The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series)

by Vicki Hopkins

  Nadine stopped in front of a large ornate entrance, and Suzette read the golden placard bolted on the outside, Louis XV Chambre. Every door they passed displayed a name describing its interior contents.

  “The least I can do is let you see where you’ll be working.”

  Nadine placed her hands on the gold handles of two French doors, which were the only ones in the entire hallway. The other rooms had single-door entrances. The lock unlatched, and Nadine shoved both open, revealing a large, flamboyant, golden bedchamber.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” A sly smile curled her lips. Once inside, Nadine turned around and saw Suzette’s stunned facial expression. She laughed. “Come on in. You know you want to.”

  Nadine walked over to a side table and turned up the lamp, illuminating the interior. The light flickered and cast a soft glow through the stained-glass shade.

  “So, what do you think, Queen Suzette? Not a bad place to make a few francs each night, oui?”

  Suzette stood at the threshold to a king’s room and gasped. She recognized the interior from paintings of Louis XV’s bedchamber and could barely believe what her eyes beheld. It was an exact replica, only smaller in scale.

  Mirrors covered the gold gilded walls, along with paintings from Francois Boucher depicting voluptuous naked women in seductive poses. As she looked at the pictures with interest, her face flushed red as a beet. Each piece rested in gold frames, emphasizing the color of their fair naked skin.

  A large canopy bed rested brazenly in the center of the room, covered in gold silk fabric that draped down the corners of the bedposts. Suzette adored canopy beds, and the beauty was overwhelming. Unable to resist the temptation, she walked over and slid her hand across the smooth coverlet. There were numerous silk pillows, with gold tassels dangling from the corners, piled high at the head of the bed. She struggled with a horrible urge to jump in the middle and enjoy every inch of luxury.

  Nadine smiled as she saw the unbridled pleasure Suzette displayed over her surroundings. “Come over here,” she encouraged. “Look at the rest.”

  A settee and chair with gilded wood and gold velvet seat covers rested in front of the fireplace. A side table stood by the wall, filled with chilled bottles of champagne, wine, and brandy, and crystal glasses, as well as a cigar box, brimming with fine tobacco. A fireplace with a gilded hearth lay ready, with fresh kindling and wood to be ignited if the guest so chose.

  Nadine spun around in the middle of the room, her purple gown swishing as she twirled. “I love this room!” she screamed. When she stopped, she looked at Suzette and confessed why. “I’m jealous, you know.”

  “What do you mean? Jealous of what?”

  “Because when this room came open, I asked Madame Laurent if I could be the resident queen, but she turned me down.” She made a face and spoke in the tone of Laurent’s voice that made Suzette laugh. “Not regal enough,” she said to me. “Your face isn’t regal enough. You don’t match the room.”

  Dizzy from her twirling, Nadine flopped down in the settee right behind her with a thump and bemoaned her fate. “So you came along with your auburn hair and regal look, and now you’re the queen whore of the Louis XV Chambre.”

  “Don’t call me a whore,” Suzette said, looking at her with contempt. “I don’t like being called a whore. It’s an ugly word.”

  Nadine looked at her in disbelief at her self-righteous attitude. She stood up and walked over to Suzette. “Just wait. You may be all high and mighty now, but once Madame finds someone to do the job, you’ll be a whore just like the rest of us.”

  Irritated over her roommate’s attitude, she turned away and walked toward the bed. “I, on the other hand, work in the Nordic room. Madame Laurent thinks I look like a Swedish goddess with all my blond hair—Vikings and all that. Some men like that sort of thing,” she said, flipping her hair up with the palms of her hands.

  Nadine ran her fingers down the wood canopy posts. “You’ll find the clientele here worth it, Suzette. If anything, you should be happy that this is not a slum whore house. The men here pay a high price for services. Most have titles—Marquises, Comtes, Dukes—or they’ve made their fortunes from business and are extremely rich. Many are private investors in the brothel too.”

  “Who?” Suzette asked out of curiosity. “Who comes here?”

  Nadine’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, you’ll see. Men you’ve heard of, read about in the newspaper, or are known by the property they own and the titles they keep.”

  She walked over to the decanter of liquors and swirled her finger around the edge of a crystal glass, while gloating over the rich and famous men she had serviced. “They are all so unhappy. It’s quite entertaining,” she added with a smile. “They marry women to have children and produce heirs, but their wives are cold and pregnant all the time. So they come to our beds for the passion and sexual excitement they don’t receive at home.”

  Suzette’s countenance dropped, for she knew it to be mostly true. Mistresses were a way of life for Parisian men, though wives rarely spoke of such matters. They just accepted it as a fact of life. Her father never talked about it, and she was sure he had always been faithful to her departed mother. Perhaps not all men were like that, or at least she hoped.

  As she stood in the room looking at the opulence around her, she began to wonder what would happen in the bed that her eyes admired. What would she be required to do and at what price?

  “How much?” Suzette inquired. “How much do the men pay per night?”

  Without hesitation, Nadine quickly answered. “They pay at least 100 francs.” Pausing for a moment, but not wishing to go into other details, she added, “Sometimes much more, depending on special services they may require.”

  “What do you mean by special services?” Suzette couldn’t imagine.

  Nadine didn’t want to spoil all the fun of her education, nor did she wish to frighten her so she’d run out the door. “Oh, things like taking champagne baths with royal men and a few other quirky fetishes some enjoy.” She shrugged off the discussion and looked at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. The time had slipped away, and she needed to get back downstairs to the selection parlor before 7 p.m.

  “Come on. I need to get you something to eat.”

  Suzette watched Nadine as she turned off the lamp and headed for the door. Nadine took both handles and closed the French doors. Suzette felt confused. The room was opulent and enticing, but what happened behind closed doors she found frightful. She wanted to ask again about the so-called special services and what the word fetish meant, but was too afraid.

  “Madame Laurent is smart, very smart. These rooms cost a fortune, as well as the decorative items. She visits the Jockey Club in Paris and obtains male investors. I’ve heard rumors, though she would never tell the girls, that she raised almost two million francs to build this house of love! Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, amazing,” Suzette responded in a daze.

  “I don’t mind her as a mistress. She pays well.”

  “What about the other girls? Do they all live here too?”

  “There are twenty of us who live here in the brothel. Up above us is another story with additional bedrooms. The other ten have been smart with their money. They have their own apartments in Paris and come to work in the evening and then go home.”

  “So they are able to leave?” Suzette felt encouraged.

  “Yes,” she replied, studying Suzette’s face, then quickly dashed the girl’s hopes. “They come back here because they love what they do, Suzette.”

  They walked down to the kitchen, and Nadine continued to explain what was in store. “You will soon meet everybody. We have some interesting girls who work here. There’s a Negress from Africa, a couple of women from the Orient, Greek, Persia, and a variety of European women from France, England, Germany, Italy, and Spain. The women from the exotic places serve the rooms decorated from their countries, and they dress in their native costumes.”

&nb
sp; Suzette found it difficult to believe any woman would love this lifestyle. Who would want to come back willingly day in and day out to be ravished nightly by different men? If they were financially free, it made no sense.

  Of course, she couldn’t judge them any longer for their choices in life, for she had just made the same. However, she was convinced she would never love it the way Nadine and the others seemed to enjoy the pleasures they mentioned. She planned to leave as soon as she made enough money.

  Nadine quickly made a plate of leftovers for Suzette from the dinner they ate earlier.

  “You need to go now and get back in your room. It’s seven o’clock, and I need to get to work. Scoot, little scary cat!”

  It took very little encouragement for Suzette to depart, as she feared looking upon any of the customers. She took her plate and fork and ran up the stairs to their room. At least this evening, she would be safe and untouched, but she wondered how many more nights Madame Laurent would give her reprieve before insisting she earn her keep.

  She ate her meal and then spent the rest of the night lying on her bed while the girls were at work. It was tortuous. The laughter and voices of men filtered from down the hallway into her room. Doors opened and closed, and Suzette shivered over what they might be doing with each other.

  To get her mind off the moment, she opened her purse and pulled out her favorite piece of paper that had been scrunched in the bottom. She had ignored the letter since she left the washhouse, and holding it in her hands once again proved difficult. For the last time, she read the words.

  The past needed to be destroyed, so she walked over to a lit candle, touched the corner of the letter with the flame, and dropped it onto her empty dinner plate. The fire quickly consumed the parchment. It was over now. No more dreams of what should have been.

  For the remainder of the evening, Suzette sat in her bed with her back propped up against the headboard. She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped both arms around her legs while she pondered her predicament.

  Shortly after midnight, Nadine returned, looking quite happy. “I thought you’d be fast asleep by now,” she said, stumbling over to her bed.

  Suzette said nothing. She watched Nadine undress down to her naked body. Quickly, she flipped back the covers of her bed and climbed beneath the blankets.

  “I never have trouble falling asleep after a night’s work. There’s something about hours of pleasure that relaxes you like a drug. I come back, and I’m out like a light.”

  Suzette’s curiosity was more important than her roommate’s sleep. She had questions she had been pondering for hours, and now she wanted answers. Whom had she been with? What had they done? And there was one provocative question that needed to be answered.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  Nadine’s head lifted from her pillow. She looked at Suzette and sneered over the inconvenient question.

  “Enjoy what?”

  “What you did tonight in bed—I mean in bed with men.”

  A shrill laughter escaped her lips. “My God, Suzette, you are quite amusing.”

  “Well, I want to know. I’ve never done such a thing,” she said, nipping back in defense.

  Nadine looked at Suzette, thinking she was the snippiest female in the brothel. “Yes, I enjoy it. Tonight I had a good patron, but there are others who are not so good at the art of sex. They only want their own satisfaction. It just depends on who you get to . . .” Nadine stopped abruptly, about to use vulgar terminology but hesitated. “It just depends on who is your customer.”

  “And who bedded you tonight?” Suzette persisted.

  “Tonight, Vicomte de Rieux visited my little Swedish haven. He’s quite the ardent lover and funny man.” Hoping Suzette was satisfied with her answer, she inquired, “Are we done now? I want to sleep.” She returned her head to her pillow, pulled the covers up over her shoulders, and snuggled into a comfortable position.

  “Turn the damn light off, will you, and go to sleep.”

  Suzette reached over to the lamp and shut it off. Tomorrow, she would ask more.

  Chapter Ten

  Owning the most illustrious and expensive brothel in all of Paris did not come by chance for Bridgette Laurent. She was a wise and intelligent woman, who was as good as any French businessman. When she wanted something, she knew exactly how to get it. After all, she single-handedly raised two million francs from investors by selling shares to sex-starved aristocrats, who wanted the pleasures of discreet brothel visits.

  Bridgette loved horses and frequently attended the horse track to satisfy her occasional taste for betting. In doing so, it opened the door to becoming a member of the prestigious Jockey Club in Paris. She purchased a membership, which turned out to be one of the wisest business decisions she ever made. It opened the door to meeting a variety of famous aristocrats and wealthy men. The Grand Café on the ground floor of the exclusive club became her second office, as she flirted and struck deals with the hungry male population.

  Everyone loved Bridgette, except for the women, of course. Beautiful, bold, sassy, and outrageously dressed, she was the talk of the male patrons and the disdain of the fine ladies. When she entered the Café, heads turned and men drooled. Her charisma was her power, and men succumbed to her wiles at the bat of an eyelash and a flattering word from her brilliantly painted red lips.

  Thanks to her endeavors, the Chabanais was the most famed brothel in all of Europe. Painstakingly decorated and housing the most beautiful prostitutes in Paris, men repeatedly frequented her establishment. Even the Parisian government sent her visiting dignitaries to entertain, as perks to their arrival in France. Her high prices and notable clientele kept the riffraff at bay—just the way she liked it.

  Bridgette was determined to have Suzette perfumed, softened, and ready for work as soon as possible. Even though her hardened exterior exhibited a lack of compassion, she was not totally without feeling—though it often appeared that way. Today, she had come to the Grand Café to have lunch with one of her clients and make a proposition on Suzette’s behalf.

  Not long after her striking entrance, the host escorted Bridgette to the location she often requested to do business, which consisted of a nice table for two tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. She delivered correspondence the day before to a particular gentleman she considered a possible match for Suzette.

  After ordering a cup of tea and leisurely waiting for a few moments, she spied the tall blond male making his way over to her table. A smile spread across her face, for she always enjoyed looking into his dark blue eyes and admiring his sex appeal.

  He approached the table, smiled, and then teased her about the note. “Why is it when you French need something done, you call an Englishman?”

  Bridgette laughed as she held out her hand, which he quickly accepted to plant a rather long kiss upon her delicate fingers.

  “Madame,” he said, his eyes flashing with a twinkle. He took a seat opposite his luncheon guest and proceeded to pull off is black gloves finger by finger, while enjoying the view on the other side of the table. The waiter approached moments later, and they both ordered a cup of tea.

  “How have you been, Lord Holland?” Bridgette asked, smiling broadly at the handsome man a few feet away. “It’s good to see you. You’re here for a long holiday, I hope.”

  A pot of hot water and tea arrived, and Lord Holland poured each of them a cup while answering. “I’ve been here far too long already. I’m due to return to London this Friday.”

  Bridgette grimaced. “Friday? Why so soon? I was hoping you would be around for a few more weeks, but I guess it will have to do.”

  He took a sip of tea and then asked why he had been summoned. “So why the cryptic note enticing me to tea?”

  “I’d like to entice you for more,” she said, with a wicked smile. “I have something special for you.”

  He looked at her gorgeous body, admiring her curves and full bosom, while he waited to hear a
bout the special offer.

  “I’ve asked you to join me today, because I have a special task for you to perform—one I thought you’d be quite interested in accomplishing. However, I’m afraid my price might be a little higher than usual for this event.”

  “Special? Why am I not surprised you wish to charge me extra for special,” he said with a warm smile. Money being no object, he encouraged her to continue. “Go on. You have my interest.”

  “Her name is Suzette.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward, so no one would hear. “She is a virgin, my dear.”

  Lord Holland’s eyes widened in disbelief, and a broad smile parted his lips. He sat up straight, giving Madame Laurent his undivided attention. “You must be joking,” he exclaimed. “A virgin in France?” The only reason he enjoyed visiting Paris was for its lack of moral compass.

  “Yes, the doctor confirmed it, and I was frankly astonished myself.” She picked up her china tea cup and sipped the brew. Once she lowered it upon the saucer, she feigned an empathetic look. “She’s a young woman, like many of my girls, whom has fallen on hard times. You know what it’s like out on the streets of Paris, Robert. At least they have food and decent shelter under my roof and good pay for their services.”

  He nodded in agreement, but questioned the obvious reason for the girl’s state. “She must not be the prettiest, I would imagine.”

  Madame Laurent laughed. “Oh my, dear! Do you think me such a poor business woman that I would bring in someone not as lovely as the rest of my girls?” She paused for just a moment, before enticing him further. “She’s an unspoiled flower, darling, that needs a gentleman to break her in. I can think of many men who grace my establishment that I would not want to touch her for the first time.” The thought made her shudder, picturing a few overweight, rich buffoons who irritated her to no end—especially the Marquis Barone.

  “I thought you’d do well to teach her since you’re so charming.” She curled her lips in a sassy smile, knowing every word contributed to building his over-inflated ego.