But they were of grave consequence to Helena.
“Altogether the gown with the trimmings, gloves, and headdress cost me a small fortune,” Madame Marchand went on, circling gradually closer to Helena. “Tell me, Helena. Can you pay me what is owed for your ensemble tonight?”
Emma’s lips twisted with disgust. Of course, Madame Marchand’s first thought was for the money. “Don’t listen to her, Helena.”
Madame Marchand shrugged, unconcerned. “You may do as you choose, of course, Helena, but if you set foot outside that door, I’ll have you taken up for theft before you’ve taken two steps toward Lord Lymington’s carriage.”
“Emma?” Helena cast a stricken look at Emma, herchin wobbling.
“It’s all right, Helena,” Emma said evenly, her gaze on Madame Marchand. “Lady Clifford will bring you your money tomorrow, Madame.”
“By tomorrow, Helena will be locked in the debtor’s prison at Newgate. Have you ever been inside Newgate, Helena? It’s rather unpleasant, I’m afraid.”
Madame Marchand’s smile chilled Emma’s blood. “Helena, listen to me. She’s only trying tofrighten you—”
“If the idea of Newgate doesn’t appeal to you, Helena, you may return to your bedchamber like a good girl, and we’ll forget this incidentever happened.”
Helena was inching toward the door that led back to the hallway, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
“Helena!”
Emma darted after her, but Madame Marchand stepped in front of the door, blocking her way. Before Emma could jerk back, Madame grabbed her chin and tilted her face toward the light, studying the angles and curves as if calculating the value of it. “Ah, that face.”
The grip of those cold, claw-like fingers made Emma cringe away, but Madame held on, her fingernails leaving deep scratches in Emma’s skin. “Such a beauty. I would have made you one of London’s greatest courtesans. You might have been a legend, Emma, but you destroyed my plans and your future with a foolish swipe of a blade.”
Emma opened her mouth, butno words came.
Madame Marchand released her chin, but she snatched Emma’s hand in hers, stripped off her glove and shook her head over the scars. “It’s a great pity, but then you never had the temperament of a proper whore. For all your loveliness, you’ve never been pleasing, Emma.”
Pleasing. By that, Madame meant obedient, and Emma had never been that. Not then, and not now. “Yes, if only I’d been quiet when your lord pressed a blade to my throat, instead of making such a fuss. After all, no gentleman wants an uncooperative harlot.”
Madame Marchand smiled, but her face was as cold as ice. “You’d be surprised. Tell me, when did you become Lord Lymington’s plaything? I can’t help but be impressed. A marquess, no less, and a wealthy one at that. I’mproudof you, Emma.”
Madame’s words sank in, rushing like poison throughEmma’s veins.
Madame Marchand laughed, but it was an ugly sound, edged in cruelty. “Ah, still so haughty, despite your humble beginnings. What you’ve never understood, Emma, is that once a woman has been a whore, she will always be a whore. No matter how Lady Clifford might dress you up, or how many marquesses you charm with your pretty face, you’ll never be anything but a whore.”
Emma opened her mouth, but none of the denials inside her head made it to her lips. Something was there, cold and hard, blocking her throat, stealing her voice.
“I’m afraid Helena will be unavailable for the rest of the night, both to you and to Lord Lymington.” Madame Marchand nodded at the terrace doors. “Do feel free to go out the way youcame in, Emma.”
Madame Marchand didn’t bother to wait for a reply. She turned, the hems of her magnificent bronze silk gown sweeping across the floor, and left Emma in the dark, cold library, more alone than she’d ever been in her life.
Chapter Thirteen
Emma was right about Madame Marchand. The bawd had been delighted to turn Helena Reeves over to Samuel for the evening. Helena had been less pleased to find herself at his mercy, but when he explained he’d come at Lady Emma’s request, she’d allowed him to escort herto the library.
The entire maneuver went as smoothly as Emma predicted. For a sheltered young lady who’d never left Somerset, she had an oddly well-developed talent for intrigue.
When Samuel reemerged from the Pink Pearl after securing Helena, Emma was hovering beside his carriage, her anxious gaze fixed on the entrance. She waited only long enough for his nod, and then she was gone, the hems of her hooded cloak dragging along the ground as she vanished into the darkened garden behindthe townhouse.
A strange emotion welled in Samuel’s chest as he watched her go, a sort of dull heaviness he didn’t understand. He knew only that the Pink Pearl loomed very large, and Emma looked very small as she was swallowed into its depths.
There was nothing for him to do but wait for her return, the darkness pressing in on him as one moment dragged into the next, until it seemed as if they’d spun into an eternity.
When Emma did emerge from the brothel’s back garden,she was alone.
No Helena Reeves, despite Emma’s promises.
