THE DEFIANT LADY Read Free Page B

Caldwell sniffed in disdain and peered down at the child as if he were vermin. The boy recognized the look and scampered off through soiled snow, glad he had not received the back of the gentleman’s hand.
    When Caldwell reached the end of the alley, he knocked on a chipped red door, and a moment later a middle-aged woman with a heaving chest and wearing far too much rouge answered. She smiled in greeting and quickly ushered him inside. A dark hallway opened into a large, dimly lit room decorated in red silks and plush brocade.
    “Good afternoon, Monsieur Caldwell,” the woman purred with an engaging smile. “It is such a pleasure to see you. What can I do for you today?”
    “Is Angeline available?” Caldwell asked.
    Madame Rousard did not care for the pompous gentleman, but he came to her brothel on a regular basis nonetheless. Caldwell paid well in return for clean girls and the utmost discretion. Angeline was available, but it would cost him, and Madame Rousard had no doubt he would pay.
    “ Mais oui , anything for you,” she cooed flirtatiously.
    Caldwell inclined his head and followed Madame Rousard down the squeaky wooden hallway. Sounds of ecstasy and the scent of heavy perfume filtered through thick doors on either side of the hall. When they came to a dead end, Madame Rousard knocked on a door to the right and opened it.
    The room was decorated in pastel lavender and white, and a young woman lay on the bed wearing a white, silk robe. Her long, brown hair was straight and covered one eye. She kept her gaze lowered, her youthful cheeks stained with a woman’s first blush.
    “Angeline,” Madame Rousard announced, glancing at the girl. She knew Lord Caldwell preferred his women on the brink of womanhood. He liked them nubile and young, receiving his cruel pleasure with a feigned cry of desire. The Madame closed the door, a warning knell of what was to come.
    He slowly took off his coat and walked towards Angeline. He grabbed her right arm, pulled her towards him forcefully, and then parted her robe and slipped his hands inside. She looked up and watched him with calm eyes, but her heart raced, and he smiled maliciously when he gripped her delicate wrist in a painful grasp.
    “Will you beat me again tonight?” Angeline ventured, her voice trembling in a faint Irish lilt.
    Madame Rousard had given all her girls French names, claiming that the French were better lovers, hoping men would pay more for their services. Angeline tried not to think of her given name, or her dead parents and brother buried in Ireland, and a life she should have already forgotten. Best to leave it in the past, dead, for there was no hope to ever return to it. She had no one now, except a man whose incredibly handsome face hid his twisted cravings.
    He loomed over her, and she knew he anticipated an evening of selfish desire. He was rough and punishing, but Angeline did not have to work for a whole week on what she made in an hour with him. Not that anyone would pay for a battered doxy anyway.
    Caldwell did not say a word as he roughly shoved her away from him and began to take off his belt. Angeline tried not to shudder in fear, but she could not help it. The beatings hurt, and she knew he liked it when she cried. She waited expectantly for what was about to happen.
    Perhaps Madame Rousard would let her have a new dress, or a box of decadent chocolates if the night went well.
    She quaked as he wrapped his belt around his hand and came towards her...

    ***

    Hampshire, England

    Ivy could not sleep, tossing and turning like waves in an ocean storm. She was unable to get comfortable in the fluffy feather bed in her elegant bedroom that was the size of their old Paris flat. Though the bed had soft, white satin sheets and was more decadent than anything she had ever slept on, thoughts continued to race through her troubled mind, and the rich food she consumed at dinner settled in her belly like rocks.
    Ivy had always been independent and