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Jenna grew more and more frustrated as the night wore on. Aunt
Fanny had stuck to her like lip rouge, introducing her to at least a baker's dozen of men. Each time a man asked to take Jenna upstairs, the madam hedged. An expert at the game of verbal innuendo, Fanny managed to give the impression that Jenna was a virgin without saying so. To Jenna's astonishment, each man immediately upped his ante. All he received for his effort was Fanny's promise to select her new girl's first "suitor" at the stroke of midnight so that all the men would have a chance to meet her.
The hour grew near, and panic threatened.
At the piano, Elmo played Liszt's Dream of Love for the tenth time. Camille, a pale wisp of a girl with hair the color of ripe wheat, stood at the front door bidding her tenth suitor of the evening farewell. Three other girls flirted with new arrivals. A fourth thrust her arm through that of a portly middle-aged man, brushing her breast against him as she did so, and guided him toward the stairway. No less than six men of various ages, sizes, and shapes occupied the room, sipping champagne Fanny had opened in honor of Jenna's first evening there, and waiting anxiously for the same stroke of midnight Jenna prayed would never come.
Fifteen minutes earlier, Dove had vanished up the stairs with her own suitor. Meeting the beautiful Indian woman had been a shock for Jenna. She had been so sure Dove had been locked in the room upstairs. All evening Jenna had watched for a chance to sneak up and see if the room remained locked. Even when Jenna excused herself to use the necessary, Fanny insisted Mable show her the way and wait for her. To Jenna's further frustration, there had been no opportunity for a private word with Dove.
Aunt Fanny refilled Jenna's champagne glass from the sideboard. "The distinguished gentleman behind the palm tree owns banks back East, as well as here," Fanny told her. "He never chooses the same girl twice in a row and only shows up every couple of months. I've never seen him as eager as he is to have you though. It would be quite a feather in your cap if you could turn him into a regular." Fanny tapped a well-manicured fingernail against her tiny, white teeth. "Yes, choosing him as your first suitor might be a very wise choice."
Jenna moved a few inches to the left to get a better view of the man and felt her gorge rise. Although probably fifty, to Jenna, he appeared more like seventy, with narrow, shrunken shoulders and sagging belly. Long, thin gray wisps had been combed from the back of his head to his bushy white eyebrows to give the illusion of a full head of hair. He had eyes like a weasel and the teeth of a rat.
When Jenna turned back to the madam, she found the woman in a close huddle with Mable. Loud male voices sounded in the vestibule. Anthony, the ox-like doorman, was arguing with a new arrival. For an instant, Jenna's spirits rose, thinking it might be Branch coming to rescue her. Then she realized the voice of the "intruder" was all wrong.
Fanny gave Mable a curt nod. The housekeeper scurried away as her employer turned to speak to Jenna. "Excuse me, dear. There seems to be some problem at the door. Drink your champagne, and I'll be right back."
Was this Jenna's chance? She glanced at the mantel clock. Eleven forty-five. She wasn't going to hang around long enough to be sent upstairs with her first "suitor."
The moment Aunt Fanny appeared good and involved with the troublesome gentleman at the front door, Jenna dumped her drink into a potted fern. Tomorrow the plant would no doubt be dead due to the over-watering she had given it with her constantly refilled glass. Walking in what she hoped would seem a casual manner, she crossed the room to the vestibule. She rounded the comer and ran smack into Mable's formidable bulk.
"Why don't you watch where you're going, you clumsy girl?" Mable grumbled.
Swallowing her indignation, Jenna apologized. She tried to move away and realized with chagrin that something hanging from the woman's belt had caught on Jenna’s skirt.
"Now look what you've done," Mable muttered.
Their hands tangled as they struggled to free themselves. Jenna's trembling fingers encountered the cold hardness of metal and recognized it as a key. Mable cursed and yanked so hard on her skirt Jenna was sure the fabric would rip.
Behind her, Jenna heard Fanny calling Mable's name. Jenna clung to the key as Mable gave one last jerk and broke free. With a parting curse at Jenna, the housekeeper hurried away.
Jenna closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Her heart pounded in her ears, her hands trembled. Gathering herself together, she took two hesitant steps toward the staircase.
"Jenna, dear, where are you going?"
Blast! She turned. Beside Fanny stood the banker with his shrunken shoulders and sagging belly.
"Miss Jenna Lee," Fanny said, "this is our dear friend, Henry."
Client's last names were never used at Fanny's.
Jenna forced a thin smile as Henry took her hand and pressed slobbery lips to her palm, his eyes on her breasts.
With a firm hand on Jenna's back, Fanny urged her closer to the man. "Now, you two run along upstairs and get acquainted."
Henry's hand slithered around Jenna's back and under her arm until his fingers reached the fullness of her breast. Jenna bit the inside of her lip to keep from jerking away and racing out the door. The strength of the man's grip on her arm and side surprised her.
Before she could make a bid for freedom, she found herself hustled up the stairs. Much too soon they reached her room. Jenna's brain spun frantically, seeking a way out of the horrid situation
The hurried climb up the stairs had Henry gasping for air, but he managed the strength to slide his hand down her skirt and cup her bottom. Fanny's girls might claim an air of gentility, but the customers certainly could not.
Jenna jerked the door open and rushed inside, clenching her fists to keep from slugging the man.
Her eye fell on the heavy silver candlestick on the bedside table. "Why don't we get comfortable?" She sat on the bed. "My shoes are pinching my poor little toes something dreadful." She batted her eyelashes as she had seen the girls back home do with their beaus. "Would you mind removing them for me?"
Henry knelt in front of her and took her foot in his gnarled hand. With his other hand, he shoved her skirts above her knees and ran sweaty fingers up one black silk stocking until he reached bare flesh. His voice thick and raspy with growing desire, he said, "I can think of better garments to take off you, sweet thing, but shoes are as good a place to start as any."
"And to end," she said, bringing the candlestick down on his head.
DISGUST FILLED SLEED HENDRICKS. Like stampeding cattle, the posse swarmed over the area where Virgil Godbe had been killed and stuffed under a downed tree. Whatever evidence may have existed had undoubtedly been ground under clear to China by now.
One of the men rode over to Hendricks. "The men ain't finding nothing, Marshal."
"Shit. Don't surprise me none. Tell 'em to spread out, see if they can spot Mendoza's tracks."
"Sure thing, Marshal."
Hendricks was doing his own bit of scouting on the river bank opposite the rest of the posse when he heard someone coming in slow and easy. He glanced up and saw Jake Longan riding toward him.
"Hey, Sleed, what's up?"
Hendricks walked over to meet Longan. "Black Jack Mendoza knifed Virg in the back. Killed him."
"Jesus, you don't say."
"I do say. What the hell are you doing here?"
Longan dismounted and led his horse over to the river to let it drink. "Heading to Salt Lake to see you. Then I ran into Bickmore. He told me you were up this way with a posse."
Hendricks went back to pacing the ground, looking for the tracks of the bastard who had shot his horse and helped Mendoza escape. Thinking about his horse got the marshal riled all over again. For five years the chestnut had been his best friend, next to Rags. He'd see that horse-killing sonuvabitch hang if it was the last thing he did.
"What you searching for, Sleed?"
Hendricks had forgotten Longan. "You got something to report?"
"Sure do."
The suppressed excitement in Longan's voice captured Hendricks' full attention. "Well, spit it out, idiot. Did you get into that locked-up mine drift at the Silver Bullion?"
"Sure did, but if you want to hear about it, you'd best be more civil to me. It's not my fault you lost your deputy."
Hendricks hadn't spared a thought for Virgil Godbe since he'd found his body under the tree, but he didn't say so. His eyes took on a murderous glint. "Spill it, Longan. What did you find in the damned mine?"
Longan swallowed and spoke quickly before the man lost his temper. "More than you could imagine in your wildest dreams, Sleed. You won't believe it."
Hendricks bunched Longan's shirt front in his blunt fist and hauled him close. "Get to it, man. Is there silver in that drift or not?"
Longan's eyes bulged. He wasn't the smartest of men, but he knew danger when he saw it, and right now, Marshal Hendricks was as lethal as nitro. Relieved by the sight of the posse coming toward them, he said, "I'll tell you everything you want to know, Sleed, but this isn't the time. Someone's coming."
Hendricks cursed and shoved the man away.
HENRY'S SHOES CAUGHT on the rag rug as Jenna tugged him toward the dressing screen in the comer of the room. When she realized she was trying to drag both him and the heavy rug, she cursed. The second it took to free the rug felt like an hour. Finally, she got him behind the screen. Then she snatched the braided silk cords holding back the curtains from the window and bound the man's hands and feet. His wadded-up handkerchief filled his mouth and tied in place with a linen towel.
Precious minutes later, she grabbed up her valise, rammed her boots and things inside, and bolted for the door.
Cautiously, Jenna eased the panel open and peered out. At a movement directly across the hall, she quickly ducked back inside. Cracking the door, she watched Dove and a customer emerge from the room opposite Jenna's. As they disappeared down the front stairs, Jenna wondered why Dove had changed rooms, and who she’d heard in the other room.
Then she remembered the skeleton key she had ended up with after her collision with Mable. Drawing it from the pocket of her skirt where she had thrust it when Fanny showed up with Henry, Jenna stared at the key. Dare she hope for it to be the master key to the second-floor bedrooms? She had no time to check the room out. What would be the point of it?
Curiosity drove her down the hallway to the locked door. Her ear detected no sounds from within. Softly she knocked, then called out, "Anyone in there?"
A thumping sound answered.
Jenna glanced about to make certain she was alone before inserting the key. She hadn't expected it to turn, but the lock gave way with a click. The knob turned.
At the sound of footsteps on the front stairs, she shoved open the door and stepped into the darkness, easing the panel shut behind her. A garbled sound greeted her from somewhere deeper within the room.
"I hear you," she whispered. "Hang on while I find a lamp."
A lifetime passed while she blindly groped the cluttered surface of a dressing table. A ceramic perfume atomizer fell beneath her searching fingers. The delicate fragrance of violets lifted to her nostrils, along with the smell of vermilion lip and cheek rouge, talcum powder, vinegar, and fear.
A tall glass object teetered as she struck it with her arm. She righted it with a surge of gratitude, knowing she had at last found the lamp. The acrid scent of sulfur obliterated that of violets as she struck a match from a box beside the lamp. She lifted the glass chimney and set the wick aglow. Soft light filled the room. Lamp in hand, Jenna turned toward the bed.
A man lay spread-eagled upon the bed, hands, and feet tied to the bedposts. The red of his beard reflected the lamp's flame as Jenna stared in astonishment.
"McCauley?"
A mumbled growl was her answer.
Hurrying to the bed, she gazed down at Branch's angry face. She didn't need to remove his gag to interpret his garbled words as an order to cut him loose. He writhed, yanking impatiently on the ropes and setting the bed springs squeaking. She knew they should get out of there as soon as possible, but the urge to take advantage of his predicament was too great.
"If you're thinking I need another spanking, I'm not sure I want to set you free," she said.
The bed shook harder as he tried to hurl himself at her. His eyes were shards of green ice, the brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. The ropes at his wrists had rubbed the skin raw. Fresh blood ran down his forearm as he held his bound hands out to her.
"Take it easy, McCauley; you're only hurting yourself more."
He mumbled something that sounded like a one-year-old attempting to curse.
"I can't understand you," she said. "I'm not sure I even want to. If you want me to remove your gag, you'll have to be nice." He snarled and jerked on the ropes.
"That doesn't sound nice. I guess I'll check back with you later." She turned toward the door. "You wouldn't believe how many customers are waiting for me downstairs."
The bed bounced so hard it moved a good two inches from the wall. He looked furious enough to chew railroad spikes. His cheeks became a mottled red and his eyes appeared more black than green now.
"All right, all right. Hold your britches. I've got to find something to cut the rope with."
He jerked his head toward his feet and wiggled his toes.
"You want me to free your feet first?" she asked.
That brought a furious shake of his head. She frowned, trying to understand what he was telling her. Then she remembered the knife he kept in his boot.
"You raise your hand to me after I've gone to all this trouble, and I'll scream the house down," she warned as she sawed through the rope.
The rope snapped in two as the blade severed the last strands of hemp. Branch pulled the gag from his mouth and threw it across the room. Jenna stepped to the foot of the bed to free his left foot. He made a grab for her, snagged her skirt, and yanked her back toward him. Then he hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her down on top of him. Green eyes glared into blue ones. His voice was low and hard as a miner's pick.
"What the goddamn hell do you mean, you have customers downstairs?"
She had expected anger but not in this direction. Taken off guard, she blurted out the truth. "Aunt Fanny auctioned me off to the highest bidder. The losers are waiting their turns." Her wound hurt, but what she noticed most was the way her breast pressed against his chest. "I didn't say I was going to oblige them."
"Only the losers are waiting?"
Her gaze sidled away from him. "Let's just say they're the only ones waiting downstairs."
"I'll kill any man who touches you," he snarled, as he set her free. "Now, cut me loose."
Shocked by his vehemence, she stammered, "I d-dropped the knife when you grabbed me."
"Find it."
She did. Within seconds, he sat up and rubbed the circulation back into his wrists while she massaged his ankles and feet.
"Get my boots."
He yanked them on and looked around for his gun. "Now what
in blue blazes did they do with my gun?"
"Aunt Fanny probably has it in her office. How'd you get into this mess?"
"Dove. Does she know who you are? Have you talked to her?"
"I haven't had a chance yet. She did this to you?"
"A message from her brought me here." He went to the door, cracked it open, and peeked out. "Looks clear. Come on. I'm getting you out of here."
They were halfway to the back stairs when they heard a feminine giggle, followed by a man's passionate murmur. "Someone's coming," Jenna whispered.
She noticed they were directly in front of her room. He didn't argue when she tugged on his arm, allowing her to pull him inside. A rumble of masculine laughter erupted as the couple passed. Then a door down the hall closed.
"All right, let's try this again." The moment Jenna stepped out of her room, she heard Fanny's voice. Glancing over the railing to the bottom of the stairs, Jenna saw the madam on the second step, speaking to Mable.
"Tell him to wait." The updraft carried Fanny's low voice to the couple at the top of the stairwell. "I want to look through the peephole and see how our new girl is getting on with Henry."
"Peephole!" Jenna turned to Branch. "What do we do now? She'll raise the roof if she doesn't find me."
"Where's your room?"
"You were just in it."
A last glimpse over the railing showed him Fanny had started up. With a growl, he shoved Jenna back inside and eased the door shut. "Get your dress off."
"What?"
He sat on the bed and yanked off a boot. "I said get your dress off. She expects to see you in bed with a man, and that's what she's going to get. Now hurry."
Mumbling something about the awful situations he managed to get her into, she turned her back and started unbuttoning her dress. There wasn't room for her behind the dressing screen.
Branch had his boots off and started unbuttoning his shirt. Jenna removed the dress with its over-skirt and dropped it to the floor. She stared over her shoulder at Branch's muscular arms and his broad naked chest with its T of pale, golden-red hair that vanished beneath the waistband of his denims. Heat rushed to the apex of her legs, and her heart began a heavy staccato beat.
"McCauley, I'm not sure this is a good idea."
He stood and yanked her around to face him. "There isn't time to argue about it. Fanny's probably at the top of the stairs by now."
Standing directly in front of her, Branch stared at the lacy front of her chemise. As though sensing the heat rushing to his groin, she untied the underskirt with what seemed to him to be maddening slowness and let it fall. She unbuttoned her petticoat from the waist of her bustle. Finally, those, too, lay on the floor. Only her chemise and silk drawers remained
Holy saints, but she was beautiful. Branch's heart ker-thumped in his chest. His loins hardened. If he didn't have her, he would die. Never had he wanted a woman more. Yet, he couldn’t forget they were in a whorehouse, and the madam might be peeking in on them at this very moment. He threw back the bed covers and climbed in. "Come on."
Jenna saw desire in his eyes, heard it in his husky voice. Fear of her own heated response rooted her to the floor.
"Don't panic, darlin'," he whispered. "Just get in the bed and everything will be all right."
She climbed in and started to lie down as far from him as she could get.
"Straddle me," he said.
"Straddle—?"
"Do it!"
She hurried to comply, blushing as her most intimate places rubbed against his. He quickly drew up the bedclothes to hide the fact that he still wore his pants. He pulled her down on top of him and fanned her hair to shield his face as he claimed her mouth with his.
Outside, Aunt Fanny slid aside a framed etching of Rodin's statue The Kiss and put her eye to a tiny hole in the wall. Each room owned an identical hole.
Despite the limited view, she saw enough to know her prized new acquisition was doing fine.
The girl lay on top of Henry, and his hands were raking her gorgeous corkscrew hair, arranging it like a curtain around them. Fanny wondered why she had never noticed how strong and young his hands looked. He was kissing Jenna with a passion so intense it created a sweet ache between Fanny's legs.
Downstairs waited Kyle Driggs, young and very pleasing to the eye. Every time Kyle came to Fanny's, he tried to talk her into seeing to him personally. For two years she had fended him off, saving herself for Sleed despite the marshal's rumored visits to other houses on Regent Street. Fanny dropped the picture back into place and hurried toward the stairs. Tonight, Kyle Driggs might get more than he expected. Time for Fanny to see to her own pleasure.
Never had Jenna tasted sweeter to Branch. Hell, no woman had ever tasted this good before. He couldn't get enough. Through the thin cotton of her chemise he could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, the nipples taut and pointy.
The mere thought of the scanty clothes she wore sent his need soaring to new heights. He forgot Fanny Babbitt and her peephole. Only Jenna and the heavenly promise of her body existed.
Jenna moaned a reproach when he withdrew his lips from hers. He nuzzled her neck, dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of the slender column, and moved lower. He placed his hands under her armpits and lifted her so that he could take her breast into his mouth. Her gasp of pleasure goaded him on. He suckled her until her chemise grew wet. He pulled back and blew cool air through the damp cotton and watched the dark nub harden. With her hands, she urged him back to her breast, but the shield of her undergarment left him frustrated and dissatisfied.
He took her by surprise as he abruptly sat up. He answered the question in her passion-glazed eyes with a kiss.
She mimicked his movements, licking and sucking his lower lip, shyly meeting his tongue as it dipped inside. His hands moved slowly up her ribs to her breasts, cupping them, teasing the nipples with the slow circular motion of his thumbs. Jenna thought she would swoon. It felt too wonderful to be real.
His gentleness touched something inside her, awakening needs, satisfying others. What he gave her went beyond sex. She felt cherished and loved. Only in the dim, long ago regions of her memory had she known a man's affection. A father's affection. Expectations and yearnings buried with the memories of her father awoke and reached for more.
But mere affection couldn't appease the hunger Branch McCauley roused in her. Beneath the tender touch of his hands and lips, her need turned into a raging inferno burning deep within her soul, within her body. She became lost in its greed, bereft of any means to douse the leaping, rampaging flames. All she could do was give herself over to his ministrations and hope he had the answers she lacked.
Not only did Branch know the answers, he understood the depth of her need and exulted in the knowledge that it matched his own. He had every intention of seeing to her satisfaction. And his.
He had the straps of her chemise off her shoulders and down her arms before she was aware of what he was doing. Suddenly the irritating presence of the fabric barring his lips from the warm satin of her flesh vanished.
His mouth left hers and closed over a dusky brown nipple, bringing a rapturous moan from her that went straight to his groin. He lay back, taking her with him, his mouth never leaving her breast. With firm hands, he held her hips in place while he raised his hips to hers.
Jenna felt his hardness and returned the pressure of his seeking body with a wildness that shocked her even as it aroused her. She had a faint idea what caused the bulge beneath his denims and felt no fear of it. . . only a growing need that threatened to explode inside her. If he had asked her who Fanny Babbitt was at that moment, she wouldn't have been able to answer. Aunt Fanny's Boardinghouse for Young Women didn't exist. There was nothing but Branch and her and the passion they shared.
For a moment, Branch thought the groan had come from Jenna. Afraid he had hurt her, he lifted her away from him, his eyes searching her face. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her sultry eyes half-closed and hot with desire. He saw no sign of pain.
The groan came again. He glanced about and sat up as he suddenly remembered where they were.
"Jenna. Jenna, I'm sorry," he whispered against her neck. "I didn't mean to get so carried away."
His head lifted as a third groan filled the room. A groan he knew now had not come from Jenna. "What the blue blazes. . . ?"
Reality returned to Jenna. Fast and cruel, like a punch to her midsection. She gasped. "Henry! I forgot about Henry."
"Who in hell is Henry?"
She looked at Branch, flushed red and scrambled from the bed.
"He. . . he was my. . . He paid for me. I—"
In the flick of a horse's tail, Branch was out of bed, standing in front of her, his fists balled at his sides. Words ground out from between his clenched teeth. "You mean your first customer? The one who wasn't waiting downstairs?"
She shrugged and pulled up her chemise to cover herself, her eyes glinting in the lamplight. "This is a whorehouse, McCauley."