“Yes, my coach is waiting.” And I’ve got a great deal to atone for, he thought dismally.
“Splendid. I’ll send you my findings. But I can tell you this much—whomever is behind these despicable deeds, it is not their first time.”
Randolph thought about the doctor’s words and considered how they aptly described his recent actions with Jane.
***
Jane stood at the parlor window and watched the carriage pull from the curb. Randolph had not spoken about what happened between them, either today or the other day at the manor. Torn by her twisted emotions, she’d not waited for him to assist her from the carriage. Instead, she’d hurried into the house before he could change his mind and try explain his actions. Ironically, Jane realized that she couldn’t very well be angry with him for his lies or deception when she was as much at fault for doing the same.
From the first day at the crime scene, she’d been attracted to him. Each stolen moment these past few weeks, whether acknowledged or not, had only increased her desire to be with him. She wanted to believe he felt the sparks between them and that he felt something in return, but his actions continued to prove otherwise. Perhaps it was his unwillingness to see her as an equal in her skills of investigation. To that, she reasoned, how does one learn if not given the opportunity of those experiences? And more to the point, she had no desire to compete with him. She had respect for his position, for his expertise and knowledge. Hadn’t she made that clear?
Jane pressed her hands to her chest, deep in thought as she walked away from the window. She’d deduced that he’d allowed her to accompany him to the morgue in hope of shocking her into dropping her investigation. A clarifying thought came to mind, halting her in her tracks. Had that also been his purpose at the Manor, hoping to frighten her with his strange seduction, so she wouldn’t return? Hadn’t he, in so many words, demanded that she not return to the manor?
Tomorrow was Thursday. It was her scheduled night as one of the Manor’s escorts. Perhaps it was time to call the inspector’s bluff, should he show up again with his blindfold. She stopped in front of her dresser, eye level with her journal. Though Randolph had confiscated the notes, she’d already copied each one in chronological order as she received them.
Something niggled at the back of Jane’s mind. The notecards. Clarice had said they came from the Manor, and yet she couldn’t remember seeing the cards left in the public areas. If she could find out how Vladimir had access to the notepapers, it would be easier to prove that someone had provided them. Pieces of this strange puzzle had begun to fall into place, yet one very important question remained unanswered—where did Inspector Mansfield’s charade play into all of this?
***
“Lizzy? What are you doing?”
Jane bolted upright, her hand in the open drawer of Madam McFarland’s desk. She’d sneaked in through the kitchen door a few moments before her shift began, in hope of finding where the notepapers for the manor were kept. Madam’s office was the most obvious place to look first.
“I was looking for something to make a note on. There wasn’t any paper on your desk, so I thought I’d….”
Madam, dressed in a brilliant russet-colored sheer robe and matching silk dress, strolled toward her with cat-like grace. She plucked up a piece of paper from a small box at one corner of her desk.
“Like this?” She held up the notepaper. Jane’s eyes darted from the woman to the paper in her hand. It had no monogram markings on it.
“Yes, of course.” Her hand rested on a few sheets inside the top drawer, all stamped with the ornate logo of a ram’s head and an “M” in neat script across its face.
Madam McFarland walked around the desk and stood at Jane’s side. She glanced down at the open drawer. Her predatory gaze lifted, meeting Jane’s gaze.
“I’m such a ninny,” she said with a weak smile. “I guess I wasn’t looking hard enough.”
Madam’s sickeningly sweet perfume wrapped around Jane’s senses, causing her to shift her stance. She stepped back, needing to breathe fresh air. “I hope you don’t think I was just rifling about in your desk.” She made a show of verbally groveling at the austere woman’s feet.
“Of course not, pet,” she answered demurely, and handed her an envelope and a piece of the letterhead stationery. They matched exactly the notepapers that she’d been receiving at the Writers House. She held the paper out to Jane, and then yanked it out of her reach.
“Tell me, Lizzy. Why are you really here?”
Jane held her inquisitive gaze. “I have a client scheduled for this evening.”
Madam’s eyes narrowed in studious curiosity. “I meant, what are you doing here in my office?”
“Nothing other than what I told you.” She offered a slight shrug.
“They’ve told you, haven’t they?” Her expression dissolved into a look of matronly affection.
“Told me about what?” Jane asked cautiously.
“Oh, now, there’s no need to be coy, my pet. I give the tour to each of my special girls.” She ran her long fingers under Jane’s chin. “And I’ve given them all the opportunity to return when the mood suits them.”
Madam pulled a key on a thin chain from its hiding place inside the bodice of her dress. “Were you looking for this?”
“Um…no.” Jane eyed the key, unable to hide her curiosity.
“I can show you, Lizzy,” Madam cooed. “Would you like that?”
Jane sensed an overpowering unease, but her desire to know what madam kept privy only to certain eyes intrigued her. Reasoning that with others milling about the manor there was little to fear, she nodded, finding no harm in taking a few moments to see what madam wished to show her. The closer she got to the eccentric woman, the better chance she had of finding out the secrets of the manor’s membership. Just how far did their deviant behavior go? “Of course, I have a few moments before my client arrives,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Ah yes, your client,” she stated, and ceremoniously yanked back the curtains that hid the lewd painting.
“This way, my pet.” She led her through a door disguised by the wall itself. From a distance, it flushed seamlessly with the flocked wallpaper. She pushed against the door, putting her shoulder to the task as though it was old and hard to open. Jane hesitated, rethinking her choice as madam glanced back at her. “You’re among an elite few, my dear. Not all of my girls are allowed to visit my domain, only those who earn my trust.”
Jane hesitantly followed, her instincts cautioning her, yet her curiosity pushing her forward down the ever- darkening corridor. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure a way of escape still existed, growing pensive as the hallway took a sharp turn, obliterating the view of the open door behind her. Oblivious to Jane’s apprehension, madam continued skittered down the hall, periodically reaching up to turn up the gaslit sconces dotting the passageway. The air grew cold, the smell damp and musty. Jane realized the tunnel could be one of hundreds that snaked below the entire city, linking to who knows where and for how many miles. She slowed as madam came to a door and unlocked it with the key that hung around her neck. She swung it open with a relish and swept inside. Jane paused at the threshold until the room became illuminated.
“Come in, my pet,” her superior called from inside the room. “There’s no need for shyness.”
She forced her feet to move, inching forward until she stood just inside the door. Clamping her back teeth tightly together to prevent her jaw from dropping open, she stood frozen in place—one foot inside the room, the other poised to turn and run.
“Come, now, I won’t bite, my dear.” Madam glanced over her shoulder with a smug grin. “Unless you ask me nicely, of course.”
Jane stood in awe at what she saw before her. If it hadn’t been for the basic domestic touches of a bed and vanity, the room might have once been used as a medieval torture chamber. Strange statuaries depicting demonic creatures in every form of lascivious act peered down at th
e room from shelves hewn from the stone. Gold, ornately carved mirrors hung on the ceiling and on every wall, from floor to ceiling, creating a jigsaw-like imagery of those in the room. Along one wall stood a massive sideboard, carved with garish faces and tangled wooden vines. It looked as though it could have once been in the dining hall of a great castle. Instead of a silver tea service that one might expect to find on such an exquisite piece, arranged on its surface instead was an unusual collection of hand-held floggers and pearl-handled knives.
“I can see you’re impressed with my little pastime.” Madam picked up a short riding crop and rolled it between her palms. “I admit to being obsessed with them.” She eyed Jane with a smoky look “Do you have any obsessions, Lizzy? Come now, no temptations, no little sins yet untried? Your secrets are safe with me.”
Jane backed toward the door. “My client is probably waiting. I shouldn’t be late.” She kept an eye on the strange woman.
Madam lowered the riding crop to her side, tapping it against her thigh. “Of course, we shan’t disappoint the client.” There was an edge of bitterness in her voice.
Jane nodded and, wasting no time, started back down the dark hallway. She pressed her hand along the roughhewn stone, relief flooding her when she found the corner and saw the light pouring down the passage from the open door. Unaware of how far behind madam followed, she picked up her pace, her eyes glued to the door, her heart pounding until she broke free of the darkness. She paused a moment, taking a gulp of fresh air. Pressing her palms together, she was not surprised to find them clammy. Fear drove the need tell Randolph what she’d experienced, regardless of how angry he’d be that she returned to the manor. She moved toward the double doors leading from the office, needing to put as much distance between her and madam as possible.
“Lizzy?”
The clipped sound of her name caused her feet to halt. She turned to face the woman striding toward her. Though she wore a pleasant smile, Jane sensed venom coursed through her veins.
She held out the stationery. “You forgot what you came for, my dear.”
“Of course,” Jane replied, willing her hand not to shake as she reached for the paper.
Madam held the stationery in her grip a moment, her cool gaze resting on Jane. “Was there anything else that I might be able to help you with?” she asked.
Jane shook her head. “I just needed it to make a few notes for my article,” she lied. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her smile was tight. “Oh, and Lizzy. I want you to understand that if you should need something in the future, come first to me. It will save you the time of looking.”
Jane nodded.
“I take pride, even comfort, knowing that my girls and I are close—very close. I want you to feel comfortable in coming to me for anything. I am an excellent confidant, and an even better lover.” She eyed Jane from head-to-toe. “So, we have an understanding, then?”
“Yes, madam,” Jane was barely able to issue through the unease clogging her throat.
“Oh, and there is one other matter I wish to speak with you about. It concerns Master Vladimir.”
Jane held madam’s steely gaze.
“He indicated that you left his suite in a hurry the other day. His said you’d ruined his entire evening. Though I realize that you were not scheduled, he is still one of our esteemed members and are to be treated with the same respect we give all our elite members. What have you to say for your behavior?”
Though she knew that she’d not gone to his suite under her own free will, she doubted that made a shred of difference to madam. “As I stated that night, I became ill and did not wish to expose Master Vladimir. I will see to it that I make amends with him.” She lowered her eyes, demonstrating her lowly position, hoping to appeal to the woman’s superiority.
“I understand, my dear. Older gentlemen can be a trial, take a bit to get used to. Just see to it that it doesn’t happen again with the client you’re seeing tonight.” She raised her brow. “Though I cannot fathom his reasoning, the client in the Crimson Suite has paid handsomely for you to be exclusive to him. See to it that he is not disappointed, Lizzy. I do not tolerate insubordination. Now, move along and don’t make me regret hiring you.”
So, he was here. She debated whether he suspected she’d return and showed up on her scheduled evening. Whether he was angry or not, by God, she had a few things she wished to speak about to the man in the Crimson Suite. “Yes, madam,” she replied inching toward the door, feeling her façade becoming more transparent by the moment.
The woman eyed her and with a flip of her robe, returned to her desk. “Oh, and you deserve my thanks for the idea of opening a night to the public. It’s boosted our membership quite nicely. Which reminds me, when am I going to see this article of yours that you promised to write about our little establishment?”
“Very soon, madam. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long.”
Madam McFarland smiled. “As long as you’re pleasing my client, my dear, take all the time you need.”
Once in the hallway, Jane pressed her back to the wall and sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly to calm her rattled nerves. She folded the notepaper, tucked it in her pocket, and headed up the back stairs to the third floor. Surely he’d known she’d return. Wasn’t that why he was here? Her heart began a slow thud, her body remembering his exquisite patience, his touch that was both torture and heaven. What sort of game was he playing? And what about her? Hadn’t she suspected it was him, and yet allowed his dark pleasures, offering her body to appease?
The muted sound of music and decadent laughter floated up through the balustrades and the pungent scent of sweet smoke hung in the air. It seemed different now. There was no sense in pretending any longer, was there? She’d confront him with the truth. Certainly, she had enough questions to ask him. Why the deception? How long had he been a member and why? And perhaps the one most pressing on her mind—had what happened between them meant anything to him? The door was ajar and she knocked lightly, letting herself in.
“Come in.”
She stepped into the familiar dim, candlelit interior. Her gaze fell immediately to the bed with its crimson silk ties and her heart skipped a beat. The memory of his touch, the seductive sound of his voice, slid over her, bathing her in warmth.
“Lock the door, my sweet.”
***
Journal entry, August 1887
She suspects me. I can see it in her eyes. When we are together, I see the mistrust and yet she says nothing. Is her lack of confrontation a sign that she approves of me? Could I at last have found the woman who would understand, not turn away in disgust? I will wait patiently. She will come to me, given enough time.
Chapter Nineteen
Randolph watched her walk into the room. She wore the red dress, and his gut tightened with the memory of the last time he’d seen her in it. Her gaze fell on the bed as though she, too, had pictured them there. Maybe that was his imagination. He’d come here tonight, staking his life on the fact that her curious nature left her with the inability to leave well enough alone. But more niggled at his brain—the possibility that she’d known since that first night together that it was him. Had he heard her say his name in the throes of passion? Then there was her comment about the man in the Crimson Suite. Did she know?
Tonight he would find out.
He tried to reason—two glasses of amber courage ago—that he’d come tonight out of concern for her safety. That, in part, was true, but his curiosity was as stubborn as hers.
She didn’t wait for him to speak, but turned her head and looked directly to where he sat in the murky shadows of the corner. His fingers tightened around the remainder of the whiskey in his glass.
“Good evening,” she said quietly. He realized then she wore no mask.
She knew.
He lifted his hand to adjust his mask. Not that he suspected it mattered now. He conceded to this, to telling her the truth. The thought, while rou
sing him, also struck fear in his heart.
“Good evening,” he replied. Shit. Years of tracking ruthless killers, stopping thugs, engaging in physical confrontations, and this, revealing himself to her, caused fear. It was, he supposed, that he’d never had feelings for anyone—not like this. Anger. Rage. Yes, those were familiar, those he understood. But what roiled inside of him now—these jumbled notions—left him feeling sorely inadequate. “Would you care to sit down?”
She walked across the room, her gaze still on the bed. Her silence was deafening.
He hadn’t planned on her. His life had been spent hiding, keeping secrets, engaging in a string of shallow, anonymous encounters that only drove him deeper into his bitter, but safe, solitude. Then there she was—stubborn, fearless Jane. She reminded him of how he used to be—unstoppable, driven, and invincible. He realized the magnitude of the risk he took in revealing himself to her. But it had come to the point where the risk was worth hope, no matter how minute, that she was the one woman strong enough to understand him.
“I asked if you’d like to—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I’d rather stand.” She reached out to smooth her hand down the polished bedpost.
Randolph’s body tightened.
“When did you plan to tell me? Before or after you seduced me again?”
The question hit him in the solar plexus and he took a moment to catch his breath. No one except madam had ever known the truth. The reality that he must face the woman who’d turned his world upside down, the woman he’d die for, knew that he’d lied to her, deceived her…taken advantage of her. He set his glass on the table and clenched his fist, not answering her question. “I suspect you have many questions.” He didn’t know where to start, how to explain.
She looked at him and released a sigh. “I do—a great many, actually. But tonight I have just one.”
The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 23
