Martha was in the bookroom when Hugo returned from his meeting with Bev.
He had not come directly from Solange’s but had made a few stops along the way.
He paused a moment just inside the door to admire her. She was curled up on the window seat, so enrapt by whatever she was reading that she didn’t even hear him enter. She wore a dark blue wool dress with a fluffy cream-colored shawl draped over her shoulders, the color remarkably close to that of her hair.
The gown wasn’t especially fashionable—it was one of the few he’d bought for her in Wick—but the severe color and prim cut were the perfect foil for her fair coloring. He swallowed as he drank in the sight of her. Today he had secured their future. It would be a long, difficult year ahead, but at the end of it he would regain his half and would immediately turn around and sell it and get out from under a business that he no longer really wished to operate. It wouldn’t be enough money to last the rest of their lives but should last for a good, long time.
But all that was still far away. A year of managing Bev—not just Solange’s—stood between him and freedom.
Did it infuriate him that he’d struck a bargain with the very same man who’d defrauded him in the first place?
Yes.
But other than a long, expensive court case that he likely wouldn’t survive, he could think of no other way to recoup his investment.
If there was one thing he’d learned in life, it was not to rail against the impossible.
Solange’s, under Bev’s management, was hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate. Hugo was confident that he could not only halt the flow but reverse it.
He had made his deal, and now he wanted to celebrate his future with the only person he was interested in spending it with.
“Good evening, darling.”
Martha’s head jerked up and she immediately smiled, her blue eyes lighting up for him in a way that nobody else’s ever had. It was more intoxicating than a glass of the finest brandy.
“You’re home early.” She glanced out the window. “It’s still daylight.”
As he strode toward her, her eyes dropped to the huge box in his hands.
“From now on I’ll be able to adhere to a much more reasonable schedule, sweetheart.” He set the big pink box on her lap.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for you.”
“Oh, Hugo, you’ve already bought me too—”
“Shhh, I bought this for me. Open it,” he ordered.
Her fingers shook as she lifted the lid and pushed back the layers of tissue paper.
She gasped and looked up at him as she lifted the gown from the box. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But—but wherever will I wear it?”
“You’ll wear it tonight when we go to the theater. But first, we shall go out to dinner, and I know just the place.”
Her gaze flickered from the yards and yards of pale-yellow silk in her hands to Hugo. “Really?”
He grinned at her enthusiasm. “Really.”
She frowned.
“What is it?”
“It’s just that I’d like Cailean to come—he’s never seen a play.”
“Of course he can come, darling.”
“But I’ve not seen him all day; he’s taken to drifting in right before dinner.
Hugo didn’t like the sound of that. “I’ll talk to him and mention he should be home at a more reasonable hour.” Just listen to him—he sounded like a pillock.
No, you sound like a father.
Hugo ignored the startling thought and said, “If he shows up in time, splendid. If not, then tonight will be just for the two of us.” He gave her a long, lingering kiss. “And this is only the first of many evenings, Martha. I shall be able to spend more time with you and Cailean.” He kissed her again. “Things are going to change from now on—for the better.”
The days sped by with alarming speed and before Martha knew it, more than a month had slipped away and they were still living in Lady Selwood’s house.
Guilt ate at her. Other than the few hours she spent working on reading and writing with Cailean—he was turning out to be a veritable wizard at both—her only real duty was to find a house to lease, and she’d not done so.
Hugo worked all day, and even some evenings, so he’d entrusted her with finding their new accommodations.
But it was an enormous responsibility, and she didn’t want to choose unwisely and burden Hugo with a house he disliked, even though he claimed he would like whatever she chose.
But it was time—past time—to make a decision.
Martha looked up from her list of possible houses and glanced across at Hugo, who was reading the newspaper. It was just her and her husband in the breakfast room since Cailean had gone out at first light—as usual—although he’d been much better at coming home at a reasonable hour.
Husband. Even though they’d been married for almost six weeks the word still sounded exotic.
Her husband looked exotic, too.
Unlike all the businessmen she’d seen on her trips around the city, Hugo garbed himself almost entirely in black—black skin-tight pantaloons, black linen, and glossy black hessians that even had black tassels.
Martha had been startled the first time he’d come down to breakfast so uniquely accoutered. Surprisingly, she adored his somber wardrobe, which made his rather stark features look stern, dangerous, and mysterious.
Love, pride, and desire welled up in her as she stared across the table at him. Her love for him was so overpowering that she felt a sharp prickling behind her eyes.
Hugo looked up and smiled. “You are giving me a quizzical look … wife.” His eyelids lowered slightly at that last word, reminding her of how he’d looked last night in bed: wild and sensual as he’d managed to shock and please her.
Her cheeks heated. “I’m just thinking about what I have planned for the day,” she fibbed.
“And what is on your schedule?”
“Mr. Duncan will be here around one and he has two more houses for me to look at.”
“Ah, how is the search going?”
“I think I have it narrowed down to three houses, unless one of these today is better.” She wanted to pick a house that wasn’t just comfortable and convenient to the Exchange, but also close to a church where she felt at home. The closest church to Lady Selwood’s house felt more like Rotten Row than a religious sanctuary. Most of the congregants paid more attention to what their neighbor was wearing than what the vicar was saying. And the vicar and his wife had dressed as luxuriously as their wealthy parishioners.
She’d found the entire experience disheartening. Especially when she’d seen the effect of the scene on Hugo, who had come to church with her for the very first time just this past week.
Although he’d been visibly amused watching the crowd, she’d seen the cynicism in his dark gaze. Martha could only hope that he would trust her enough to attend another service at the tiny church she’d recently discovered.
“When shall we go look at them?” Hugo asked.
“Hmm?”
“The houses,” he gently reminded her.
“Oh, you will come look at them with me?”
“Of course, I will, sweetheart.”
“I can ask Mr. Duncan if he can arrange for us to go tomorrow, if that is suitable?”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Imminently, darling.”
Martha loved it when he called her that. Or sweetheart. Or love, or any of a dozen pet names he used on her.
“I hope your family isn’t holding off on visiting until I find a suitable house, Hugo. Lady Selwood wrote me the most delightful letter assuring me that I should treat this as our home. I will feel much more comfortable inviting them to have nice long visits with us when we are in our own home, but surely they may come and stay at least a little while? How you must miss them.”
“I don’t miss them nearly as much now that I have you, Mrs. Buckingham.”
She hesitated.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I hate to be a pest, but now that you have finished sorting out matters with your ex-partner—” Martha couldn’t help scowling at the thought of the woman who’d tried to have Hugo sent away for seven years and attempted to steal the property they jointly owned. Rather than seek prosecution, Hugo had generously allowed the woman to go free after she’d signed over the requisite papers. Martha knew she should be proud of him for such Christian kindness, but she believed the woman deserved suitable punishment for her criminally dangerous actions.
“Yes, my dear?” Hugo prodded.
“Oh, I was wondering if you happened to write to any of your siblings? I know you said only Susan and Johnny ever come to London. Is there any chance either of them might be visiting? Would you like me to write them and extend invitations?”
“Er, as a matter of fact, I got letters from both Susan and Johnny just a few days ago.”
She frowned. “I didn’t see them come in with the mail.”
“They came to my office. I thought it best to use that address as we won’t be staying here permanently.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Now you need to remind me: Johnny—he’s only a little older than you?”
“Yes, just a year.” He paused and then said, “I’m afraid Susan is in a delicate condition, so she won’t be traveling. She passed along her love and said she is eager to meet you.”
“Might I write a letter to her?”
“Of course. How kind of you, darling. Once you’ve written it, I’ll put it with mine.”
“And Johnny?” she asked. “You invited him, as well?”
“Yes. He … er, he’ll be here next week.”
Martha clapped her hands. “Oh, Hugo! You wretch—you were keeping this to surprise me.”
“Yes, it was a surprise,” he said.
“Will he be staying long? Which rooms shall I put him in? Should I—”
“He’s only here for a day, I’m afraid—not even overnight.”
“Just one day? You can’t convince—”
“We can try once he is here,” he assured her, “But his employer is a demanding taskmaster so it’s likely that we must be satisfied.” His eyes flickered over her gown. “That is a very pretty dress, my dear. Did you get it from the shop I suggested?”
Martha glanced down at her dress, needing to remind herself what she was wearing. “Yes, I did. I’m pleased you like it. I hope you don’t think I’ve spent too—”
“What did I tell you about worrying about money?”
He’d threatened her with a shopping trip—promising to go with her and buy ten times as many garments if she didn’t purchase at least a dozen new gowns for various occasions. Martha knew he was not speaking in jest. His own dressing room was stuffed with a staggering amount of clothing.
“I know, Hugo, it’s just that I feel guilty to have so many nice things.”
“Blame it on me.”
She chuckled.
“Ah drat,” he said, grimacing as he folded up the last section of newspaper and set it aside.
“What is it?”
“I just recalled that I have a business dinner tonight. It only came up yesterday and I forgot to tell you when I got home last night.” He gave her his wicked smile. “I’m afraid I had other matters on my mind.”
This was the third time this week that he’d had to be away at one meeting or another. She understood why, of course. Many of the men he dealt with only visited London to do business. And since they came without their wives it made more sense to engage in meals that revolved exclusively around business.
Martha hoped she hid her disappointment. “Of course, I understand, Hugo.”
“You’re such an understanding wife.” He lifted her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “Tomorrow—after we look at the houses you’ve selected—I won’t return to work and we can spend the rest of the day together.”
“That would be lovely!”
“One of the men who will be at dinner tonight is part owner in a theater. Shall I see if I can get tickets for the three of us? Or maybe we could invite Albert, too?”
“I shall send a message to Albert and ask if he is free. I can’t wait to tell Cailean.”
“Speaking of the lad, I understand we now have three kitchen cats and a new cur, in addition to Fergus, skulking around the mews.”
“Are you very angry about that, Hugo?”
Hugo laughed. “Of course not. As far as pastimes go, it’s a lot more innocuous than some I could name.” He kissed her hand again and released it with visible reluctance. “Well, I’d better be off, darling. Remind Albert when you send him that message that we have that meeting after breakfast tomorrow.”
“I will.” Martha stood and walked with him to the door. “Do you think this new lawyer will be able to help Albert sort out his problems?”
“I hope so.” He gave her a very chaste—for Hugo—kiss. “I’ll miss you tonight, darling. I will wake you when I return, no matter the hour.” His eyelids lowered. “I shall make it worth disrupting your sleep.”
Martha pursed her lips, her face invariably heating.
“Ah,” he said, giving her jaw a fleeting caress. “There’s the blush I adore.”
Once he’d left the breakfast room Martha couldn’t help noticing how empty it felt without him.
Hugo shrugged on his overcoat and took his hat and walking stick from the hovering footman.
“Thank you, Richard,” Hugo said. “I’ll be out late tonight, so don’t wait up. I’ve got my housekey.”
“Very good, sir.”
Richard opened the door for him, but a sharp yipping sound made him pause. Hugo frowned as the racket grew louder. “What the devil is that?”
Richard’s lips twitched. “Er, I believe that would be Mister Cailean, sir. He just returned about half an hour ago.”
Hugo closed his eyes briefly. “Please. Tell me he didn’t bring home another dog.”
Richard laughed. “No sir. He brought back a cat this time.”
He groaned.
The commotion—now identifiable as the yowling of more than one cat—grew louder.
“No, Felix!”
Hugo jolted at the sound of Cailean’s voice. The boy spoke so rarely that Hugo forgot what he sounded like.
“Come back!” The sound of thudding of feet came from the hallway that led to the kitchen. A few seconds later Cailean shot from the corridor as if he’d been fired from a gun. In front of him, gaining ground, was a soaking wet, gray streak.
Man and cat disappeared down another hallway.
Hugo turned to Richard, who was clearly having a difficult time controlling his laughter.
“What was that?”
“Mr. Cailean was giving the new cat, er, Mouser, I believe he named him, a bath.”
“I didn’t think cats liked baths?”
“They don’t, sir. One of the other cats—Maggie or Mr. Whiskers—took a dislike to Mouser, so that was complicating the process.”
It was Hugo’s turn to laugh. “I’m going to leave before I get drawn into this.”
Once he was outside, he pulled on his gloves and commenced walking.
Hugo never took a hackney directly from the house; the last thing he wanted was a direct connection from where he lived to Solange’s. He always walked a few blocks before hailing a cab.
As he crossed the square, he berated himself. Why, in the name of all that was holy, had Hugo told Martha that his brother would visit? He must be going mad.
He groaned loud enough to startle a passing housemaid, who made a wide arc around him.
Now he would need to find somebody he trusted to act as his bloody brother. Who the hell would that be? Hugo walked in silence for several blocks, racking his brain.
He was no closer to coming up with a suitable candidate a quarter of an hour later, when he raised his cane to hail a hackney.
“Where to, gov?” the driver asked.
“Solange’s.”
The driver smirked. “Startin’ early, eh?”
Hugo ignored him and climbed into the passably clean carriage.
He tossed his hat and cane onto the opposite seat and closed his eyes; he was so exhausted. It wasn’t the work that was tiring him—operating Solange’s was so much easier without Laura interfering—but the strain of keeping his two lives separate.
He had hoped to spend more time with Martha but undoing all the damage that Laura had done was taking more time than he’d anticipated.
Fortunately, Bev had been as good as his word and handed him complete control, not showing his face once in the month since Hugo had taken charge.
“My mug ain’t the sort to make toffs come clamberin’ in, is it?”
No, it wasn’t, although Hugo didn’t say that.
“I’ll sign over your half of the business if you can make this place pay, every month, for a year.”
Since Bev Davies hadn’t needed to give Hugo so much as a penny, he’d leapt at the offer.
Another part of his deal with Bev involved Laura. Hugo had been tempted to give her a taste of her own medicine, but, at the end of the day, she was too bloody pathetic to be worth the effort. But he refused to put up with her at Solange’s. Although Hugo despised himself for even bothering, he’d extracted a promise from Bev to give her work at one of his other brothel’s.
His request had greatly amused the old criminal. “Yer soft in the head, Hugo. I was going to kick her onto the street, where she belongs.”
Not that the witch had shown any gratitude.
In fact, the last Hugo saw Laura—when he’d gone down to the Drunken Duck to release her—she’d hurled invectives as the hackney carried her away.
“Oi!”
Hugo opened his eyes to find the driver glaring in at him. “We’re ’ere.”
He paid the man and climbed the familiar steps to the regal off-white mansion that took up a large chunk of the short street. From the outside it looked no different than any other grand house, but there were few men in London who didn’t know what the walls contained.
Solange’s also owned the building next door, which had been converted into more luxurious rooms and a huge ballroom that was used for larger frolics, like the debauches commonly known as Roman Nights, one of which was scheduled for this coming Saturday.
Hugo gritted his teeth; he’d have to lie to Martha about a business dinner, yet again.
Roman Nights were exactly what they sounded like: orgies. They were also some of the busiest nights of the year, which meant all hands on deck. It wouldn’t only be Hugo working Saturday night, but also Andrew, Moira, and Enid, his most trustworthy employees, who usually functioned as managers in his absence.
Hugo had stopped finding orgies amusing at least ten years ago and was dreading Saturday. Mostly because it would be an exercise in tedium. But there was always a possibility for volatile situations whenever you tossed a hundred or so wealthy patrons in with four dozen whores—half of whom he’d bring in from two other exclusive brothels—and then poured endless amounts of liquor on the situation.
The front door opened before Hugo reached the landing and Daniel stood inside the foyer, looking magnificent in his dark green and black livery. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hugo.”
“Anything I need to know about?” Hugo asked as he handed him his hat, cane, and coat.
“Mild altercation in the Gold Room, Sir Lawrence Blackheathe and Mr. Alan Percival kicked up a bit of a dust. But Mr. Andrew was here and had the matter smoothed over in a tick.”
“What were they fighting about?”
Frank’s lips twitched. “Er, it was over Maisie, I believe.”
Hugo rolled his eyes and Daniel laughed.
“The mail has already been taken to your study, sir.”
Hugo gave him his gloves and opened the panel door that was off to one side of the grand entryway. “Where’s The Book?” The Book was the daily ledger.
“Mr. Andrew brought it by half an hour ago.”
Hugo looked at his watch. “Go tell Maisie to be down here in an hour. An hour,” he repeated.
“She won’t like that, sir.”
“I don’t care.”
Maisie was one of the house’s most expensive and popular whores, and she was also its biggest pain in the arse. Hugo had nobody to blame for her except himself since he’d been the one to hire her.
“Very good, sir. Shall I send up coffee?”
Hugo paused and stared at Daniel, an idea blooming in his head.
Daniel’s eyelids lowered fractionally over his coffee-colored eyes as Hugo studied him.
He was a beautiful lad and if Hugo hadn’t been a happily married man, he might have taken him up on that come-hither look. As it was, he wanted something entirely different from him.
“How old are you?”
“Er, twenty-nine on my next birthday.”
A little young, but the dark hair and brown eyes were a good match—even though the real Johnny was fair-haired like both Hugo’s parents. “I have a business proposition for you, Daniel. Join me for dinner in my study later and we can talk.”
Daniel nodded, his handsome face puzzled. “Of course, sir.”
Hugo loved his study. It wasn’t the biggest or nicest room in the two buildings that made up Solange’s, but, in his opinion, it was the most elegant. It reminded Hugo of the drawings he’d seen of the toff men’s clubs he’d never be allowed to—places like White’s, Brooks’s, or Boodle’s.
Luxurious but slightly worn carpets covered the dark wood floor; comfortable leather chairs and sofas were scattered about the room; and the walls were lined with hundreds and hundreds of books. Since claiming the room for himself Hugo had discovered there was nothing more delightful than working while surrounded by books.
Thankfully, the room had escaped Laura’s recent predations. She had maintained both her suite of rooms and office in the newer building, so most of the damage—gaudy furnishings, tasteless art, and whorish color schemes—had occurred in that part.
Hugo had made changing those rooms back to their original state one of his first priorities, along with re-hiring valuable staff like Daniel. And he’d also made an effort to personally meet with each of their clients to assure them that business had returned to normal at Solange’s.
Many of those who’d left had come back quickly when they’d learned Laura was no longer in charge. And even more had returned after Hugo had put out the word that Bev was not an active partner.
And then there had been those who’d come back for his services, in particular.
Hugo had put off most of those meetings while he’d actively engaged in recruitment. As arrogant as he was about his sexual abilities, he knew that all his clients, with a very few exceptions, would be pleased if he could hand them over to an equally skilled employee. Especially if that person was younger and more attractive.
To that end, he’d hired two new men and four women. Well, to be honest, he’d poached them away from two competitors, which hadn’t been difficult. Working for Solange’s had once been the aim of any smart, ambitious whore.
He’d gradually eased his best customers into accepting his new employees, although it hadn’t been as easily done since people seemed to think they deserved a reason for why he wouldn’t fuck them.
He could have told them that he had married. But—after they had stopped laughing—most of his clients would tell him they didn’t care, since most of them were married, too.
But Hugo had no intention of advertising his recent marriage. In fact, he planned to make sure that this part of his life and the part with Martha never got within miles of each other.
Hugo turned his mind to the prior night’s bookings and was just finishing up with the account book when there was a knock on his door.
A quick glance at the clock showed that an hour and a half had passed. He scowled. “Come in.”
Even Hugo, as jaded as he was by working with beautiful women, caught his breath whenever he saw Maisie Hudder.
But he easily quashed his admiration. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Hugo.” She smiled blandly and teetered across the room on her high-heeled slippers. She was dressed in a snow-white silk dressing gown that made her midnight-black hair and Delft blue eyes all the more attractive.
And then there was her body…
Well, the woman wasn’t their most sought-after employee for no reason. She lowered herself into the chair across from his desk with the sinuous grace of a cat, her gaze heavy-lidded, her smile lazy.
“The next time I summon you and you don’t arrive on time you can pack your things and get the hell out. Understood?”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Do. You. Understand?”
The fragile architecture of her white throat flexed. “Yes, Hugo.”
“Good. Now, what’s the problem with Percy and Blackheathe?”
A smug smile tugged at her sinful lips. “They both want to offer me a contract.”
Hugo bit back a groan, hoping he hid his irritation. “So, which one do you want?”
“Neither.”
He frowned. “Then—oh, let me guess, they’re behaving like two dogs pissing over who gets you. But, instead of piss, they’re throwing jewels at you?”
Her smile grew.
Hugo leaned across his desk. “Do not fuck with my business, Maisie.”
Her smug smile slowly drained away.
“You know the way things work: if you want to accept an outside offer, then do it. I won’t have you turning the place into riot just so you can collect more baubles. Understood?”
Her plush lower lip quivered. “Understood.”
“I want you to stay away from both of them for a while.” Hugo turned to the appointment book that he usually kept locked in the safe but had been looking at earlier. He turned to the page of appointments for tonight and ran his finger down the list. “It looks like Amhurst will be here tonight and he inquired after you the last time.” He closed the book with a snap and looked up. “I want you to attach yourself to him like a barnacle. He is one of our best clients; make him happy. Extremely happy.”
“I will. I’m sorry, Hugo.” Her enormous blue eyes glassed over with tears.
Hugo wanted to clap. Instead, he stood and came out from behind his desk, offering her his hand and helping her to her feet. “Don’t be sorry, darling—just be a good girl from now on, hmm?”
She pressed her lush body against him before he knew what she was doing, her hand running from his chest to his flaccid cock. Maisie frowned when she felt physical proof of his lack of interest. She caressed him with her palm. “Can I make it up to you, Hugo? I’ll do anything you like.”
Hugo gently but firmly removed her hand from his groin. “Save your enthusiasm for Amhurst, darling.”
“Don’t worry, Hugo—I wouldn’t tell your missus.”
Hugo took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Who told you I was married, Maisie?”
She shrugged. “Everyone knows.”
How in the world did people hear about his marriage? He’d not told a soul. Maybe they were just guessing, based on the fact he no longer took clients. Whatever the reason, he didn’t like talking about his wife while at work. It felt too much like he was soiling her, even if nobody ever saw Martha’s face or knew her name.
He looked down into Maisie’s sly eyes. “As appealing as your offer is,” he lied, “I’ve got a pile of work waiting for me.” He escorted her to the door.
She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hugo.”
As he watched her teeter off on her ridiculous heels, he was tempted to plant a boot in her fleshy arse for believing she could play her tricks on him. Instead, he shut the door and went back to work.
Hugo was half-way through the mound of bills and other correspondence when another knock disturbed him.
“Yes?”
The door opened and Daniel entered, a large tray in his hands.
Hugo shoved his hair off his forehead and glanced at the clock. “Lord, dinner already? Well, come in and make yourself comfortable,” he said. “And you’d better lock the door behind you. What I want to ask is for your ears alone.”