Ravishing Ruby (23 page)

It had been a preposterous idea and yet in some ways it had come close to working. She bowed her head, feeling the weight of these last few hours.

Her grandfather reached out and placed a hand upon her arm. “I recognized that he was a good man—and a man who saw the world beyond the lines drawn by society. I thought he might be able to accept and forgive things that a more conventional man might not. I hoped he would see the advantages without seeing all the reasons that things could not be. He seemed the answer to a prayer I did not know I had. I will confess I had not planned it much beyond that. I had almost forgotten about him before he returned to London.”

“And his delayed cargo?”

Her grandfather's gaze dropped. “I don't know. I wasn't sure if you had even met. I didn't know if he'd taken my recommendation. I think I hoped to introduce him to you, to Emma—and—I just don't know. I was acting on instinct. I simply thought he would suit you, that he was a man who might make you happy, who might see all the good in you that I see.”

Now that she could understand—and he was not wrong, they had suited. “You are most poetical.”

Her grandfather snorted. “I truly meant no harm.”

“And yet you still do not offer to release me from your conditions.”

He stepped back. “I cannot. Your life cannot go on as it is. I think you know that as well as I.”

“Then I suppose I will see you Sunday for dinner as usual.”

“I will be sure that your grandmother invites a few gentlemen. I am sure there is someone we can both find agreeable.”

Ruby was not so sure. Their one chance for compromise had just stormed away and she rather doubted she would ever see him again.

She batted her lashes quickly as she felt tears rise. It hurt when dreams died, even those that had been recently born.

And yet somehow she would go on. It is what she always did.

But, oh, how it hurt, how it stung. If only she could go curl in her bed and hide from the world for at least an hour, a day, a week.

Wig on. Cosmetics on. Tight blue velvet dress on. Smile on. Ear bobs on. She was ready. Inside she might feel held together by twine, but no one looking at her would know that. The mirror reflected Madame Rouge back at her. She looked the same as every other night. The dress might change. The wig could be different. But, she was always the same—only tonight she wasn't.

She wasn't sure exactly what was different, but something was, something she couldn't define.

It wasn't the first night she'd wished she didn't have to work, the first night she wished she could stay curled up in her bed and ignore the noise coming from the rest of the house. Nobody liked their profession all the time. She'd always settled for liking it most of the time.

Only now it felt like she might never enjoy it again.

A dozen curses filtered through her brain.

Anger was good. A woman could get things done when she was angry.

Anger had led to the creation of Madame Rouge.

Anger had made her strong.

A woman who felt sorry for herself, who felt deprived of choice, might mope. A woman filled with anger got out of bed and got things done, found ways to fight, ways to change things.

She blew out a long sigh. But anger took effort and she was feeling so tired. Why fight when there was no good outcome?

But that was accepting defeat before she'd even begun to fight, and that was something she refused to do.

Still staring into the mirror, she forced her smile higher, pinched her cheeks to rosiness.

She might not know what to do, but she did know what she mustn't do. She must not give up, must never give up.

Her only task for tonight was to get through the night, to smile, and simper, and flatter.

And Madame Rouge could do all of those things better than anyone else. Madame Rouge could walk down the stairs and shine and glow.

It didn't matter what was happening on the interior. All that mattered was what the world saw and she would give them a show.

Spinning on her heels, she turned and left the room, stopping to check on each of her girls. She smiled with some sincerity as she listened to concerns and heard funny anecdotes from the nights she had missed. She helped with cosmetics and brushed hair, chatting as she did so, trying to find the heart and soul that had made this place so magical for her.

Madame Rouge's was her home. She must remember that.

“The red or the green?” Marie, one of her newer girls, asked.

Ruby eyed the two dresses. “The green will bring out your eyes. But pull the bodice up a bit. Men will want to see more, and men who want more are willing to pay more.”

“Are you sure?” Marie answered. “I've always thought that they like to know what they're buying.”

Ruby laughed. “If they actually wanted to know what they were buying they'd be happy with the women walking the streets, their wares out for all to see. No, the men who come here want to think they are getting more than they can see, and the easiest way to let them think that is not to let them see everything. Men always want what they can't have. The longer you can keep secrets from them the more they want you.”

That thought hit far too close to home. Was that what had happened with Derek? Had she lost all her mystery when he saw her as plain Emma Scanton? No, that was far too simple and she knew it. He'd felt trapped, felt there was some deep plot to force him to—to—she didn't know quite what he felt forced to. A business arrangement? Marriage? Or was he simply upset that her own grandfather had sent him to her house? And wasn't that a confusing thought.

Don't think about it. Just don't think about it. Think about being Madame Rouge. Think about what must be done tonight. Don't think about tomorrow. Just get through tonight.

“Is that why you don't let us wear only undergarments in the parlor?” Marie's question startled her.

“In part. I also just don't believe undergarments belong out of the bedchamber. It must be something about my upbringing.”

“It's so much more expensive to have to buy evening gowns. The last house I was in I could wear my chemise day and night. And it was so much simpler and faster.”

“And why aren't you working there anymore? I never force a girl to stay. If you don't like my rules you are welcome to leave.”

“I didn't say I wanted to leave. I just like to understand. I don't like doing things simply because somebody says that's the way to do it.”

Ruby did understand that. Wasn't that the root of her current problems? She didn't like to be forced to do anything. She didn't mind following rules, but she liked to understand why she was following them.

Stop it. Stop it. She wasn't going to think about this.

She patted Marie on the cheek and made her way out of the room, winding her way down the stairs to the parlor.

She loved the room, the subtle greens and hints of blue. The furniture as fine as any lady's parlor.

Normally she felt a deep sense of contentment here, whether during the day when it could be her own private sanctuary or at night when it was filled with the lively bustle of happy people—or at least people fighting to be happy.

She shook her head hard. Why was she so maudlin? This is where she wanted to be, where she had fought so hard to be. A few months ago she had wanted nothing more. What had changed?

The problem was she knew the answer.

She had changed.

She hadn't wanted to, but she had.

She wanted more, wanted things she could not have.

Derek tossed another gulp of whiskey down his throat, feeling the burn. A gentleman got toasted on brandy. A sailor got sotted on rum. The poor wasted their lives with gin. He didn't feel like any of those. He was simply a man who didn't wish to think, who wished to banish all thought from his mind, and that required whiskey.

He took another swallow.

It didn't seem to be helping.

The more he drank, the more he saw her, saw Ruby, Emma, Afya, Rebecca, and whoever she might be at the moment. He saw those deep blue eyes staring at him, full of pain and regret. He saw the pale face grow paler, saw her hands tremble.

And he saw her determination. She had been beaten when he had left her grandfather's establishment, but she had refused to go down.

Another swig.

He had handled it badly. He could not deny it. If he had not been so angry with Anne and her family, he would have been more reasonable with Ruby.

He would have taken the time to listen, to ask questions.

Had she known what her grandfather planned? Had it been some sort of entrapment? She'd told him she never slept with patrons and then…And then she'd come to him. Had it all been a trap?

The thought ate at his guts. Had none of it been real? Was that possible?

He knew women sometimes faked their pleasure, but was it possible to fake everything that had happened between them?

He didn't think so.

He didn't want to think so.

And that was his problem. He didn't want to believe. It made him doubt all his instincts. His instincts told him that Ruby had known nothing. That she had been even more surprised than he when the connections were made.

But was that possible? Or was he simply desperate to believe?

She'd claimed her grandfather had no knowledge of Madame Rouge. If that were true, how had he known to send Derek there? And what had he wanted?

That was the question that circled again and again through his brain. What did Mr. Scanton want?

If it was only a business connection, then surely it was easier to directly approach him than to…He didn't even know exactly what had been done.

And what of marriage? It was the obvious way to form an alliance, but would it not have been easier to simply introduce him to Emma? What man wanted to marry a madam?

Marriage. Was that what they wanted? What Ruby wanted? Why had she sent him to her grandfather's?

Questions and more questions—and no answers.

If only he had stayed calm and waited for answers.

He hated this game. He didn't want to play anymore.

Only, perhaps, he did. He never had been able to resist Ruby and her games.

A month ago he would have sworn he was a man of the simplest tastes. Now he was not so sure.

It should all be so easy. He'd left. He never had to go back.

But how could he not go back, not find the answers to his questions?

Two days ago he'd had a fiancée and a lover. Now he had neither. That was simple. He liked simple.

So why did he see the pain in Ruby's eyes whenever he closed his own?

He emptied the glass. Poured another. His fourth.

Three gulps and it was gone.

Another.

A light tap upon his door.

Who now?

Anne come to say she'd been mistaken?

Ruby come to beg him to listen?

Now that might not be so bad. He might allow her to work at persuading him. He wouldn't even make her work hard.

Another tap.

“Come in. I doubt it's locked,” he called.

Much to his surprise, Lord Willis entered. He looked over Derek and the half-empty decanter of whiskey. “I see you've heard. I wasn't sure you had and hoped to be the one to break it to you.”

“Heard?” He hadn't left his rooms since he'd returned from Scanton's warehouse.

“About Miss Williams,” his cousin responded.

“Does everyone know? I wasn't sure she would feel the need to let it be known.” They hadn't actually been engaged. Why would Anne bother to let anyone know? But then he never had understood gossip.

“It was in the papers this morning.”

“What? The Williams put it in the papers that we are not getting engaged?” That made no sense and he didn't think it was the whiskey talking.

“Yes. Or maybe no. The announcement of her engagement to Lord Pemblestone's eldest was in the papers.”

“This morning?” Derek's mind was trying to understand this latest development.

“I just said that. How many of those have you had?” Willis nodded at the empty glass.

“Not enough.” Derek felt laughter fill him. The whole situation could only be described as ridiculous. “I am only confused because it was only last night that I became aware that I was no longer to marry Anne—and I thought it was my decision. But if it was in the papers she must have had the notice sent before…That sly minx. I do think she's outplayed us all. No wonder she seemed so pleased at dinner. And her poor brother, I doubt he had any idea.”

“I rather think you have had enough, cousin. You are beginning to ramble. And your laughter seems most inappropriate.”

Derek laughed harder. “If only you knew. If only you knew.”

It might be time for Madame Rouge to retire, and not just for the night. Ruby looked about the room full of wealthy gentlemen and smiling, coquettish girls. This was everything she had worked for and she found not the slightest pleasure in it. There was some satisfaction in knowing that everything ran smoothly and that her girls were as safe as possible, but there was no pleasure.

She could hope that it was a passing difficulty, but she knew in her heart that the problem ran deeper. She had lost the taste for it.

And Lord Thorton's threats didn't help. Although, now that she was calmer she knew that they were unlikely to truly present a difficulty. She had plenty of friends as wealthy and as powerful as he. If she decided to fight, she would win.

But she didn't want to fight. That was at the core of it all. She would leave it to someone else. Gentlemen and lords were never the easiest of clients. They always thought their titles and positions should entitle them to more than anyone else, that special privilege should apply. And they were all too ready to throw threats around when they did not get what they wanted, get whom they wanted.

She was so tired of it all.

Oh, she wasn't quite ready to give it up. That would take time and consideration. She would have to find a buyer, someone she trusted. It would be necessary to make sure that several of the older servants had pensions if they didn't wish to stay.

A certain freedom settled about her as she had the thought.

She could let it go.

This was not about Derek. He had certainly sped up the process, but fundamentally she had done what she needed to do. She didn't need to fight anymore. She had found her place in the world—and now she was ready to move on.

But to what?

That was the primary question.

“Madame Rouge.”

She turned to see Lord Milson. “Yes?”

“I wanted to say that I have considered your words of a few weeks ago,” Milson said. “It may have taken me a while, but I have come to the decision that you were correct in what I need. Does your offer of help still stand?”

With all that had been going on, she had not thought of Milson since their conversation. “If you send me a note tomorrow we can arrange a time for further discussion.” She looked about the crowded room. “This is perhaps not the best place.”

Milson smiled. “Of course. I will write on the morrow.” And then a nod and he was off.

A moment of actual pleasure. There were things she did that mattered.

She felt another presence behind her and turned.

Lord Swanston? Now, that was a surprise.

“Matchmaking again, Ruby?” he asked.

She smiled and did not answer directly. “My lord, I had not expected to see you here.”

He leaned in close. “My wife was feeling the need for a little adventure.” He glanced to the side at a heavily cloaked figure.

“Are you after your usual room? I have a request for it, but they could be moved.”

“No, we were hoping for something a little different.”

A bittersweet memory of Derek spread out across silk pillows came to her. “Have you ever tried the Arabian room? I think you might enjoy playing the sheik.”