“I’ll deal with you when I return.” The threat was empty. He had already done everything that would have any effect on her. Minnie was nothing without Alex. Peprin drew his hand back and slapped her. Pain knocked her vision away, the phantom bruises from earlier pulsing as blood rushed to the surface of her skin.
“Please,” she begged, not for her sake, but for Alex. “Yes,” she yelled for Alex’s ears. “My answer is yes.”
When she turned back to the door, her hand cradling the welt on her cheek, another figure walked in—D’Ambreious.
“We had an arrangement, you little slut. And since you’re a virgin no longer…” He took off his belt and palmed it, eyeing her with such hatred that her stomach soured. “I paid for you. I own you now.” The room swayed, or perhaps she was rocking in place.
The metallic swish of a lock sounded, and that little light of hope Alex lit earlier extinguished. She eyed the window and D’Ambreious, holding her chin up defiantly. “Break me if you must, but I’ll never be yours.”
*
Paris, two months later
The dressing room was no larger than a closet, a small back room at an obscure theater in Paris. She traced her fingers over the cocaine on the dresser, a cure her doctor had for her fits of hysteria after her injuries. Dancing was nearly impossible now, her body still healing after jumping from the window of that hotel room in Nice.
Nothing mattered much now. She had lost everything. Peprin saw to that after he moved Chantal into her old apartment, kicking Minnie out to live in a shabby hotel room. She had little to live off of, her money going toward doctors. The dance halls wouldn’t hire her, not even as a barmaid, while her face healed from the stitches and bruises. Not to mention the gossip in the paper about a mysterious house party struck by tragedy. D’Ambreious dropped dead at her feet before help arrived. Maybe it was for the best she couldn’t find a job dancing. Her fingers were still crooked and stiff, her shoulder finally out of its cast.
Her hand floated across her abdomen. It would be a lie if she hadn’t thought for a blissful few minutes in Nice that she’d have a family with Alex. She swiped at her nose, refusing the tears that burned at the back of her throat.
Minnie didn’t turn when the door closed behind her. She was too busy staring at the blue eyes she saw reflected in the mirror. She didn’t mind the sudden quiet of the others fleeing, either, only someone cleared their throat to draw her attention.
She blinked, shutting away the image of Alex that had been haunting her all afternoon as she prepared for the show that evening. “Ah, the Trojan horse arrives,” she said, focusing now on the man who stood behind her, not the ghost dwelling in her heart.
“I haven’t seen you in years, pet. That’s all you have to say?”
“At least you’re not uncle.”
“No, it’s taken the whole clan to keep him at bay. But he’s outside, if you want the truth.” Her brother James removed his hat, scratching his neck to avoid looking at the social pariah she had become, no doubt. “You know how to charm a man.”
Though only two years separated them, he appeared ages older. Or perhaps it was his serious disposition. He always had shouldered the burden of their parents’ passing more than she. Then again, he was the earl and duty-bound.
“Oh, I do.” She wrapped her robe tighter as she faced him. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about it.”
His large chocolate eyes widened at her frankness. Maybe she had meant to shock him. She wasn’t feeling very charitable as of late.
“Minnie,” he reprimanded, taking one long stride forward. “We miss you. We want you to come home.”
“Home?” She laughed. “Burton Hall was never home, despite father’s wishes and uncle’s efforts. India was home. Paris has become an excellent substitute. But I have never belonged to England. And I don’t believe I’m welcomed there any longer.”
“Rubbish,” James said, smacking his hat into his fist. “Of course you are. You’re a Ravensdale.” And when he saw she wasn’t convinced, he lowered his voice and said, “We all have our roles.”
“Ah, yes, you’re the earl who dallies in scientific experiment. And I’m sure Grace is still the image of perfection prepping for her debut, Rhys the hellish copy of our uncle.” And as for the twins, they were but babies when she saw them last. She looked down at her hands, her fingers still swollen and bent from being broken. “I’m not some creature you can catalog and tidy about in some scientific way, James,” she added sadly.
He collapsed onto the worn velvet sofa, sinking into the cushions as he did so, making his long legs all the more obvious as his knees nearly jutted into his eyes. The sigh he ushered was enough to give life to his frustration, but it wasn’t necessary, since Minnie had been just as anxious to ask.
“Have you thought this through, Minnie?”
Her head shot up from her lap, her eyes narrowed at her brother. She should have anticipated his lecture. “I’ve been living on my own for some time now. I don’t require my big brother’s interference.”
“No, but you weren’t above asking for help a few weeks back either. And since we haven’t heard from you, I’m concerned.”
A fact which she wasn’t proud of, but it was necessary for her to continue on in Paris. She needed to know if Alex was still alive, and knew James would help. If she had asked her uncle, she would have found herself hauled back to England and shut away at Burton Hall for the disgrace she’d become. She’d be the disgraced Ravensdale, the estranged and hysterical spinster left watching as the rest of her family continued on with their lives while she repented, alone and bitter.
“I heard that you’re someone’s mistress now.”
The words pulled her away from the darker thoughts—the ones that had crept into her mind since Nice and corrupted her heart. She lost the part where she cared for anything much. “Yes,” she lied. “I’m sure you have one yourself. They are a popular item for men with money.”
“What happens when he throws you over or gets you with child? Has he offered to marry you?”
“No one marries their mistress.”
Someone as kind as her brother might if circumstances allowed, but Minnie would be treated like the rest, pushed out of the demimonde entirely to suffer her embarrassment in private, rusticating somewhere far removed from proper society.
“I see that Paris has clouded your head with that Bohemian nonsense.”
Minnie dropped her head into her palm and massaged her temple, hit with exhaustion and another wave of pain. Monsieur D’Ambreious hadn’t laid a finger on her—she’d jumped from the window of the hotel. The doctors had told her it would be a long recovery, and to rest. But she didn’t have the luxury to wait until she was fully healed. The bruises on her face had finally faded enough that they could be covered up. And though she had often teased others for their use of cream to whiten their skin, she’d begun to use a solution to help fade the scars marking her otherwise perfect complexion.
“Tell me, James. You’re here for a reason and I have suffered enough of your lecture. And I must,” she swallowed, pulling her gaze up to his to hide her nerves. “And I must know.”
“Your letter was brief, but I feel I ought to know your connection to this man.”
“To defend my honor?” Her words were bitter and pointed. Brotherly objections were little use to her now.
“For God’s sake, Minnie.”
“I thought you would help me but I’ve been mistaken. I apologize for having wasted both of our time. I have a show soon, James. I must ready myself.”
“I do suppose it’s time I return to my scientific tinkering.” He stood and walked to the door as Minnie turned back to her dressing table.
Her hands trembled, so she rushed for the lip color, anything to help herself steady a few moments longer.
“You have it in your head that everyone will always love you.”
Her eyes snapped to his in the mirror—the prodigal son and the harlot daughter.
If their parents were alive, she’d be their pride, no doubt. It was hard enough to stomach the disappointment she was to her uncle and the rest of the family.
“He’s alive, if you wish to know. Though he’s a lot like you at present.”
She set down the lip color, willing the air in and out of her lungs as the news rang through her body.
“He’s surviving.”
The door shut as she opened her eyes, catching the bracing reflection of her uncle walking through the doorway. Instantly she was a little girl again, stuck in her sick bed with scarlet fever at Burton Hall. He had rushed to her all the way from India, and he had embraced her as if he would never let go.
Eventually, he did. Eventually Minnie was lost herself amid the chaos of the wild Ravensdales. An orphan, a middle child, an adopted daughter to her uncle and once governess. She never did figure out where she belonged in all of that.
And so now was her uncle. She wiped her palms against her eyes before turning to face him. Now would be the time for a great many words, perhaps even a much needed apology. But her soul was empty. There was nothing left to give. Minnie gripped the fabric of her dress and tilted her head, bitter at the way she ached for a hug as if she were eight again.
“You could have spared us a letter or two.” Bly Ravensdale kicked the door shot with the heel of his dress shoe. Her uncle was still imposing, but London life had caught up to him. His once sun-scorched skin courtesy of the Thar Desert had paled, and the hard light in his hazel eyes had softened. It would be hard to believe the man in front of her was once referred to as The Devil, tattoos etching his skin beneath the fine evening tux. “To you aunt and myself, I mean. I’m aware you’ve written Grace for a while. And now you’ve reached out to James.”
Minnie sighed, rolling her eyes. Of course he did. He saw all, knew all, and could fix almost any problem. Death would never come for Bly Ravensdale, if the rumors were true. But perhaps a broken heart could as his shoulders dropped, and he issued a sigh larger than hers.
Pain ricocheted through her body as she dragged in a breath. As if her heart couldn’t be broken any more, it did. “I’ve thought of everyone. I’ve—
“I’m not here to tell you to come home. I might be considered a savage by some but I’m not an idiot.”
“I’m sure you’ve been told to drag me home. You fought hard to protect us all and raise the Ravensdale name into good standing. And now you have a niece who’s run away to Paris, living a life of sin.”
“The rest of them can hang. I don’t care about their opinions. But you’re right, I want to take you home. I’ve wanted to right what’s happened since the day I heard you ran away from Miss Martin’s school. And maybe I should have made good on that threat of sticking you into a French convent, but what good would that have done?
You’ve made your choice. And now you’re here in some second-rate theater, preparing to go on stage because you’ve mixed yourself up again with that Marwick boy.”
“I’m here because of the choices I made.” Minnie stood, tracing over the steps needed to throw her arms around her uncle. Fifteen steps and she could make amends. She could be off to England in the morning. She could do a great many things if she only moved her foot forward. “The blame is entirely on me. That man, Marwick, attempted to do what you’re here for now. And look at me.” She leaned back against the dressing table, bracing herself as her knees weakened. “He nearly died because of what I’ve done.”
Her uncle scratched his neck, shuffling his weight from one foot to another. “I’m going to say this, pet, and then you can do what you wish. We’re alike you and me. We’ve a spirit that the English don’t understand. But I’ve done what you’re doing now and I nearly missed knowing I had a son. Leaving you all is my biggest regret.” Hazel eyes that mirrored Minnie’s met her gaze. “It’s a mistake I can’t take back. Don’t push those who love you away. It’s a long battle to win them back.”
Bly was a man who could spin tales to children, but otherwise she had always known her uncle to be quiet. His speech distracted her as he edged forward and placed a trembling hand lightly on shoulder.
“Thinking yourself as dangerous to Marwick is only going to make you regret letting him go more. Love can be as blind as the heart when the truth is concerned.”
She nodded, her limbs heavy as she stood within reach of what she had known of family as a small girl.
He gently squeezed before letting go and moving around her to drop a card onto her vanity. “That’s the name of the doctor here who will see you at no charge. I want you cared for if you won’t return to England. We want you back, Minnie, but if you’re still searching for who you are, give them hell, sweet.”
He uncle strode out as she collapsed back onto the vanity chair. She reached for the bottle of cheap gin by the mirror and poured it into the cracked goblet, not caring if she ruined her red lips.
*
It was damn painful to move, but if he remained still, there was a strong possibility he would go mad from the thoughts polluting his mind. Alex fell in to a rhythmic march—step, bounce, step, bounce, as he trudged across the stage with the rubber ball. The shadows across the stage had changed, so he had been at it for some time. Since his return to London, it felt as though he was perilously close to a ledge and everything he had fought for was tipping over from lack of balance.
All the more, he was hungry to prevent that end. Almost rabidly so. There was an anger in him that had been dormant for years, but now it consumed him. He had lost his dream and his Minnie.
Minnie.
Ainsworth had seen that he had a doctor but he refused to help Alex with the purchase of the theater. What he had saved over the years wouldn’t be enough. And without her, what did he have left?
The ball dropped from his hand and bounced its way off the stage as he looked up into the light streaming through the ceiling rafters.
“Alex!”
He swung his gaze to the small figure advancing, hurdling over the debris of the rotting theater in awkward bounds.
“Alex,” the voice yelled again. “The fight.” Headly limped in, folding down to his knees to catch his breath. “It’s Sullivan, he’s down.”
Alex rose an eyebrow. There was always a fight waiting for him.
“He’s knocked out, Alex,” Headly said. “And Callahan wants to keep fighting. No one wants to go up against him, but there’s a fortune to make. Everyone’s betting on the poor sop Callahan is going to kill.”
The others filed in, standing in what felt like a funeral procession in front Alex by the stage.
“You’ll get yourself killed,” Boyd cautioned as Alex raced past them, down the aisle, to crawl out into the street.
That was where they were wrong. He had already had everything taken away from him. There was nothing left to lose. And if he was being honest, he had died that night a few months back. He couldn’t go back and change what happened, and he certainly couldn’t keep living under Ainsworth’s thumb, waiting for him to retire, if Alex wanted to make something of himself.
He was breathless by the time he shoved through the crowd at a nearby warehouse, the rancid air in the small room turning his stomach sour. He jumped into the ring and charged the bloody figure of Callahan, striking him at the temple. Hands hauled Alex back at the insistence of the jeering crowd.
He felt a hand on his chest, brown beady eyes staring only a few inches away, as words about rules were shouted. Outside the ring was chaos. Screams and bets. And none of it mattered to a man like Alex now. He shook out of his shirt, wiping his arm over his brow. It wasn’t wise to let Callahan see the mangled flesh still healing across his middle, but he couldn’t fight with the shirt on either.
Then there was the start, and Callahan barreled forward, relentless in his pursuit of Alex, but Alex didn’t care much. It was a hard-fought battle of crushing bones and bruised skin. The screams behind him transformed Alex into a feral animal, fit for a madhouse. He felt as if he was back t
here, trapped in the dark and screaming for help, chained and left without food for days.
He clawed and bit, fumbled and swung, only to be knocked down. Blood swam in his mouth and his vision blurred. He labored for air as the pain wracked his body. He was almost sure his nose was broken, and the shoddy stitches across his middle had split open. The ground spun as he struggled to his feet, swinging at empty air as Callahan danced around him, beating him to the ground again. But Alex stood, again and again, even when he could no longer see and felt the world slipping away. And with one lucky strike, his swollen fists connected with flesh and the crowd fell silent.
Alex collapsed on the filthy ground, his face connecting with the stone floor as he struggled for another breath. The cheers beat his ears, assaulting and unkind. When he struggled to open his eyes, he thought he saw her looking down at him from the crowd, a proud grin on her face, but it was only a memory. She was gone now. He had ruined her and Minnie could never be his. He was bleeding out on sawdust and sludge, a fitting death for a guttersnipe. He always knew that dark waited with its companion death for him.
Someone was yelling above him. “Ya crazy son of a bitch.”
He thought it was maybe Danny, but he was dead. The world spun as Alex was turned onto his back, the dim lights from above blinding what little left he could see. He tried to speak, but everything felt broken.
“Ya won, Alex. Ya won.”
PART III
PARIS 1900
“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Minnie could die there at the dinner table.
She circled the brim of her champagne glass, listening to its mournful hymn, thinking it fitting that it sounded like someone’s funeral. It certainly felt as though she was attending one.
A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) Page 20
