Painted Lady

by Roxy Harte

  Lucy felt she should argue the point, seeing Mrs. Finkelstein was becoming very possessive, but just as quickly acknowledged she'd be lost without the woman's help. Did she really care if the hotel was named after Mrs. Finkelstein?

  Lucille.

  She wasn't sure she liked that either.

  “Your job from this moment on is to make certain that your private life is cloaked in discretion, hinted at but never admitted. The class of men you consort with must be your business only, and if you can keep your affairs secret from even yourself, so much the better. Now your public persona—that is another matter entirely. Your days of being a saloon girl are over. You are now upper echelon, and your clients only those who can afford you, and they will talk among themselves about the mystery that is you.”

  Class, not crass, had been the theme of the day.

  Lucy wasn't sure when her manners had become so bad or her language or her social skills, but obviously they had. She'd been walking with a heavy book on her head most of the night and was exhausted.

  Rose finished her task and looked up suddenly. “It's two a.m.; we will stop for the night, and I will meet you back here at eight. We have so much to do.” The woman sounded absolutely giddy. “Sleep while you can, and tomorrow bring the Frenchwoman with you.”

  Véronique. Perfect.

  Lucy was still embarrassed about what had happened with her. But thinking as a businesswoman, she knew the hotel would need to service a more upscale clientele, and to do so…

  She would have to make peace with Véronique.

  It was only as the heavy oak doors on the hotel side of the foyer opened and closed that Lucy realized it was raining. Again. She walked out onto the porch in time to see Mrs. Finkelstein climb into a carriage. Lucy lifted her hand to wave. Having spent hours with her, the woman was still a mystery, but she guessed that was the point.

  Lucille would be her public persona. She smiled. It wasn't as if she was losing Lucy. She would still be the same woman…wouldn't she?

  She considered how much she'd changed already—slave to slut—an almost-painless progression. It seemed reasonable that slut to lady might be the more painful transformation. It was made very clear to her that neither the drover nor the sheriff would be suitable company and that she would be better suited to seek out one of the many professional men in town when she needed an escort.

  Lightning split the sky, and for the first time in hours she thought about Daniel.

  Closing the door against the storm, she prayed for his safe return. Again.

  Absently she wondered if Daniel's cryptic warning about dangerous water was because he had encountered Mrs. Finkelstein's uppity attitude firsthand.

  “I am yours.” Uppity or no, nothing would change that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucy reached the landing and heard giggles coming from Véronique's room. She pressed her ear closer to the door. With each strike of thunder, the girls shrieked and then giggled. She imagined them huddled close to each other, trembling, hugging each other, and stroking each other's fears away.

  Pain cut through her middle, she missed Emma so.

  Wanting more than anything to join them, she lifted her hand to knock at the door but didn't strike, knowing in her heart she would never be part of their tight-knit group.

  They'd turned their backs on Fang-Hua and Dao-Ming, considering them less. If Lucy weren't their boss, would they also turn their backs on her? As it was, she decided they were forced to exhibit a modicum of respect. She turned away from the door and started to walk away. A brilliant flash of light filled the hall and the entire building shook as thunder boomed simutaneously.

  Lucy shrieked, matching the sounds coming through the closed door.

  Fang-Hua? Dao-Ming? She paused, unsure until she heard the fresh fit of giggles, decidedly higher pitched and belonging to the Asian women. The truth was confirmed when the door opened and Madalena reached out her hand and pulled Lucy into the dark room.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Only a single candle burned, leaving the room mostly in shadow. The women were all mostly nude, Fang-Hua, Dao-Ming, and Esmeralda bare to the waist, but wearing bloomers and stockings. The three of them were together on one of the beds and were obviously embracing. Véronique reclined in a full-size copper tub. Lucy's mouth dropped. How had she missed the bathtub?

  Véronique smiled and held out her hand. “Come, Madam Lucille, the water is very nice on such a dreary day.”

  She knew? How did word travel so quickly? But of course, the sign maker had probably been hired in the middle of the day. Véronique and the others might have learned the news hours before Lucy had.

  Madalena pushed her forward until her knees bumped the metal edge. Steam rose from both the water and the woman's flesh. Her skin was flushed a rosy pink.

  Lucy couldn't pull her gaze from the woman's taut nipples and puckered areolae but managed to slip out of her heavy velvet jacket. Next came the corset. Madalena caught the heavily boned fabric and waited as Lucy shed her wide bustled skirt.

  She was left standing in a sheer lace camisole, bloomers, silk stockings, and boots.

  Véronique's eyes widened, making Lucy feel as if she'd shocked her in her boldness. This would be part of her private life held close.

  Had she thought Lucy too innocent in the ways of women to be bold enough to join her once the offer was made? If so, she'd miscalculated whatever embarrassment she'd planned. If Emma had taught her anything, it was that women were catty, and it appeared the trait was not limited merely to women of society.

  Sitting on a nearby stool, Lucy unbuttoned her boots and kicked them off, slid down her stockings one at a time while keeping her gaze locked on Véronique's the entire time, and then stood, pulled the camisole over her head, and dropped her bloomers. She couldn't believe her own boldness. Véronique looked just as shocked.

  Lucy pointed her toe and tested the water before stepping in. Hot, but not too hot. The water was wonderfully steamy.

  She lowered herself into the water, fitting easily in the space Véronique had made for her. The level of the water rose, covering both women's breasts. Lucy reclined, though her knees were still drawn up. She only relaxed her legs when Véronique did. They layered their legs one over the other, and Lucy bit back a smile. She'd missed the companionship since Emma's death, the ease of they'd shared behind closed doors, being just women. Dared she hope she might find something similar with these women?

  Meeting Véronique's gaze, she knew she more than dared, she longed for it. Not that she or Emma had ever taken things so far as what had happened last night with the Frenchwoman, but caresses, hand-holding, cuddling during storms—it seemed those things were important, and if she could find such a friendship again, she might overlook her jealousy for the sake of it.

  She ran the sole of her foot up Véronique's calf and was relieved when the woman met her gesture with a similar caress.

  Around them, the other women had resumed more intimate love play, openly fondling and kissing each other, their moans broken only by giggles and shrieks when the lightning collided so near, their hair seemed to stand on end in response.

  Véronique's foot slid higher up her leg, caressing the inside of her thigh before nestling against her privates.

  Lucy bit her lip, embarrassed as she waited for the woman to pull her foot away. She didn't.

  Madalena returned with a steaming kettle. “More hot water?”

  “Please,” Véronique requested.

  As Madalena poured the water into the tub, the surface rippled, catching the light of the flickering candle. She prayed Madalena wouldn't see where Véronique's foot rested. Wasn't she already embarrassed enough?

  Finished with the pouring, Madalena knelt and took a bar of soap in her hand. She dipped her hands into the water and created a lather before running her hands over Lucy's skin. She hadn't asked permission; she'd just acted. Lucy wasn't sure what to do, so she did nothing as Madalena soaped ea
ch of her fingers thoroughly before moving on to her palm.

  Véronique's foot massaged against her needy flesh.

  The attentions of both women felt so good.

  Lucy closed her eyes and dropped her head back as Madalena's skilled hands massaged up her arms and over her shoulders.

  She lifted her hips, begging Véronique for more, and was rewarded with a wriggle of the woman's toes dipping between her slick folds. Her eyes flew open. Her gaze didn't meet Véronique's; it met Madalena's. The red-haired woman dipped her face and kissed Lucy as her soaped hands found Lucy's breasts. She kneaded her flesh with skilled abandon, finding and tweaking her nipples.

  Lucy didn't fight the kiss, though she was embarrassed by what both women were doing. Her mind screamed at how wrong what was happening was, but all around her drifted the sounds of the others loving each other.

  Véronique's big toe slid between her slick folds, pushing deeper, pushing inside.

  Out. In. Out. In.

  Oh God. Lucy found herself pushing against the woman's foot, wanting more.

  Madalena tweaked her nipples harder, twisting and pulling, seeming to catch the rhythm of Veronique's thrusts. Lucy's need crescendoed as both women helped her find release, and her moan was in unison with one of the other women's—Fang-Hua or Dao-Ming. The realization that their orgasms had been simultaneous left her in a fit of giggles that became contagious around the room.

  * * *

  Lucy awoke in a tangle of arms and legs. She thought perhaps she was dreaming but immediately realized she was indeed awake, because one of the Asian girls was screaming, her orgasm rivaling the intensity of the squall. Thankfully she fell silent again, leaving the rain pounding outside on the boardwalk and above on the tin roof the only other sound. It seemed the woman's bliss had chased away the storm.

  Spooned behind her, Madalena tightened the hold she had around Lucy's waist but didn't wake up. Facing her lay Véronique, who lifted one eyelid. “Sleep while it's quiet, beautiful. Dao-Ming's satisfaction will be short-lived.”

  She closed her eye again and fell instantly back to sleep. Lucy, too, drifted, dreaming of the day the rail would come through town.

  Too soon, a rooster's cry awakened her, and she knew she had little precious time to prepare for another day with Mrs. Finkelstein. She managed to disentangle and rise. Véronique sat up, still bleary-eyed. Lucy kissed her lightly on the lips before leaving the bed. “I need you to join me on the hotel side this morning. Wear your nicest dress and a jacket. We will be meeting with Mrs. Finkelstein.”

  Eyes widening, Véronique seemed to understand the implication immediately. “As you wish, Madam Lucille.”

  * * *

  Mrs. Finkelstein met the women in the foyer and led them into the dining room, a big reveal. Candles lit each tabletop, and a woman in a crisp uniform stood ready to seat them. “We have only two staff so far. Rivkah has been preparing my meals for more than a dozen years and has agreed to work here until we can find a suitable chef, and her daughter, Ester, has agreed to be a serving woman.”

  “I am most grateful,” Lucy said.

  Ester arrived at that moment, bearing an exceptionally well-presented breakfast: eggs served over easy and stacked atop slivers of ham and toast covered in Dutch sauce.

  Lucy wondered over the absolute decadence of the sauce. “This is most unexpected. You haven't slept, have you?”

  “I have done little but sleep since my husband's death. My boredom has been relieved with new purpose. I have you to thank for that, Lucille.”

  Unexpected emotion momentarily overwhelmed Lucy. She was sitting at a table with two white women as their equal. Through a blur, she lifted a china cup filled with tea. “You have my gratitude as well, Rose. Shall we toast to new beginnings?”

  Toasting with tea may have been a faux pas, because both Mrs. Finkelstein and Véronique tittered, but they also lifted their cups and agreed. “New beginnings.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later there was a grand reopening of the restaurant and hotel. A small band played, and the mayor spoke, as did the owner of the railroad, before the official ribbon-cutting ceremony. The new signage was revealed simultaneously when Lucy pulled a cord, dropping the sheet to reveal MISS LUCILLE'S over the saloon entrance and Mrs. Finkelstein revealed the new placard over the hotel and restaurant entrance AUBERGE DE ROSE.

  It should have been an exciting day, but Lucy found herself faking her smile because she'd convinced herself Daniel would return in time. He hadn't. Thunder was there, watching the extravaganza from across the street.

  When she'd lifted her hand to wave, he'd turned and walked away, leaving her feeling even more alone. The person she missed most was Emma.

  “You look very sad for a woman who has everything.”

  Rose startled her, coming up beside her.

  Lucy forced herself to smile wider, hating that her lips trembled.

  “Flashing those pearly whites don't fool me, young lady. You forget I once was a woman of very similar circumstance, fighting for respect and recognition, wishing for love.”

  “How did you ever survive and become the great woman you are today?”

  “I took what I wanted from life. I certainly didn't sit around moping, hoping for life to find me.”

  The mayor was suddenly in front of them, kissing both Rose's gloved hand and hers. She felt silly wearing the gloves, but it was a necessity for her to wear them, or so said Rose.

  After, the guests were led into the dining room for a spectacular lunch. Lucy barely touched what was on her plate, although it was beautifully presented. Mrs. Finkelstein's advice kept swirling through her head. She should take what she wanted.

  By nightfall the hotel was full to capacity, the men were in pursuit of cigars and faro, and Mrs. Finkelstein had finally gone home to catch up on two weeks with inadequate sleep. Véronique was standing in as Lady Luck at the card table.

  Lucy made her way to the jail and found Thunder sitting behind his desk. “Long time no see.”

  “You've been busy.”

  “I think I told you once before—never too busy for you.”

  Lucy propped her hip on the edge of his desk. “So what does a woman have to do to keep your attention, Sheriff?”

  He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You never lost it. I've been at my table at the saloon every night.”

  Oh.

  He reached out and touched her gloved hand. “These are new.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed harder than she probably needed to. He stood and ran his fingers over the lapel of her velvet jacket. “This too. The color suits you, brings out the russet of your skin tone, the deep brown of your eyes.” He moved closer, near enough that if he chose to kiss her, he could. “Brings out the little gold flecks in your irises.”

  She hadn't considered any of that when Véronique had suggested having the suit made in a deep, rich goldenrod. She licked her lips, wanting him to kiss her so badly.

  She didn't allow her clients to kiss her.

  He pulled back. “Slow night?”

  She gasped, watching him sit back down. “On the contrary, both the saloon and restaurant have stayed full to capacity all day, and the hotel is booked solid through the end of the week.”

  “Shouldn't you be there?”

  “I should be where I want to be, and right now I want to be with you.”

  Thunder tilted his head and looked her up and down. “I think you may be out of my league now, beautiful.”

  Lucy gaped at him, unbelieving what she was hearing.

  “You see, I fell in love with a little nymph of a girl wearing rags and covered with trail dust. You aren't her.”

  She forced herself to not show emotion, fighting back tears and nausea. Shaking, she turned away but stopped when she reached the door, her hand paused on the doorknob. “You know, Rages Like Thunder, you can sit in that chair of yours feeling a fair share of indignation, or you can admit you ar
en't the same man either. I'm fairly certain when you arrived in this town, you were more than a little dirty, a little ragged, road weary, and blood splattered, but you rose above the man you were. We all change. That's no reason to stop loving someone. Besides, as many coins as you've left on my pillow, I know you can afford a new suit of clothes, hire a few deputies, rise in station…”

  She turned the handle and threw open the door but was prevented from exiting. Thunder grabbed her around her waist, spun her around, and answered her angry tirade with his own frustration. They collided in passion.

  Lucy managed to slam the door closed.

  Thunder remembered to lock it and pull down the blinds covering the window before taking her to the ground. “I may ruin your fancy dress.”

  “There are always other dresses.” She stroked his face. “I've missed you.”

  “How much you charge these days, Madam Lucille?” He grabbed her ass, hitched her closer, and pushed his knee between hers. She bit his ear in answer, hiked her skirts, and rolled on top of him to straddle his hips. His hands slid up her thigh, leaving stockings to trail over bare skin. “God, I've missed you.”

  Lucy rubbed her face against his stubbly cheek.

  “I'm sorry. I should have sought you out. After—it seemed awkward.”

  Lucy silenced him with her mouth, taking what she wanted as she rolled him onto his back. Pushing up, she positioned herself over his erection and teased him, sliding the tip of his penis between her wet lips. Back and forth. She held his gaze, chuckling when he grabbed her hips. His voice was rough as he begged, “Please, Lucy.”

  She pushed down hard and fast, taking him in. She surprised him in doing so.

  She varied her pace, slow, then fast, coaxing her orgasm near but making sure he came first before finding her own.

  Later, he escorted her back to the hotel. The streets were strangely empty. It must have been later than she'd believed. Her heels clicked on the boardwalk, seeming to echo into the night. “Was that his purpose, do you suppose, to make you feel awkward while he was away?”