“Of course.” She circled the edges of the room, on the opposite side of Lord Halliwell, Max noticed. That man needed a talking to.
She led him up the staircase to her private rooms. Her threadbare skirts hinted at shapely legs and displayed to admirable advantage the swaying of her wide hips. Max greedily ran his eyes up and down her form. Unlike the other women of Max’s acquaintance, Mrs. Bonner had neither the gracefully sloping shoulders of the lady-birds of the club nor the affectations of languor practiced by the coquettes of the ton. From the determined set to her broad shoulders to her firm steps upon the stairs, Mrs. Bonner looked capable instead. Sturdy even. Like a woman with the strength to face the world.
She was completely unfashionable, and Max found her unutterably appealing.
She took him to her office instead of the sitting room and settled herself behind the elegant Queen Anne table that served as a desk. She indicated the chair across from her. “Have a seat.”
Max turned to the fireplace instead. Picking up the tongs, he laid more coal on her fire and stoked the flames higher. “As you know, when you first agreed to manage this club, it was on the condition that it would be for three months.”
“Or until the owner found a permanent manager. Whichever came first.”
“Yes. About that.” Max lit a taper in the fire then went about the room lighting the rest of the candles. He considered how to broach the subject.
“That one candle there is quite enough light.” Mrs. Bonner pointed to the taper on the corner of her desk.
“You’ll ruin your eyesight with how stingy you are with the wax.”
“It’s not stingy to avoid extravagance. Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you about the candles in the chandelier downstairs. There are one hundred and—”
“The candles stay. They add ambience.” He set the taper in a candlestick on the mantle then strode to the chair in front of her desk, taking a seat.
He eyed the woman across from him. She’d been so reluctant to work in a Venus club. But she had a roof over her head now and three square meals a day. Surely, she’d come to appreciate the employment. “I now own this club. Madame Sable ran into some difficulties, and she had to sell in order to pay her legal fees. I purchased it.”
Mrs. Bonner gaped at him, her full, open lips giving him all sorts of indecent ideas.
He gritted his teeth. Why was he always attracted to the strait-laced women? The ones who were shocked by his predilections? Who thought him immoral?
“But why would you want to own a bawdy house?” she asked. “I knew you were interested in its management and in ensuring the club’s survival, but to actually enter into such a trade … You’re a member of the gentry!”
“And the gentry are above such filth?” Max raised an eyebrow. She truly was too naïve for words. “All the members are of the Beau Monde. With the fees we charge, they need to be. Why is it so surprising one of us would own it?”
Mrs. Bonner rested her elbows on the desk. “But you don’t … that is, I’ve never seen you ….” A delightful blush crept up her cheeks, a lighter shade of red than her dark auburn hair.
“You’ve never seen me use one of the rooms?” He hadn’t, not since Mrs. Bonner had become manager. But she’d have to find out sooner or later. Especially if she acceded to his wishes. “I’ve been busy lately.”
She pushed a piece of paper back and forth with the tip of her index finger. “Everything here is so strange. What is it, exactly, that you do here?”
“Next time I play, you’ll have to come and watch.” Blood rushed to his groin at the thought, and he draped one leg over the other. It hid his burgeoning erection, but the pressure on his length only made him harder. “Or, if you’re interested, I’ll even let you play with me.”
Her eyes flared before her spine snapped straight. “No, thank you,” she said, her voice clipped. “Now, would you like to look over the books? My three months here are almost at an end, and I believe you’ll see that my management has maintained sufficient profit for you to pay me the premium you promised.”
She jumped to her feet and reached for a ledger resting on the shelf behind her. She laid it on the desk, spun it around, knocking a piece of parchment to the ground. She ran her finger down a neat column of numbers. “As you can see, net earnings have grown by two percent. Not a huge increase I’ll grant you, but as I’m not certain of my authority to change vendors, it was the best I could do.”
Max picked up the fallen piece of paper. “Would you like to have that authority?”
“What do you mean?” A tiny dent appeared in her forehead. “After you pay me my premium, I won’t be working here anymore.”
He tapped the paper against his thigh. “I wanted to discuss your leaving. What would you say to staying on? Now that I’m the owner, I’ll need a full-time manager. And as you said, you’re doing a fine job.”
“Absolutely not.”
Max pursed his lips. “You don’t need time to think about it?”
Mrs. Bonner tugged at the hem of her absurd waistcoat. Even amongst the lower classes, a woman wearing something so masculine was unusual. But Max had to admit the fitted garment did cup her breasts and torso nicely. Much better than those formless gowns women typically liked to wear.
“No. I already have plans for my premium.” She fingered the chain than ran from a buttonhole in the waistcoat and disappeared into a pocket. “And frankly, I’ve spent all the time I should at this establishment. It isn’t proper.”
Well, that was disappointing but not unexpected. Not with how difficult it had been to get Mrs. Bonner to agree in the first place. But he did need a good manager. He glanced down and frowned. “What if I offered you a pay increase? I could …” His eyes flew to the paper again. “What is this?” He pushed from his seat and slapped the letter down on the desk.
