CHAPTER NINE
Mara hailed down a hackney before the sun had even deemed to paint the sky with its bright dawn colors. Five days had passed since she had become a guest of Lord and Lady Rockford. Five days of returning to the shop for business as usual…five days of pleasant, if not subdued, conversation with Athena and her husband…but most of all, five days without a single word from Roarke.
Every morning Mara got up and began her day like any other, pretending that she wasn’t dying on the inside. She kept telling herself that she was only upset because she had hoped to hear word of Bentley, but the truth of the matter was her heart was breaking. She was constantly reminded that when this was all over—so would be her association with Lord Eversleigh.
As if they’d ever had a chance to begin with.
Even so, the pain she’d felt when she’d left Roarke the first time didn’t even begin to compare to the acute sense of devastation she was experiencing now. Whenever she thought of him—which was more often than not—she felt a crushing weight in her chest, and she found it hard to breathe. She could tell Athena was worried about her, so she tried to put on a brave face whenever her newly pregnant friend was around. Thankfully, it was usually at dinner when Mara had to wear something resembling a smile, for to do so all day would have been draining.
The nights were the worst, for Mara tossed and turned, her body yearning for Roarke’s touch.
Thus, she found a new resolve.
While Roarke might have an advantage with his fellow peers, high-ranking members of society, and his own private investigators, Mara also had ways of learning information. She didn’t doubt that Roarke was doing everything in his power to find Bentley, but she was tired of sitting idly by and doing nothing while Big B’s life was at stake.
As the hackney shuddered to an abrupt halt, Mara alighted, making sure to pay the driver extra to wait for her. Before she walked up to the door of the establishment, Mara looked back at what was left of her old lodgings, the charred remains of the apartment building visible above the surrounding rooftops.
A sensation of melancholy swept over her like a cold chill.
After she’d left Roarke, she had been so lost and destitute that she felt nothing but the workhouse was good enough for a woman of her ilk. But then she’d rescued Bentley, and suddenly she had a new purpose and determination for living again.
She seldom recalled that horrible night when she’d done the unthinkable and boarded that awful slave ship,Ferryman,but she did so now. She could still hear the muted cries inside the hull. They had been difficult to ignore, although most that passed by the docks that evening had little trouble doing so. Never in her life had she ever been so daring, but she felt a kinship with these dark-skinned prisoners. While they were different people, in different countries, and for entirely different reasons—they were all trapped in their own existence.
Mara didn’t even remember thinking. She just acted.
Bentley had been the most severely injured, and her heart bled for him. She had learned a few unsavory habits during her time in London, so it didn’t take her long to pick the iron cuffs on his wrists and ankles, which bound him to the rest of the slaves. But as soon as the clank of the metal fell on the wooden planks, it was as if the ship came alive with activity. Footsteps and curses came from the crew up above, as Mara struggled with Bentley’s weight. With his arm slung over her shoulder, they seemed to climb the stairs to the upper decks at a snail’s pace.
When they finally reached the top, the captain spied them. Mara panicked. With an instinct born of survival, she pushed them both over the railing, where they landed in the water with a resounding splash. The shock of the cold water seemed to spur Bentley into action, for he began to tread water more quickly than Mara. In the end, he pulled her from the watery depths, and they took off and ran for their very lives. The sounds of pursuit were near deafening, whistles and shouts seemed to surround them, but they never broke stride.
That first night was spent huddled together under a bridge for warmth, for Mara knew they couldn’t make it back to the workhouse without sounding the alarm. From that point on, they were on their own.
After weeks of wandering the back streets of London, finding food and shelter wherever they could from the pitiful bit of money that Mara had saved back, fate finally intervened when they stumbled intoThe Admiral Nelsonpub one evening, and some drunken lout thought to best Bentley in a fight.
Mr. Mendoza himself had been behind the bar and hired Big B on sight when one punch put the other man down. He was also the one who located the rather ramshackle complex for them, and after Mara did a bit of bargaining with the landlord, he finally acquiesced to her demands to rent the entire property. She felt quite sure it didn’t have anything to do with her power of negotiation, but with the fact Big B had been standing beside her. Even then, his reputation as a boxer had begun to precede him.
And the rest, they say, is history.
Other than his willingness to help her finance the shop, Bentley had become a sympathetic ear when she broke down and cried for no apparent reason. While she wouldn’t necessarily say she was unhappy during those times, at the very least she was content, and she could certainly credit Bentley for keeping her sane.
His loyalty and friendship had been her lifeline, and she could do no less for him now.
Thus empowered, Mara took a deep breath and knocked on the faded, wooden door. It took three more tries before it was finally opened a mere sliver and a weary brown eye looked out. “Do ye have any idea whot time it is?” the middle-aged woman grumbled.
“I apologize for the early hour,” Mara said evenly, “But I was hoping to speak with Madame Celeste if she is available.”
The eye instantly narrowed. “Aye, and who might ye be then?”
Mara returned the steady glare. “I am Miss…Anna Smith.” She nearly stumbled over her assumed name, but recalling that anyone she had met in the intervening years knew her only by her pseudonym, she quickly recovered.
“Stay here.” With that, the door was firmly shut and latched in place.
Mara sighed, but she had no doubt that the woman she’d asked for would attend her. After all, she’d known Celeste long before she’d become the Madame of this house. In fact, they had toiled together at the workhouse and become good friends before Mara had taken up with Bentley. She had always felt somewhat guilty for deserting the other woman, especially after learning of the path Celeste had chosen after Mara’s disappearance.
Mara had taken it upon herself to call upon Celeste when she found out they lived only a couple blocks apart from each other. It was right after she’d opened the haberdashery, and while Celeste had been glad to see her, even making a point to say that she harbored no ill will toward Mara, she also didn’t wish to jeopardize Mara’s respectable business by their association. Thus, it was mutually agreed that they would be distant friends.
However, with Big B’s disappearance, Mara knew it was imperative that she utilized every asset she could. Assuming that the man who had taken Big B had been spying on them—and Mara figured that he had been—a brothel was a perfect place to start. While Roarke and his men had likely already taken such a possibility into consideration, Mara knew that a woman of ill repute would be more willing to open up to another member of her sex, especially if she was already an acquaintance.
The door opened again, but this time a bit wider.
