Page 31 of Charlotte's Reckoning
He turned and looked where she pointed, at the opposite end of the street, then strode quickly in that direction, disappearing around the next corner.
Rowie’s wobbly legs could hardly support her. She bent double, breathing deeply to catch her breath as the fear that had consumed her was replaced with relief—for now. Heloise didn’t seem like the type to give up easily, especially when money was involved.
Clomping horses on the street drew near where she hid. An expensive-looking coach passed, stopping a short way up the block well out of reach of the streetlights. The door opened, and Elise stuck her head out, waving frantically.
“Hurry! Get in before Heloise’s behemoth realizes I sent himon awild goose chaseand comes back!”
Rowie didn’t dither about her decision. This kind woman might be duping her, but she had to be better than enduring another night with the mad madam. She sprinted toward the open door, paying no mind that in her haste, her cloak flapped out behind her, revealing her bare legs to mid-thigh. As soon as she bounded up the three steps, her hostess for the night slammed the door and called to her driver, “Take us home, Arthur. Quickly!”
The vehicle jerked as, with a whistle and a snap of the reins, the horses leaped forward. Still on her feet, Rowie lost her balance and fell with an oomph onto the padded seat across from her rescuer—the second of the night. Feeling giddy at her first taste of freedom in a week, she laughed. The woman smiled at her and leaned forward, gripping her hand in reassurance.
“You’re safe now, and I don’t even know your name.”
Her life had changed drastically in a month. She couldn’t go back to the girl she once was. And she refused to sully her father’s memory and besmirch his good name by using it moving forward. Rowena Dunn nee Eldridge had ceased to exist.
“It’s Charlotte,”she told her, using her middle name without faltering. She didn’t bother making up a last name and had never given one to Heloise. To men intent on taking their pleasure between her thighs, what did it matter?
“Lovely and à propos. You realize in French, Charlotte means free man or, in your case, free woman.”
“I do. My father was a scholar, and my tutors insisted on French and Latin.”
“Tu parles français! C’est merveilleux.”
“I am only passable,”she denied, shaking her head. “My strength is in translation, not elocution, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, that is a shame,”she replied with a disappointed moue of her lips. “We might work on it while you stay with me, perhaps?”
“I should like that very much,”Rowie replied, meaning it. Her heart felt buoyant for the first time in a long time, despite the horror she had endured.
“Until you figure out your future, dear Charlotte, you are my guest.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I don’t know how I will repay you.”
“Call me, Elise, please. And you owe me nothing. I was once in dire straits as you are. If not for a benefactor helping me, I likely still would be. Life is hard for a woman alone, especially one so young. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Nineteen.”
She scowled and uttered vehemently under her breath.“Après toutes ces années elle est toujours une salope maléfique.”
Able to pick out a few words and understand the insult, Rowie—no, she was Charlotte now—giggled. “Heloise is indeed an evil bitch,”she replied. “You’ll get no argument from me about that.”
She raised a brow and gave her a knowing look. “You know the meaning ofsalope, but you’re only passable?”
Rowie’s smile faded, and she glanced down at her hands, interwoven so tightly her knuckles and nail beds had turned white. “I was at Heloise’s for a week. Whore, slut, harlot—you name it—were tossed around liberally in several languages. I’ve never felt so dirty and demeaned.”
“At the Pleasure Palace, I’m not surprised,”Elise muttered. “They’re only words, my dear. They can only hurt and demean if you allow them to. Whether you continue in this vocation is up to you, but whatever you do, make sure it is on your terms, not a man’s or someone vile like Heloise’s.”
“How? When men hold all the power in the world?”
Elise tapped her temple. “We outsmart them. Men are simple creatures governed by their baser instincts, especially what’s in their trousers. Stick with me long enough, and you’ll learn.”She leaned forward and patted her arm. “Lesson number one. If you have standards, don’t compromise. For example, anyone who speaks in such a manner under my roof is promptly ejected without satisfaction or a refund, which hits ’em where it hurts.”
***
Bent over with his hands on his knees, deep, barking spasms wracked his body as his lungs tried to expel the heavy smoke. He’d played the hero, following his heart, not his head, and twice risked his life in the burning building. But for what? To rescue an abuser and a dead man? The saddlebags with half the bank haul he’d hidden under Judd’s bed were gone. He didn’t even have that. Thorn and Stan, his prime suspects, were nowhere in sight and undoubtedly twice the richer.
Through eyes watery from grief as much as the smoke, Seth gazed down at Judd’s blanket-wrapped form at his feet. Some cultures burned their dead on funeral pyres, believing the smoke carried the spirit to heaven. He wasn’t a religious man and had no objections to the practice. He preferred it to the thought of his brother rotting underground, but he couldn’t let the pyre be a brothel.
He’d encountered some amazing things during his travels, but Heloise’s Palace was something else entirely. The medieval torture chamber, forinstance, and the young woman with stripes on her back, trying to rescue the bastard who’d put them there.
