Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

W hen Owen showed Ethan the path that Xenia had taken, it was obvious that she was headed to Chuddums. But what business did she have in the village at this time of night? Why did she pretend to be tired, then sneak out? Possible reasons for her deception crowded his head…the most obvious one being that she was playing him false.

The way Constance had.

Rage swelled, fed by an undertow of humiliation. He was certain that he wasn't going to like what he discovered this eve. Yet he had to know. He readied Legato and was surprised when Owen saddled a horse as well.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Going with you," Owen said. "You're not riding alone this time of night."

As Ethan didn't have time to argue, he simply spurred Legato on. Owen followed, and they didn't encounter Xenia on the path to the village. Ethan suspected they were only a few minutes behind her since they made the journey to Chuddums at breakneck speed, and she was on foot. Upon arriving on High Street, he saw that he was correct: a familiar cloaked figure was at the end of the street, taking a turn east toward the docks.

"That's her," Owen said. "We can catch up?—"

"No," Ethan said grimly. "I don't want her to know that I'm here. I want to see what she is up to. We'll stay close but out of her sight."

Owen raised his brows but said nothing.

They left the horses at the Briarbush Inn on the corner, then continued after Xenia on foot. She had widened her lead on them, but he tracked her easily enough. They reached the docklands, which were teeming with riffraff and the light-skirts who serviced them. Taverns, brothels, and gaming hells flanked the street, business spilling into the dark alleyways between the buildings. Guttural sounds came from the shadows, mingling with cheers of merriment and shouts of aggression.

Ethan's gut tightened when he spotted a cluster of brutes sporting orange-striped neckcloths. At least a dozen Corrigans stood in front of a dilapidated waterfront building, which looked to be their headquarters. He noted that Xenia steered clear of them, and he did the same, keeping the brim of his hat pulled low. Luckily, the ruffians were too inebriated to notice.

He and Owen followed Xenia another block, where she paused in front of a tall, narrow edifice. The windows were drawn, but the licentious glow emitted by their scarlet curtains advertised the nature of the trade. And if that didn't make the purpose of the place obvious, then the pair of whores at the entryway did. Their faces were masked, their skimpy dresses leaving little to the imagination.

Ethan's nape chilled when Xenia exchanged brief words with the pair. One of the prostitutes handed her a mask, and she slipped it on. Then she went inside.

Owen asked the obvious question. "What business does your housekeeper have in a brothel?"

"I am about to find out," Ethan said tersely. "Wait for me here."

"And let you have all the fun?" Owen replied. "I think not."

"I don't have time for your nonsense?—"

"No one is sicker of my nonsense than me. You can count on me, Ethan. For what that is worth."

Seeing Owen's resolute expression, Ethan went against his better judgment. "Fine," he muttered. "But don't get in the way."

"Unless you need me, you won't even know I'm there," Owen promised.

The whores struck provocative poses as they approached.

"Welcome to the Nunnery, gents." The one with brassy curls held out a pair of masks. "You're in for a treat this eve. Sister Sirena, the Salacious Storyteller, will be taking confessions."

The realization came as swiftly as a blade in the back, making Ethan stagger. All the similarities he had ignored, the signs he'd obstinately refused to see. Her voice, her figure, the way she'd seemed to know his deepest fantasies—to know just how to embody them.

He was stunned by how obvious it was…by the extent of her deception.

Xenia was Sirena.

Why would she deceive me? Pain spread through the cracks of his soul, bewildered rage following in its wake. Was this some sort of game to her…did she amuse herself at the expense of her crippled fool of an employer? While I was falling in love with her, was she laughing at me?

"Are you certain you want to do this?" Owen asked.

Numbness took over, allowing Ethan to nod. He had to see this through. That was the one advantage of being broken: he was used to picking up the bloody pieces.

From the bawdy scene around her, Xenia saw that the Abbess's latest venture catered to a different class of clientele. Whereas previous incarnations of the masquerade had been built on the precept of exclusivity, this version brokered its success on cheap mass appeal. The patrons appeared to be men who worked by the docks. The entry fee was low, and the entertainment was conducted in a series of crowded public rooms for all to see.

Xenia didn't recognize many of the prostitutes, including the two performing fellatio on the sailor sprawled on a tattered sofa. Nor the one who was dancing naked on a table while a circle of men showered her with coins. Xenia's search for the Abbess took her into the next room, where a row of women knelt on all fours, saucily wriggling their bare rumps as patrons lined up to take their turn.

Feeling queasy, Xenia wondered if coming was a mistake. Yet for the first time, she had decided that she would not run—that she had something worth staying for. Someone worth fighting for. She would do everything in her power to be worthy of Ethan, and that began with confronting her past. For him, she would face her demons. She would face anything.

"There you are."

The Abbess approached. Beneath her mask, her mouth was curved in a gloating smile.

"You're late, dove," she admonished, as if Xenia were a naughty child. "I've customers waiting for the inimitable Sister Sirena, and we cannot keep them waiting, can we?"

"I no longer work for you," Xenia said boldly.

"We'll see about that."

The bawd's razor-sharp smile released a trickle of dread in Xenia.

"Come." The Abbess crooked a finger. "We shall discuss the terms upstairs."

Curling her fists, Xenia followed.

The Abbess led her upstairs to a corner room. Xenia saw that it had been set up to resemble a confessional, with a curtain dividing the chamber in two. Through the gauzy fabric, she spotted Sister Sirena's costume laid out on a battered sofa.

The Abbess closed the door. "Now, dove, we have business to discuss, don't we?"

"I will not play Sister Sirena tonight or any other," Xenia said fiercely. "I returned your ten pounds. There are no ties between us, and I owe you nothing."

"Now that you're a housekeeper for a fine lord, you think you are too good for this work?"

"My reasons are my own." Xenia met the madame's eyes squarely. "Your attempt to blackmail me will not change my decision."

"Are you certain, dove? You came tonight, after all."

"I came for one purpose: to tell you face-to-face that I will not be extorted."

"But I know who you are, Mary Smith. Or is it Jane Wood? Oh, that's right—it's Bernice Wardell ."

It was strange how foreign the name she'd been born with sounded. Yet she drew strength from the fact that determination and hard work had put distance between who she'd been and who she was now: a woman who'd carved her own path. From the day she'd chosen to be Xenia Loveday, she'd made the decision to leave her old self behind. While some might sneer at how she'd gotten by, she was proud of doing honest work, from selling fantasies to managing a manor. Proud that she now had a lover who saw and brought out the best in her. Proud that she'd made friends and found a place where she belonged.

"Bernice Wardell ceased to exist years ago." She lifted her chin. "I left that despicable life behind me."

"You may have flown the coop, but others are still looking for you, dove. My sources tell me that authorities from London to Manchester remain on the lookout for Lady Jo and her gang, which includes her daughter Bernice." Malice gleamed in the bawd's eyes. "It's said Bernice has a singular ability to mimic accents, which she used to con more than a few people during her time. She's said to be a mistress o' disguises, and she takes after her mama with her bright-red hair and features as fine as any lady's. Her brown eyes are said to be her most valuable asset, for their guileless appearance allows her to manipulate and beguile."

Although Xenia's heart was pounding, she refused to be cowed. "What do you want?"

"The world is my oyster, ain't it?" The Abbess's mask didn't hide her smugness. "To begin, you will continue in my employ. Working for free, of course, in exchange for my silence."

"I'm done working for you," Xenia said through gritted teeth. "Go ahead and tell the constables. I'll tell them the truth: that my mother forced me into a life of crime from the time I was a child. That every time I tried to escape, she dragged me back and beat me until I couldn't walk. That she starved me, kept me chained like a dog." She balled her hands. "I'll tell them that she took away everyone I loved, but she still couldn't bend me to her will. The only way I'll go back to her and her stupid gang is in a bloody box ."

"Now, there's no need for theatrics." The Abbess's tone turned cajoling. "You know I'm not a fan o' constables and other hypocrites who get in the way o' a person's God-given right to make a living. Besides, there ain't no advantage in giving you to them…their reward is a pittance compared to the blunt your clever tongue brings in. I need you, dove. Without Sister Sirena, I won't recover from these weeks o' lost income. Only you can lure back the toffs. If you don't help me, I'll be stuck selling three-penny uprights for the rest o' my life."

Xenia cut through the woman's self-pitying drivel. "If not the authorities, then who will you tell if I refuse to work for you?"

"The bloke you've fallen head over heels for," the Abbess said with equal bluntness. "Rumor has it the two o' you have gotten close. While he might be willing to overlook the fact that you're a servant, how would your master feel if he knew you worked in brothels? If he discovered that you'd brought off hundreds o' men with your talented tongue? And what if he knew that you weren't only a girl with a wicked imagination, but one who'd done unimaginable things? One who is the daughter of the infamous lady cutthroat Joanna Wardell? One who has committed robbery, assault, and even murder?"

Despite her churning fear, Xenia set her shoulders back. "I have never done any of those things," she stated. "But go ahead. Tell him."

"Trying to call my bluff, are you?" The bawd gave her a cold look. "Well, it won't work, dearie. If you don't put on that bloody nun's costume right now and satisfy the patrons I've lined up for you, I will tell his lordship everything."

"It won't matter." In that instant, Xenia made her choice—the choice she would have made sooner if fear hadn't held her back. "Because I am going to tell him everything."

The instant she said the words, she felt the chains fall from her. Amazed, she realized that she'd held the key all this time. Freedom wasn't about getting away from her past but facing it.

"Please." The Abbess scoffed. "Only a fool would give up that golden goose, and you strike me as a female who's learned to live by her wits, Miss Wardell."

"He's not a golden goose to me. I love him," she said ardently. "He deserves to know the truth. I should have told him earlier, but I was trying to protect him."

"Protect yourself , you mean. From being tossed out on your arse."

"It's true that, at first, I didn't tell him I was Lady Jo's daughter because I needed the job and a place to stay. But once I got to know him, I didn't tell him about my mama because I knew he would try to protect me from her. I could not stand for him to be hurt because of me."

"No man will protect you once he knows you're a criminal and a whore," the Abbess sneered.

"He will." She spoke with confidence because she knew her beloved—his character and sense of honor. "After I explain everything and beg his forgiveness, he will stand by me because that is the kind of gentleman he is. That is why I love him."

Even though her knees were shaking, she headed to the door, her head held high.

"I made you, and I can unmake you," the Abbess fumed. "I'm going to report you to the Peelers. See how you like rotting behind bars, you ungrateful bitch?—"

"I would reconsider that decision if I were you."

At the familiar male voice, Xenia whirled around. Her heart hurtled into her chest at the sight of Ethan standing on the other side of the curtain. Had he been in the room this entire time…hiding behind the sofa? He tore the material out of his way with a savage motion; without that barrier, she saw the full extent of his fury. His eyes blazed in the holes of his mask, incinerating her confidence. The enormity of her mistake struck her.

She'd trusted that love would shelter her…but she didn't know the extent of Ethan's feelings for her. They'd never exchanged words of love, even if she'd felt them in her heart. If he didn't love her, how could she expect him to take on the daughter of a notorious criminal, a woman who'd survived by performing in brothels, who'd been lying to him all along? It was asking a lot even if he did love her.

She had deceived him, just as his fiancée had. Though she hadn't betrayed him with another man, she'd done so with a ghost. The ghost of her past. Although Xenia had been knocked down time and again, she'd never felt defeated. Until now. When she saw the disgust and revulsion on the face of the man she loved and knew she deserved it.