secret to its success. It was basically a gentleman’s club that offered sexual fulfillment while others could only offer beefsteak.

Jack seated himself in one of the wing-backs, the soft leather accepting his form with a sigh before curving around him. Very comfortable, and he’d had just enough to drink that he could easily fall asleep—all that was missing was a small fire in the hearth.

He consulted his watch. He still had a quarter hour before his client was due to arrive. He had to do something to keep himself awake.

He moved to pick up one of the papers when the man sitting to his left spoke. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

Jack turned toward the low voice. Staring at him disinterestedly was a man with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a blade of a nose. Very English, he thought. And very much in a foul temper. That alone would either make them fast friends or faster foes.

“First time,” Jack replied.

His companion nodded and raised a glass of what appeared to be scotch. “Thought so. You have that expectant look about you.”

He did? Jack wasn’t sure how to take that, so he dismissed it. There was something familiar about this bloke that made it difficult for him to take offense. He may as well play along. At least it would keep him awake. “That obvious, eh?”

A shrug. “Probably not, but I’ve nothing better to do than stare at other men until the ladies come out to play.” He frowned. “I’m not sure that sounded quite the way I intended.”

He looked so bemused that Jack couldn’t help but grin. A waiter came by and asked if he would like a drink. He gestured at his companion. “What he’s having.” Then, turning his attention back to the stranger, he asked, “Will the girls come out soon?”

“Any moment. They’re very prompt for females.” His head rested against the edge of the chair back as he studied Jack. “I think you’re here for the same reason I am.”

Jack’s smile twisted with a hint of wry. “Aren’t we all here for the same reason?” Regardless of the terms, it was all business, right?

The man gave his head a shake. “We’re all here to get our cocks wet to be sure, but that’s not the real reason I’m here, and it’s not the reason you’re here.”

Amused, Jack looked up long enough to thank the waiter who brought his drink—it was indeed scotch—before saying, “Enlighten me.”

His companion shot him a sharp look—one smart-arse recognizing another and not impressed. “You’re here because some bird dealt your pride a blow and now you need a fancy piece to make you feel like a man again.”

Jack’s mouth opened, poised to argue, but the bloke was right to an extent. Seeing Sadie had left him unsettled, and if this wasn’t a business meeting he might very well look to reaffirm his manhood. After all, he’d missed out on the charms of Lady Gosling. “That’s why you’re here as well?”

“Yes, sir,” his companion admitted without an ounce of shame. “Thought I’d found the woman of m’dreams, but she just wants to get her stepdaughter married off and then run away to see the world.” He stared glumly into his almost empty glass. “Told me she
cared
for me, but not enough to give up her dream.” He sniffed in derision. “Have you ever heard such rot?”

Jack said, “Huh.” But inside a chill chased along his ribs. What had he said to Sadie before he left? That he loved her but this business venture with Tryst was something he
had
to do. He had meant that it was something he had to do for the two of them, so he could give Sadie the life she deserved. She’d understood. She told him to go.

The dark-haired man laughed bitterly. “It gets worse. I begged her to stay—I even proposed. You know what she did?”

Jack shook his head, unable to speak, unable to look away from the naked emotion in the man’s face.

“She looked at me like she pitied me and told me she
had
to go. Bollocks. I’m not about to let some pretty little widow make an arse of me, so here I am. If a night at Chez Cherie’s doesn’t restore my manhood, I might as well put on a frock and join a nunnery.”

“You’d make an ugly woman,” Jack commented, thinking it was the appropriate thing to say, and because this conversation was a little too close to home.

His companion winked. “That’s how much faith I have in the restorative powers of the ladies of this house.”

As if his words had somehow opened a door, the tenor of the room suddenly changed. Down the Y staircase came a colorful parade of skin, glossy hair, and bare limbs. Jack’s eyes widened as one by one the most beautiful and exotic women he’d ever seen filled the space—some heading to the tabled section while others drifted toward the section where he sat. It was a good thing the women chose who they wanted, because he didn’t think he’d ever be able to make the choice himself.

It didn’t take long for one to approach him. He’d been watching as she glided down the stairs in a moss green satin gown that bared her arms, a delicious expanse of bosom, and part of one leg. He’d seen more risqué costumes on dance hall girls, but obviously the madame of Chez Cherie’s knew that the secret to a man’s interest lie in what remained hidden rather than what was revealed.

The courtesan had rich auburn hair and brows that were a shade darker, with skin the color of fresh cream and eyes the same shade as her gown. She wore little cosmetics, but what she did wear accentuated her Irish beauty.

“Hello,” she said to him in an accent that squeezed his heart. Oh, he’d heard it plenty of times in New York and Boston. He’d heard it a little in Sadie’s voice earlier this
evening. Maybe that was why it affected him so deeply now. Jesus and Mary, it was good to hear.

He murmured something in response, to which the girl smiled. “Would you happen to be Jack Friday?”

Startled, Jack stared at her. “I am.”

The woman offered her hand. “I’m Kathleen Ryan. I hope you haven’t been waiting on me for too long?”

Ryan. This stunning creature was the client he was supposed to meet. He’d assumed Ryan was a man as Trystan had been the one to be in direct correspondence. No doubt his partner had forgotten to mention these details on purpose.

Smiling wryly, Jack rose to his feet and accepted the offered handshake. “Not long at all.” He glanced around at the other ladies finding their employment for the night. “Should I come back at a better time?”

Kathleen smiled, showing off a set of remarkably good teeth. “La, no. You and Mr. Kane have made it possible for me to take a night off if I want. I may not have to work at all soon.”

She didn’t sound entirely committed to the idea. Jack had always thought prostitutes sad, pathetic creatures. Chez Cherie’s gave him fresh perspective.

The redhead gesture to the stairs. “Shall we go up to my quarters? We can talk privately there.”

Jack gestured for her to lead the way. “After you.”

“There you go!” crowed the man beside him. Jack had forgotten about him. “I knew you wouldn’t have to wait long.”

Jack saluted the grinning man before turning to follow
his client up that huge staircase. The corridor above was decorated in the same style as the area below, but it was much, much quieter. Kathleen led him to a door not far from the top of the stairs.

He was surprised when he followed her over the threshold into the room. He’d expected it to be posh, but this was beyond any bordello he’d ever seen. The room was large, decorated in more rich colors, and had a huge four-poster bed in the center of it. There was a private bath that he could see through an open door, with a tall, claw-foot tub. Low burning lamps cast a golden glow throughout the interior—very flattering light to be seen naked by. He had once taken Sadie to an inn with rooms this fancy. She’d thought she’d died and gone to heaven. He could still remember making love to her in that soft, soft bed.

“Whiskey?” Kathleen inquired, holding up a bottle as he closed the door behind them.

“Of course,” he replied with an easy smile, and crossed the carpet to the small sitting area near the window. He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on the rich crimson sofa.

Kathleen joined him shortly, with the whiskey. They talked business for almost an hour. His and Trystan’s business had made several investments for her over the last four years, several of which had paid off in capital amounts. Added to the income she claimed from the brothel, she was well on her way to becoming an impressively wealthy woman.

They drank as they talked, and after the business part
was done, Jack stayed on for another three drinks when the conversation turned to Ireland. Kathleen had grown up in a different part of the country, but it was nice to talk about home and not have to be too careful about what he said. She didn’t know his family. Didn’t know him. And after running into Sadie, there was something soothing about having an Irishwoman act as though she found him charming. It was an affectation that came easily to him, and part of his success in business.

A charming scoundrel Sadie had often called him.

His head swimming from too much whiskey, Jack checked his watch for the second time that evening.

“I have to go.” He tucked the time piece back into his pocket. “It’s late.”

A soft, white hand settled over his thigh. “You don’t have to leave just yet, do you, boy-o?”

He smiled. “I think we’ve done enough business for one night.”

“It doesn’t have to be business.” Green eyes sparkled, and the fingers on his thigh squeezed ever so invitingly. “It could be a lovely end to a lovely evening.”

A flattered chuckle escaped him as Jack closed his hand over hers. “It could be.” He was tempted, so very tempted as he met that lovely gaze. “But it won’t.”

She looked confused for a moment, but the pucker between her brows immediately smoothed again. “Of course. A gent like you must have a wife waiting for him.” She made it sound as though he were some kind of rare creature.