Devin blinked and returned to the conversation at hand. “At Mivart’s.”
Luke gave a low whistle. “Back from th’ penal colony and ye’re already livin’ it up in high fashion. What lady did ye have t’ coerce t’ set ye up?” He elbowed Devin in the ribs in a teasing gesture.
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t have to do anything of the sort. I merely paid for a room at the hotel.”
This time, all mirth faded from Luke’s face and he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me ye used yer cache. That’s for when ye’re too old t’ play th’ game anymore.”
“I just took a small loan for the night. Besides”—he shrugged, but his shoulders seemed stiff and unyielding—“I feel much older. The last five years weren’t without their challenges.”
“Aye.” Luke sighed heavily. “I imagine not.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. I think ye need a stiff drink. An’ if not, ye know I could always use one.”
Devin laughed. It was good to be home. “You should know I’ve never been able to turn down a good Scottish whisky.”
Chapter 2
Constance sat at her dressing table in the guest room of Lady Blessington’s house and brushed out her strawberry blond hair. In truth, it had been free of tangles for the past ten minutes, but she hadn’t been able to concentrate long enough to do more than keep passing the horsehair bristles through the long, wavy tresses.
She should be furious that images of a persuasive, dark-haired man kept invading her thoughts like this. It certainly wasn’t like her to be so obsessed over someone she had literally just met. But there you have it. There was just something in his demeanor that had appealed to her siren’s side and Madame Corressa had awoken from her slumber and taken particular notice.
Her veins sung from the attraction that still pulsed through her blood, the desire that had lain dormant bursting to the surface with renewed life. For years, she had been some man’s courtesan, had nearly perfected the art of sex, but when it came to passion—true passion—it was something she hadn’t experienced in years, if ever.
She’d hadn’t had the most auspicious beginnings. She’d lost her virginity in the back alley of an East End pub when she was fifteen. After that, her mother had vowed to send her to a madame in order to gain some profit from her newfound sexuality. Terrified, as Constance had witnessed more than one woman beaten and bloodied from an angry man’s hand—including her own mother who personally entertained special “guests” of her own—Constance had fled home.
For a time, she’d lived on the streets, wearing the same rags she’d left in and begging for scraps when the hunger had become too much to bear.
Finally, without anywhere to turn and desperate for somewhere to sleep other than huddled up on the street where passing carriages had splattered her with mud and refuse, Constance had turned to the one place she had dreaded going.
Her hand shook when she’d knocked on that brothel door, the very one her mother had threatened her with. But the middle-aged woman, with her kohl-lined eyes and henna red hair, who’d answered had been warm and welcoming when she’d spied Constance on the steps. Once she’d gained a hot meal and a good night’s sleep, she was informed the next day that it was time for her to earn her room and board. While Constance had been terrified to entertain her first male customer, she had managed to get through the experience relatively unscathed.
After that, she’d gained a few of the same visitors, but after weeks of the same, sweating bodies heaving over her, Constance yearned for something different. She was under no illusions that she would ever have anything more than the life of a whore, but at least she could have something other than a single room to call her own. Thus, with a sweetly innocent smile, she poured out her grievances to one of her faithful callers and finally achieved victory.
Or at least as much as she could claim.
He accepted her offer of setting her up as his mistress, and she enjoyed the independence that she had been craving at long last. He lavished her with jewels and more dresses than she could ever hope to wear. She even had a house with her own servants. She was on top of the world—until the day his wife stopped by.
Constance would never forget that day, because it was the first time she had discovered men of the ton enjoyed frivolous pursuits of all kinds. The woman had claimed that she was increasing and she wanted to try to make a life with her husband for the child’s sake. At first, Constance was stunned, unsure of what to say. But later, when she shock had worn off, she had retched, sickened to think that she had entertained a married man.
She was sure that she would burn in hell for such an unforgiveable sin, so she had immediately cut ties with her paramour, regardless of the tears falling down his face and the pleas and gifts he offered to convince her to stay. He claimed that he loved her and even got on his knees to grovel, but she had walked out the door and didn’t look back.
Knowing that she couldn’t go back to the brothel and endure more of the same, Constance had set out on her own yet again. But this time she was prepared. She’d taken a few of the baubles that she’d been given and sold them for accommodations at Mivart’s Hotel. She had intended to stay there long enough to come up with a plan for what to do next. She’d considered securing passage to Paris right then and there, perhaps even make a fresh start—a respectable start—but life had other ideas.
One day when she had returned from the park, she encountered a man who would become her next paramour. In lieu of a chance encounter in the lobby, she struck up a conversation with Sir Timothy Kingley, where she’d learned that he was a childless widower who had returned to London to bury his wife in the family crypt. They had spent most of their time in Bath, in the hopes that her continued ill health would improve, to no avail.
But it was the sadness in his gaze that eventually swayed her to consider his eventual proposal.
Until she’d met her Italian count, it had probably been the last time Constance had been truly content—at least for a time. She had enjoyed three years along the quiet, English countryside, before he was thrown from a horse and broke his neck.
A tear seeped out of the corner of her lid at the memory, as he had been so much more than a lover. He’d been a dear friend, someone who had made her laugh, and that she could enjoy late night talks with. He had been a village squire, although it was only after his death that she learned that he’d left everything to her in his will.
That was when Madame Corressa had been set free. She had turned numb to everything but doing what she did best and shied away from anything to do with love, because she found that it hurt too much to even entertain the thought. But while she searched for a new protector, she employed the funds she’d been granted and, after finding a partner who could become the face of a gaming hell, where true money could be made in London, Montfree’s was born.
But that was just the start of what Madame Corressa would accomplish. Hiding behind the pseudonym, Constance became, not only one of the most desired women in London, but one of the most renowned, shrewd businesswomen in the East End. She quickly became the Queen of the Underworld. Her lovers were legendary, and her enemies were numerous. Adding extra security to Montfree’s, she befriended a boxer by the name of Bull. He was a faithful confidante and loyal to a fault, but the years of trauma to his body had taken a toll. Shortly after she had sold Montfree’s and split ways with her partner and decided to travel abroad, Bull had died from an apoplexy.
At twenty years of age, she’d never felt more alone.
Again, Madame Corressa had taken over and led her to where she needed to be. After leaving a trail of broken hearts from Madrid to Vienna over the intervening years, she had set her sights on Florence where she’d met Alessandro. Finding a certain enjoyment during her time with him, after his death, with enough funds to keep her well settled for the rest of her days, the happiness that had always dogged her heels but been just out of reach, had finally settled around her like a woolen blanket.
With a newfound independence, she returned to one of her favorite cities, and after declining several, gentleman’s offers, Constance spent the majority of her time exploring Paris, until the night she’d attended a salon reading where she’d met her current companions.
