If You Deceive

Chapter Fifteen

Any question as to if he'd be so fiercely attracted to Madeleine again was answered the moment he spotted her outside the tavern.

At a nearby corner, he rested his shoulder against a wall and watched her waiting in line. In the light of the dying sun, he could see she was more breathtaking than he'd figured. When she'd worn her mask, he'd been able to see her bright blue eyes, full lips, and determined chin, but the rest of her delicate features had been hidden. He now saw her nose was slim and pert. Her cheekbones were high and aristocratic.

Stunning.

Yet even with her seemingly guileless blue eyes, she didn't look innocent. Far from it. Her blouse was opened wide to reveal cleavage he hadn't recalled she had. She wore a black ribbon choker around her pale neck, and though part of her hair was braided atop her head like a gold crown, the rest curled long and loose down her back.

Her cheeks were rouged, and her skirts were strangely cut—they didn't flare out at the waist as usual but were tight around her hips and backside.

Madeleine looked older and a bit…wanton,as if she was ready to be tupped, and he responded with a swift heat that shouldn't even have surprised him anymore.

Her gaze was darting over the other women in line as she examined the situation. She reminded him of a fox, crafty and wary as she calculated her next move.

When an aproned barkeep opened the back door, all stood at attention. The man spoke in French, saying something about taking only two more girls for the night—anyone else seen on the premises would be arrested for loitering.

Immediately they jockeyed for position. Madeleine didn't stand a chance against the bigger women—the ones glaring at her and crossing their thick arms over their chests in warning. If she challenged them, shewould get attacked.

Obviously realizing that fact, she backed from the fray, pausing only to squire to safety a young girl wearing a cigarette tray.

The wee girl looked like she was about to cry over not getting in. Madeleine furtively chucked her under the chin, then held up a gold coin, pinched in her fingers. "I'll bet a hundred francs against any of you," Madeleine began in a carrying voice, "that I'll be one of the two in tonight."

Like vultures surrounding carrion, they circled Madeleine and the girl, tensed to pounce. Ethan pushed up from the wall, striding forward to intervene; Madeleine turned her head to meet some of their stares, taking her eyes from the money. Surely she would know better—

The brawniest one lunged for the coin, slapping Madeleine's hand. The coin went flying into the air, pattering on the bricks ten feet away. The group dove for it, pulling hair and slapping. Madeleine slipped inside, dragging the wide-eyed cigarette girl behind her.

From the pile of women, one exclaimed in French, "It's a stage coin!"

The rest began a chorus about killingla gamine .

Ethan grinned from the shadows.La gamine —the name fit. She did have an impish air about her. He hurried to the front entrance of the tavern, suddenly finding it imperative to see what the chit would do next.

The other barmaids were visibly shocked that Maddy and the cigarette girl, aptly named Cigarette, had made the cut. Maddy had helped the girl because Cigarette reminded her of herself at that age—hungry, desperate, praying for a break.

Wait. That was Maddy now—

Oh, deuce it!Berthé was here, sneering at her from behind the counter. Sometimes Berthé and Odette worked the taverns, but only to solicit new customers. Berthé's presence boded ill.

Maddy hadn't been in the Silken Purse in years, but she'd never been this impassioned to save her arms before. That group of women outside would be waiting for her later, ready to make her pay. Maddy prayed she'd be able to do soin coin .

The interior hadn't changed since the last time she'd seen it. There was an entrance hall and then two large rooms—the main area where food and drink were served and the darker back room, where popular girls like Berthé served drinks while arranging to sell more.

Gaslights dotted the tavern's walls, their cut sconces stained yellow from tobacco smoke. Behind the bar, the wall was lined with vast mirrors, the glass etched with the brand names of ales or gin.

Some older men were already drunk and singing songs from the revolution, but other than their small gathering and a few lone drinkers, the place was empty. She'd heard the bell on the front door ring a few moments ago, but she'd been watching out for Berthé and hadn't seen who'd entered.

Naturally, the one time she'd contrived to get into the usually packed tavern it would be slow. Leaning her elbow on the bar, her chin in her palm, she regarded herself in the back mirror. Even with rouge along her cheeks and a dash of face paint to cover the smudges under her eyes, she appeared tired.

Suddenly she frowned, rubbing her hand over the back of her neck. She had the eerie feeling that she was being watched. Her gaze darted in the mirror, but she didn't see anyone in the main room watching her. The back room was shadowed, and she saw the outline of a man, but she couldn't distinguish features or even determine if he was turned toward her. She was curious but knew better than to go back there.

Assuring herself it was nothing—just overwrought nerves—she turned back, resting her head on her hand again.One little break , she thought again.A single crumb of luck .

When she did get her break, she wouldn't hesitate to take it, as so many in La Marais would. She had to believe that someday she'd leave this place. She, Corrine, and Bea always used to dream about sailing away somewhere, maybe even to America. Maddy would open a dress shop in a city like Boston, and Corrine would sew Maddy's designs. The first time they'd hit on this idea, Bea's face had fallen. "But what will I do?"

"Model, of course," Maddy had said as Corrine nodded earnestly. "We can't very well open a dress shop without a model."

Bea's blue eyes had lit up. "I am so good at standing still! Oh, Maddée, you won't believe how still I can be!"

Maddy grinned at the memory even now….

As if Maddy's prayers had been answered, a big party of English tourists filed in. Berthé got them, but then a group of rich University of Paris students entered.Mine, all mine , Maddy thought as she donned her brightest smile and swooped in on them.

Soon, the place was packed with businessmen, lower bourgeoisie shopkeepers, andles Bohèmes . She steered clear of the latter—especially the ones with cheap clay pipes and wear on the elbows of their coats.

She was earning a small windfall in gratuities, doing better than she ever had, and she'd even managed to eat two lemons and at least half a dozen cherries off the bar service. As she prowled to make it a solid dozen, the barkeep noticed and rapped a cane over her fingers—hard.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she shook her hand out, and again had the sense that she was being watched.

Luckily, she could still hold a tray. And over the next two hours, she served countless tankards of ale, bowls of punch, and opaque bottles of absinthe. Berthé was jostling her whenever they met at the bar, but Maddy could still balance a full tray—she was light on her feet, even for all that her boots were two sizes too small.

Yet at every turn, she felt pinpricks of awareness over the back of her neck.

When Cigarette sold out, Maddy felt generous with her windfall and gave her fifteen sous to pay off anybody who might want to beat her up. The girl deftly swung her hanging tray aside to hug Maddy, then skipped away, her braids flopping.

Just as Maddy turned back, one of the university students took a firm hold of her waist and yanked her into his lap. She studied the smoky ceiling as she listened to his comparisons of her to Leda and various nymphs and to all his hopes and dreams for his and Maddy's future. His musings grew tedious, so sheaccidentally knocked his drink off the table onto his feet. She vowed to replace the drink at once—putting the charge on his bill, of course.

A group of four middle-aged men were more direct in their propositioning. When Maddy caught their eye, they waved her over, and one asked how much it would cost for her to sleep with all of them. One hundred francs? She smiled tightly, choking back a retort. When the man got up to four hundred francs—what she could only imagine earning in a really bountiful year—she still firmly shook her head. To mollify them, she directed them to one of the more likable girls in the back, asking them to remind her topassez le gras back to Maddy.

Surprisingly, the men were still nice to her and even ordered a bowl of punch. That was one of the most expensive orders in the Silken Purse. She dashed away to get it.

On her return, she rushed to serve the sizable bowl, grinning at her fortune….

Ethan had decided to examine what a typical night in Madeleine's life was like, garnering insights into her present situation—such as why she was forced to work so hard instead of eating chocolates on a divan in St. Roch. With each minute passing, he grew more uneasy.

Though this was just another tavern and he was here to observe as he had night after night in his job, he had to struggle to retain his customary detachment. He found himself engrossed with Madeleine's behavior—the skill with which she eluded groping hands, her generosity with the young cigarette girl, the way she made the men laugh with her sly sense of humor.

He could tell every time she received a proposition—she seemed to stifle a haughty air, biting back angry words. He'd counted at least a dozen, meaning he'd wanted to kill at least a dozen admirers.

If Ethan was to be an objective observer, then why had he decided to come back later and punish the barkeep for striking her with a cane? And why, when a young man had planted Madeleine in his lap, had Ethan come very near to wiping the floor with the man's face?

In the end, Ethan had learned much about her tonight—and everything he saw, he grudginglyadmired .

Even now, the chit worked tirelessly, carrying that punch bowl with a proud expression—

Suddenly, Ethan saw another girl's foot sweep out, hooking Madeleine's ankles, tripping her forward. Before he could react, Madeleine and the full crystal bowl crashed to the ground.

The tavern grew silent except for some men snickering. Ethan wanted to thrash every single one of them.

She tried to get up, but her foot slipped in the liquid. She hit her little fist on the floor, her expression a mix of exhaustion and resolve. Just as he rose to help her, she scrambled up. Brushing off her skirt, she swallowed and closed her eyes, as if praying the crystal bowl wasn't truly broken. When she opened them once more, her eyes were dazed and glinting.

The barkeep roared Gallic curses and opened his palm, stabbing it with his other forefinger. Chin up, she dug into her skirt pocket as she scuffed to the bar. As she paid the coins out, she clutched each one, unwilling to part with them. Once she'd surrendered at least what she'd made this night, the barkeep pointed to the door. Patrons booed, but the man was unmoved.

Shoulders back, she trudged to the entrance, but she had to know the women from earlier would be waiting. Ethan quickly followed. In the entrance hall, a loud party was entering, and in the commotion, she smoothly filched an umbrella from the stand as she exited.

Ethan slipped out behind her and silently trailed her down the crowded stairs. Sure enough, Madeleine's enemies awaited her. With false bravado, she hit the umbrella into her cupped palm and asked, "Who wants to be first?"

He stood directly behind her, casting the women his most murderous expression over Madeleine's head.

The closest one's eyes went wide, and she backed away. The others followed, until they'd all scattered.

"That's right!" Madeleine called after them. "Remember my name!"

Suddenly she froze. After a hesitation, she began to turn toward him.

Ethan's heart thundered. After waiting weeks, he was finally going to see her again. He wiped his sleeve over his damp brow.

She needs me more than I need her, he reminded himself, then asked, "Friends of yours?"