Between Two Captains

Chapter Two - part two

Ethan combed the marketplace first and then the theatres, inquiring with nearly every person who crossed his path if they’d seen a young woman matching Violette’s description. One fruit vendor remembered seeing her in the very early morning when she’d purchased an apple from his cart but he didn’t know where she’d gone from there.

After two hours of searching the entire Covent Garden area, he took a deep breath, realizing with mounting fear that he needed to enquire in the brothels, several of which he, himself, had spent time in as a client. He decided to start with the ones closest to the Theatre Royale.

Again, he sensed Violette’s desperation. He would have bet every crown in his bank account that she had no money with her and nowhere to go. If he guessed her intentions correctly, she would want to earn enough money to pay her way back to France, the only home she’d ever known. Unfortunately, for many young women, there was only one form of employment that could possibly achieve such an end.

His heart nearly stopped.

He remembered those big blue-green eyes, the way they’d gazed at him. He truly had misread her expression. There was a world of sorrow behind them of which she could never have spoken. Life in a brothel would steal that innocent gaze from her and he couldn’t let it.

Why it was so important to him that Violette not end up like that, he wasn’t sure. He knew only that his dear brother had been a victim of Graves’ cruelty. Perhaps saving another person from Graves was his only way to vindicate Charles’ needless suffering.

He remembered a brothel in the neighborhood behind the theatre. The place was decent enough, a house of the night for gentlemen, run by a large Frenchwoman. Madame DuChamps, she called herself, though God only knew what her real name was.

The maid who answered the door ushered him in. Her watery eyes widened at the description of Violette. “I’ll get the madam for ye, sir.” She bustled off before Ethan could ask her anything else.

His heart sped up. Obviously Violette had been here. The servant’s reaction confirmed it. However, the girl might not still be here and he would have to go through the madam to find out. He sighed, remembering the madam’s mercenary nature. Quite a few pounds would leave his pocket before he was through here.

Madame DuChamps entered the hallway. Her blonde hair, piled in a bodacious coiffure on top of her head, completed the image of the ultimate brothel madam, her buxom figure in a silken robe swaying nonchalantly toward him. Recognition lit her blue eyes. “Ah, monsieur, le capitaine.” She extended a manicured set of talons. “It has been too long since we see you last, non?”

Ethan accepted a polite but brief handshake and released the plump hand. “I’ve been busy.”

Madame DuChamps’ eyes flashed mischievously. “You and zat handsome brother of yours must come back. We always have a girl who loves to entertain you together.”

He cleared his throat. He and Charlie had been known to share a woman occasionally. “Actually, Madame, I’m here in search of a young woman who might have come seeking employment.” He gave a brief description of Violette.

Madame DuChamps lifted a blonde eyebrow and grinned. “Oui, capitaine. Zat girl is here. She is pure. A vierge. If you wish to have her first, I will be delighted. Name your price.”

Ethan’s gut lurched. “I wish to speak with her, please.”

The plump madam chuckled knowingly. “Her time is money, monsieur. Play or talk. She has signed on with me and must earn her keep. You understand, of course.”

Inwardly he sighed. Of course he understood. Thank God he kept plenty of notes in his billfold. Madame DuChamps’ virgin auctions were well known and drunken gentlemen spent exorbitant amounts. He was prepared to go well above the price to ensure the woman’s complete cooperation. He’d need her willingness to let him buy Violette out of the place on her first day. Busting her out by force was not an option. He couldn’t do anything drastic that would risk the news reaching Violette’s father or, worse, her fiancé.

“All right. Two thousand pounds.”

The madam’s blue eyes widened like saucers and a look of sheer glee brightened her plump face. “Oh, capitaine, for zat price, you may remain with her zee entire afternoon!”

He nodded and pulled the bills out, counting them off and handing them to her. “There it is in advance.”

Her red talons and plump fingers wrapped around the wad of pound notes. “Merci bien, capitaine. Please, wait in zee salon. We do not customarily entertain clients at luncheon and she will need a few moments to prepare.”

Ethan bowed. “Of course.”

Madame DuChamps clapped her hands in the direction of the salon. A large man in a crumpled suit was asleep on a divan, snoring. At the madam’s sound, his eyes popped open and he stood up quickly.

“’Erbert, get zee gentleman a drink while ’e waits and zen guard zee door. Zat’s what I pay you for.” The madam punctuated her order by turning with a flourish of her wrap and heading up the staircase.

Ethan watched Herbert straighten his suit, run a hand over his unshaven jaw and lumber slowly toward the liquor cart, nodding politely to Ethan as he passed by. He poured a glass of whiskey, served it to him and hurried to the front door.

Accepting the drink, Ethan sighed and swept his gaze over the familiar room with its potted ferns, dark, carved furniture and bright reds everywhere, from velvet upholstery to damask wallpaper. He and Charlie had found some pleasure in this place before they’d left for India. The brothel had for him, lost its charms since it had become the only sanctuary for Violette, an innocent, desperate to escape a fate to which her own father had condemned her. And, no doubt in Ethan’s mind, through trickery.

A quarter of an hour later, he heard movement on the stairs. Through the salon doorway, he saw two pairs of women’s heeled boots descending. First, the plump, imposing figure of the madam. Quickly he set down his untouched whiskey and stood, his gaze riveted on the figure following the older woman.

Violette Poole moved with deliberate, careful steps, one pale hand slipping gently along the banister.

The two women reached the bottom step and started for the salon.

Ethan’s breath caught. Miss Poole had been made up to entertain him and she wore almost nothing, except for a silken, nearly see-through chemise that outlined her full breasts, slim waist and even fuller hips. The ruffled pantalettes ended just below her knees, giving him a hint of her pale smooth calves above the elegant ankle boots.

He ran his gaze back up to her face, lightly powdered. Pale spots of darker pink flushed her cheeks. The madam had swept the girl’s coppery hair into a mass of riotous, sensual curls around her head, showing off the swan-like curve of her neck. Her graceful pale arms hung by her sides. The sight of her caused his long-slumbering groin to tighten and his heart to race.

Were it not for her expression, he would have become completely aroused. Fear hung like a palpable force around her. Her large green-blue eyes stared at him, grievously full of apprehension. Miss Poole looked more like a woman about to face a hanging jury rather than a woman of the night about to entertain a man.

The madam gave the young woman a nudge toward him. She took a halting step forward and stopped a few feet away.

Ethan glanced past Miss Poole to the older woman. “Thank you. That will be all.”

His tone obviously dismissed Madame DuChamps, for she bestowed her mercenary gleam on him and left the salon. He then looked at Violette Poole. The poor girl’s lower lip trembled, rousing in him the desire to lower his mouth to hers and gently kiss away her fear.

“Miss Poole, I need to speak to you alone.” He doubted the wisdom of being alone with her in one of the upstairs bedrooms but he certainly couldn’t risk having Madame DuChamps or any of her staff overhear the two of them. He lowered his voice to a careful tone. “I promise I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

Her large eyes widened slightly at his statement and a touch of the fear in them seemed to leave. Silently she nodded and turned. “This way, Captain.”

Ethan followed her to the stairs, working to keep his gaze off her buttocks, which pushed against the thin material of her pantalettes with each step she took. The scent of rosewater invaded his nostrils and the sight of her luxurious pile of red curls made him want to pull the pins out and bury his face in the soft tresses.

He tore his thoughts away from such desires. He was here for one reason only, to get Miss Poole out of London and away from the wolves. He wasn’t here to fall in love with her.

The hallway at the top of the stairs held a corridor of bedrooms on either side. Some of the doors sat ajar, revealing women in various stages of undress, lounging, or brushing their hair. One pretty blonde caught sight of him and winked before turning her back and continuing to put on her chemise.

He cleared his throat and kept his attention on the back of Miss Poole’s hair as she led him to a door at the end of the corridor. She opened it, revealing a bedroom as gaudily decorated with cushions and dark carved woods as the salon downstairs. He went in and stood by one of the bed posts, watching her close the door softly and stand in front of it.

Had the circumstances been different, she would probably have come over to him and begun undressing him. As it was, she stood, her hands hanging again at her sides, watching him as if he held a loaded revolver pointed right at her. To Ethan’s chagrin, the flimsy material of her underclothes revealed to him the dark pink spots of her n*****s and the triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and perched on the edge of the bed, shifting to hide the growing evidence of her effect on him.

“Captain, if you’ve come here to drag me back, you are wasting your time. I will kill myself first before going back to either of those men. I swear it.” Her soft voice held an iron determination and Ethan feared she actually would be so desperate as to do such a thing.

He swore silently he would never give her reason to try. “Miss Poole, I give you my word as a gentleman that I have no intention of forcing you to go back.”

He watched her eyes glisten with a rush of unshed tears and her hands ball into fists. “I mean no offense, sir but isn’t such a statement the perfect way to gain my trust and lure me back, without a fight? No doubt, Richard Graves will pay you handsomely for my safe return.”

Ethan felt a surge of admiration for her spirit and intelligence. “Perhaps it would be if I were someone else. But I’ll be honest with you. First, I’m a wealthy man in my own right and don’t need his money. And secondly, I have a vested interest in keeping you away from him, other than the fact that I would be a heartless monster to force you to be with him when you so obviously despise him.”

Miss Poole tilted her head and stared at him. Obviously he’d captured her interest, which, thankfully had begun to replace some of the apprehension in her gaze. “What is your vested interest, Captain?”

He took a deep breath, preparing inwardly to revisit the pain of the past. “Well, Graves is a murderer and a thief.”

Violette Poole sighed. “You have confirmed my suspicions of his character,” she said softly. “However, there are many murderers and thieves in the world. What has he done specifically that makes you want to help me?”

“I don’t know how much you know about British politics—”

“Very little. Enlighten me, if it will help me understand.”

Ethan nodded. “Graves was a vehement supporter of Lord Dalhousie in parliament. Dalhousie pushed the doctrine of lapse through, as well as the annexation of the Oudh principate. These changes basically set the stage for the Indian Mutiny of 1857, in which my brother and I both were caught during our service. I escaped unharmed. But Charles lost his wife, murdered by a fellow officer, and the use of his legs.”

He fell silent and looked away. Speaking of the event brought back all the pain, the searing loss and yet, also the gratitude that Charlie was alive and had hopes of recovery. “Aside from that, Miss Poole, Graves’ stance only proves what a cruel person he is at heart, completely lacking in respect for any other human being or culture. He cares only for his own desires and fulfilling them. I would not have you at his mercy.” He gestured to her. “I hope that is a satisfactory explanation of my selfish motive.”

The young woman remained silent but her large, breathtaking eyes spoke to him. Never before had he seen such a world of emotions pass through a pair of eyes. One moment he saw sorrow, the next doubt. And yet in the next, a shifting kaleidoscope of hope, admiration and fear. Her soft, delicate hands never stopped clenching and unclenching. Under the silky chemise, her breasts rose and fell, drawing his gaze.

He swallowed hard. His erection resurged and pushed with demand against his trousers.

“This is all true, what you’ve told me, Captain?”

He nodded. “I’d swear it on my mother’s tomb. I’d stake my entire reputation on every detail. Besides, it’s all verifiable in the records.”

Miss Poole looked down at the worn Oriental carpet under her shoes. “What if his crimes had not affected you so personally?” Her gaze rose to his. “Would you have wanted to rescue me then?” She fell silent and looked away. A soft sigh escaped her, conveying to Ethan her deep distress.

“Yes.” He knew it was true and did not hesitate. “I…failed to save so many people during the Mutiny. I swore that if I ever had a chance not to fail in this regard, I wouldn’t.” He looked down briefly. “I would do whatever I could to help you, no matter the circumstances.”

Finally, she looked back up at him. “I want so very badly to believe you, Captain. I felt last night when my father introduced us that you had a certain quality I admired. I couldn’t name it at first but I know what it is now.”

He returned her gaze while his heart seemed to scud across his chest. “May I ask what that quality is?”

She looked intently at him another moment then nodded. “Oui. It is kindness. You seem kind.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

To his surprise, she took a few steps closer to him, approaching him with the seeming caution of a lion tamer to his subject. “Unfortunately, sir, this is a matter of life or death to me. My father tricked me. He lured me to England with promises of being the father to me he never was. In my grief over my mother’s death, I was desperate for such a relationship and made the journey here, only to find he had already arranged my marriage to Richard Graves. So you see, I cannot trust easily, even though if I were to trust any man, it would be you.”

Ethan raked a hand through his hair, thinking. Of course, he completely understood her mistrust and yet he also knew he was probably the one person in the world right now who could help her. He knew it sounded insane to her that he should care so much about someone he didn’t even know but he couldn’t stem the rising tide of emotion that welled up in him each time he looked at her. “In that case, I’m honored, Miss Poole. Please, tell me what I can do to prove myself to you, to help you feel confident I won’t force you back to your father.”

Again, her gaze rested on his face, the blue-green color of her eyes swirling and melting with inner turmoil. “If I tell you what it is you can do, Captain, will you promise to do it?”

Something in her voice made his gut coil with tension. Yet the underlying silkiness of her soft tone and the blend of French and English accent caressed his being and heated his blood as if he were standing near a bonfire.

He nodded. “If it will enable me to gain your confidence, then yes, I promise.”

Violette Poole took another step toward him, sending a seductive whiff of roses his way. “Thank you,” she breathed. “What I need you to do, Captain Carrick, is…to ruin me.”