Page 1 of A Raven Reborn

ChapterOne

Robbed, stabbed, and now this.

At first glance, the picture before him was perfect. A young woman lay on the bed, completely naked, her legs spread slightly as if inviting him in. Exactly what he had come to Maison Rouge for.

But even though her fists gripped the sheets beside her, her eyes were clamped tightly shut, and every inch of her trembled from head to toe, none of it was from anticipation. She was terrified. A single tear appeared at the corner of her eye. She bit down hard on her bottom lip as if trying to will its existence away, but it simply trickled down into her chestnut hair.

“For god’s sake, cover yourself.” He slammed his fist against the bedpost sending pain shooting up his arm to pool into one burning point at the wound in his shoulder. “Fuck!”

She wore the makeup of a whore, rouge on her lips and cheeks that somehow only accentuated the wholesome beauty beneath, and a more than seductive peignoir, which she’d shed the second the door had clicked shut behind her.

What was Madame Bustier thinking?

He plunged his fingers into his hair. He needed relief. To drive himself to exhaustion with a woman who was willing and would enjoy some good bedsport. He sure as hell hadn’t come to force himself on some poor young woman who didn’t want him.

He threw the door open and nearly trod on Madame Bustier.

Madame Bustier? How ridiculous. It was probably the only French word she knew, so she’d made it her fake name, to go along with her fake accent. Now, here she was, peddling fake whores. It was too much.

“I will never set foot in this…establishmentagain.” He marched toward the door.

But a small voice found its way through the din and caught his attention.

“What did I do?”

His feet slowed, without him even giving them permission to do so. No, he wasn’t here for this. He wasn’t going to intervene.

“You earned yourself the thrashing of a lifetime is what you did, you stupid girl!” The French accent had suddenly vanished. “Driving away one of my best payin’ customers.”

Jesus, if that was true, he needed to stop giving his patronage to places like this.

There was a crack of skin on skin, and he stopped in his tracks. His eyes slid closed. He couldn’t just leave her.

“Fuck,” he muttered again.

He turned to see the young girl stumbling backward through the doorway, her eyes wide like a doe’s. She clung to the peignoir she was wrapped in once again, looking frightened and confused, and for some reason, it caused a stinging in his heart. He pushed past Madame Bustier, ignoring her pleas for him to stay, grabbed the girl’s wrist, and pulled her along behind him, doing his best to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder.

As they neared the front door, Madame Bustier’s pleas became shouts of outrage.

“You can’t just take her from here. She belongs to me!”

Patrick stopped and turned, his eyes boring into Madame Bustier’s. She cowered slightly. Good. She should be afraid. “She will not stay here with you and be beaten.” He fumbled in his jacket pocket as he spoke.

She stuttered then, trying her best to put her French accent back into place as she had her smile. “I would not beat her, of course. It was only a bluff. Besides, what will she do? She has nowhere else to go.”

Patrick knew a bluff when he saw one, and she had certainlynotbeen bluffing. There was also no genuine concern behind her words, they were simply her next move in their verbal bout of fencing.

He threw a handful of banknotes into the air and as they fluttered to the ground he leaned in close. “She is no longer your concern.” Then he strode through the front door, the young woman in tow.

Not until they reached the bottom of the steps did he take a moment to think. She was wearing nothing but that damned peignoir. Pain shot through his shoulder again as he stripped off his coat and wrapped it around her, trying to cover as much of her as possible.

“Come.” He steered her toward a waiting hansom cab. He helped her up and gave the driver his direction before climbing in beside her.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked softly as they rolled away from the brothel.

“Quiet.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. She had to be freezing.

“Yes, sir.” She spoke the words barely above a whisper, and he felt like a bloody cad.

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