Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)
Lavinia Kent
Part One
A Night Without Masks
Chapter One
Louisa, Lady Brookingston, had loved her husband. In fact, she’d loved him her entire life. She’d loved him when she was four and he’d climbed a tree to rescue her kitten. She’d loved him when she was eight and he’d helped her brush the mud off a summer dress after an unfortunate fall. She’d loved him when she was twelve and he was the first “man,” besides her father, to tell her she was pretty despite the spots that marked her chin. She’d loved him at fourteen when he danced with her in the moonlit garden after her father said she was too young to attend the annual harvest ball. And she truly loved him at fifteen when he gave her a first kiss in that same moonlit garden.
And at sixteen he’d told her he loved her too.
At seventeen he’d asked her father for her hand in marriage.
She’d loved him at eighteen when he told her she had to wait while he went to war. And a year later when he returned missing half a leg—and more.
It hadn’t mattered. He was the only man in the world for her.
At nineteen Louisa married him and promised to love him until death did them part.
And she’d kept her word, until at twenty-four it did.
All of which explained why, at twenty-six, she stood outside the brothel her husband had frequented throughout their marriage—at least it explained it to her. And that was all that mattered.
Louisa glanced down at her glove-clothed hands and wondered if they’d stop shaking. She tightened her hands into fists and then relaxed them, trying to calm the jittering muscles. Her mother had taught her the trick, but it didn’t seem to be working right at the moment.
She stared up at the heavy wood door. The paint was so bright a red that it stood out from quite a distance, marking it for all who sought entrance. When Madame Rouge had agreed to see her, she’d offered to meet Louisa someplace far more discreet. Louisa had refused; if she was going to be brave about this, she needed to start now.
Which didn’t mean she needed to be foolish. Pulling the heavy dark veil forward over her face, she tried to find her courage. It was necessary that she do this.
There was no avoiding it.
And when that was the case, one faced it straight on no matter how hard and painful it threatened to be.
She could do it. She’d done it once before.
Only on that occasion Madame Rouge had refused to help her. She didn’t know what she’d do if that happened again.
She had to succeed. She must.
Once this one small thing was accomplished she could go on with her life, have a future. Until then …
Blast John for leaving her in this situation.
Only she couldn’t blame John. None of it had been his fault, and that was why she was here now.
Staring at her gloves, she willed the trembling to stop and, pulling her shoulders back, rapped hard upon the ruby-colored door.
Madame Rouge was not at all what one would have expected. Louisa was shocked again on this second encounter by how prim and almost proper the Madame appeared. Yes, her hair was an unlikely shade of crimson, her face lightly shaded with cosmetics, and her gown a trifle low, but in every other way she resembled a proper matron ready for afternoon tea—and, in fact, tea was the beverage on offer. Tea along with the most fabulous tray of pastries Louisa had ever seen.
Madame caught Louisa’s glance and laughed. “I am afraid I am much more used to serving men. Women will take a single cucumber sandwich and pretend that their appetites are satisfied. Men have no such problem. Once they have their first pastry they want another and another. The more exotic the better.”
Was Madame still talking about baked goods? Louisa could not be certain. And it didn’t matter. Not one bit. She was here for a practical matter—not because of any appetite. To prove this point, she almost refused the tray as the maid held it out. She didn’t need refreshment. She needed only …
And then she hesitated. Why not? Why not indulge herself in such a simple thing? Reaching forward, she chose the most fantastic of the tarts, something covered in a mound of white cream with a single candied cherry on top. She’d always had a weakness for cherries and it looked like this might be filled with them under the froth of cream. Lifting it to her mouth, she prepared to bite—oh dear, it looked exactly like a … How could she have not realized? Could she really put that in her mouth? Did Madame realize what the tart …? Oh rubbish, of course she did.
Staring straight at Madame, Louisa tilted the tart so that she could flick the cherry off with her tongue, then bring it into her mouth to slowly savor. Oh my, it was heavenly, better than anything she could remember tasting before. Refusing to think, she bit into the side of the tart and let herself relish the sourness of the cherries combined with the delicate wonder of the heavy sweet cream. Was there lemon in it?
She took another bite, lost in the sensation and taste, and then she gulped, swallowing hard. Hastily she placed the tart on the small porcelain plate at her side. She coughed, trying to clear her throat—and her mind.
“I do wish you hadn’t stopped. I love watching a woman enjoy herself and Cook’s tarts are most exceptional, something to be appreciated.” Madame’s eyes were focused on Louisa’s lips, her eyes dark.