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She held onto that past because it was the only thing she had.
Feelings Strider clearly did not reflect.
He had his empire to run, so what did he need her for? His life was full. Busy. No time for the past and what it reared.
She looked to the carriage on the side of the road, propped up slightly on its left side with a fat branch. The driver shifted about on his back on the dusty road under the carriage as the two footmen looked on, standing next to the wheel hovering just above the ground. Her finger flicked out toward the coach. “You don’t need to order them about?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Meaning?”
“That seems to be who you are now.” She didn’t bother to look up at him—her neck had craned one too many times in the past days in order to see his face. “A man who sets fear into people and has them do his bidding.”
His feet shuffled in front of her and Strider sat down next to her with a sigh. He pulled his legs upward and rested his forearms on his knees. “The last thing I know about is axles. They don’t need me in their business any more than I need them making suggestions on how to run a gaming hell or a brothel or a shipping company.”
Her look swung to him. So casual, how he talked about his business—how he spoke of the worst of men’s vices.
She shook her head to herself.
Theywerein very different worlds.
“Who is Madame Juliet?”
His head tilted to the side as he looked at her. “What do you know of Madame Juliet?”
“Just that her name was mentioned several times by your men when they put me into that drawing room at the Den of Diablo. Something about her raising hell if I was an actual whore. Who is she?”
Strider chuckled to himself. “That seems right. You think my men are scared of me—you should see them around Madame Juliet. She can bust a man down to the size of a walnut in a minute’s time.”
Instant jealousy spiked through her gut. The way he laughed, the way his eyes softened at her name, it was clear Madame Juliet was someone special.
Her back stiffening, she looked away from him. What did she expect? Strider was handsome, even if he was brutal. Of course he had women—he probably had hundreds of them all seeking his attention.
Jealousy had no place, yet she couldn’t stamp it out. All those years without him and she’d always considered Strider to be hers. Even apart. Hers.
Pen nodded, swallowing hard. “She must be special.”
He looked at her, his dark eyes questioning. “She is. She takes no brickbat from any of the customers and keeps everything running smoothly at the houses of ill repute I own. Most importantly, the women in the houses adore her.”
“That seems…almost pleasant if that is the business one is in.”
He shrugged. “I’ve heard the women say it’s not the worst way to make a living—at least in the houses I own. I supply the rooms and safety for women—for a fee—and they work for themselves.”
“Even though Madame Juliet is in charge?”
“She’s only in charge by vote. The women choose for her to be in charge—every other month they meet with the option to have someone else lead. The women in my houses don’t like drama and they don’t stand for backstabbers. Madame Juliet is as smart and as fair as they come, and they all recognize that.” His eyebrows lifted as though he couldn’t quite believe they acted with such decorum. “And that band of women is as fiercely loyal to each other as any man I’ve ever seen in battle.”
“What happens to them when they’re too…old for the business?” Her cheeks tinged pink at the question, but she couldn’t stifle her curiosity.
“The ones that have been in my houses the longest?Most retire into the countryside—they have a village in Berkshire that they’ve mostly taken over.When they work for themselves and can keep their wages, many of them have built themselves small fortunes that will see them through the rest of their days.”
Pen nodded, pursing her lips. “So prostituting isn’t as bad as one is led to believe?”
His look whipped to her, his face hardening. “It is a hard life, Pen. Horrible and dangerous for most. Make no mistake on that. But if one is in the business, my houses are a welcome respite. We have a waiting list for new women to join the houses.”
She coughed a chuckle. “A waiting list?”
“I know.” A wry smile lifted the side of his face. “It is odd. But it is testament to how Madame Juliet runs things.”
Pen looked down at the flower in her hand. Unwittingly, she’d twisted the stem so far down and tight around her forefinger, she’d crushed half the petals.
