Madame's Deception

When an innocent takes over a bordello, can her seduction be far behind?

Jocelyn Tolliver believes that her mother's couture business financed her European boarding school education. Imagine her shock when she discovers that her dying mother is the infamous Madame of London's elite Crimson Belle. Promising to care for the bordello and its ladies, Jocelyn, a virginal bookw,orm, transforms herself and is soon known as the reclusive Madame DeBourcier.

Rakish Alex Randall, Lord Colwick, is determined to win admittance to the intriguing Madame's bed. His outrageous attempts to garner her favor cannot go unnoticed for long…When danger threatens the elegant women of the Belle, Jocelyn strikes a bargain with Alex, hoping he can provide some protection. But Jocelyn's deception forces her and Alex into a passionate battle of wills in which all illusions will be shattered…and all desires fulfilled.

“I savored every word!”—Sherrilyn Kenyon

Read An Excerpt

The carriage lurched on the uneven cobblestone streets, and Jocelyn shivered at the dreary night’s chill that seeped into her bones. Fear, inspired by her own daring, hadn’t lessened her journey from the Wheaton School for Young Ladies. But terror wasn’t the undercurrent that kept her moving.

Her mother was dying.

When the usual correspondence from her mother had ceased, anxiety had made her frantic. The headmistress, Mrs. Wellings, had tried to deflect her worries, but Jocelyn’s instincts wouldn’t quiet. Unable to sleep, she had slipped from her bed to seek out Mrs. Wellings for more assurances. Walking down the stairs in her robe and slippers, she’d hoped she wouldn’t be punished for roaming the school’s halls without permission. That concern made her hesitate outside the headmistress’s door and it was then—when she’d overheard Mrs. Wellings talking with her sister, Mrs. Foster—that she’d learned the truth.

“Apparently she is very ill,” Mrs Wellings said.

“But doesn’t wish Jocelyn to become alarmed.”

Mrs. Foster replied. “Is there cause for alarm?”

“I should think so,” Mrs. Wellings answered sadly. “For the note mentions that Mrs. Tolliver’s will provides for her daughter’s care, and that we’ll receive further instructions when the time comes.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Foster repeated uselessly.

“I cannot think why a mother wouldn’t want her only child’s comforting presence in her last moments…but it is not our place to dispute Mrs. Tolliver’s wishes. She has been a generous patron and we—”

Jocelyn had heard nothing more, fleeing with her hand clamped over her mouth to hold back her sobs. Her mother was dying. And hadn’t sent for her. It was too cruel and too impossible to fathom. Even with their unique family arrangements…Jocelyn had accepted that the mysterious separation of their lives wasn’t normal. For as long as she could remember, she had lived at boarding schools. Her mother’s letters and visits were the highlights of her childhood. When other girls went home for the holidays, Mrs. Tolliver arrived to take her abroad, or on an excursion to the country, or to rented rooms at a seaside resort. It was always someplace new. The only destination never selected for their rare adventures was London. It was to further her education, her mother would say, and Jocelyn could only accept her at her word. After all, she loved her beautiful mother, with her quick wit and lively airs.

“Dull birds fly home like sad pigeons, dearest,” Mrs. Tolliver had said once when Jocelyn had pressed her for more of an explanation. “I want you to fly free.” Looking at her mother, Jocelyn had wanted nothing more in the world than to please her and she’d decided simply to savor their brief times together. After all, Jocelyn had learned from an early age that expressing loneliness or asking too many questions gained her nothing and only guaranteed longer intervals between her mothers’ glorious visits.

Her mother was a famous dress designer and couturier to London’s elite, and with her busy schedule, she could hardly be blamed for relegating Jocelyn’s education and upbringing to others. Of her father she knew less, but had been told that after his death, her mother had vowed never to marry again. Instead, her mother had determined to make her own way in the world as a widow and provided a better life for her only daughter. She had told Jocelyn repeatedly, “You will be a grand lady someday, my love. So clever and beautiful, with a husband and servants and a house of your own, you will live like a princess and no one will ever look down on you.”

No one will ever look down on you.

It was that refrain that made her determined to make her mother proud. She’d buried herself in her studies and tried to become the grand lady that her mother desired. She’d learned Latin, French, Russian and Italian. She’d voraciously read every book that came into her hands and attempted the feminine arts of watercolors and flower arranging. She’d practiced embroidery and learned the dances that all the other girls were sure would be the ultimate test of their grace. She’d done everything she could to prove that the daughter of a dressmaker could hold her own amidst her more blue-blooded schoolmates.

Now none of it mattered.

She wanted her mother, and none of her mother’s admonishments about staying away from the foul, unhealthy air of London meant anything. She’d raced to her room, dressed, and packed a few of her things. Then with the house completely still and dark, she’d crept back downstairs and into Mrs. Welling’s empty office. In the correspondence files, she’d finally found what she was seeking, the records for her mother and her mother’s London address.

She’d felt like a thief, but the guilt paled next to her need to reach her mother. She would be forgiven for breaking the rules once her mother saw how Jocelyn loved her. Perhaps she wasn’t too ill. Perhaps there was time yet for a miracle.

It was a slim hope, but it kept fear from over-whelming her.

Streetlights glowed in the murky gloom and Jocelyn risked a look through the carriage’s curtains at the city she had previously only imagined. Her mother’s determination to keep her from its “unhealthy vapors” seemed ominously merited as she pulled her coat closer. The smells and the closeness of the buildings unsettled her, and Jocelyn hoped her mother’s shop and house wasn't a pinched, confining space.

Stupid to think of such things, she chided herself. Her mother was all that mattered now. She’d be arriving in the early hours of the morning at a house she had never seen. But her mother needed her.

As the carriage slowed, she squared her shoulders, trying to draw on all that her schooling had given her. A lady was equal to any situation and would bring a quiet calm to any crisis. She would show her mother that she had taken her lessons to heart.

There seemed to be more tress than she’d anticipated and it was a nicer street than many she’d passed through, but in the dark it was difficult to take in too many details.

Except that one house up ahead wasn’t dark at all.

And when the carriage came to a halt in front of it, Jocelyn wasn’t sure what to think or do. The driver called down, “Here it is, miss!”

The door was opened, and she felt like a downy chick being pushed from her nest onto a hard pavement.“You’re sure this is the correct address? ”

He gave her an odd wink, his look like a man enjoying a private and unseemly jest. “No mistaking this house, miss. ‘Tis the Belle without a doubt.”

He turned before she could ask him why bells would apply. Were her mother’s dresses so well known that the location of her home would be common knowledge? She glanced at the windows ablaze with light and heard laughter within. Had Mrs. Welling’s records provided the wrong address? How could her mother be dying and yet there seemed to be an ongoing party at her residence?

A footman in a braided coat came down the steps. His look was less than welcoming, sizing her up like a potential opponent.“It’s late in the evening for applications, miss. You’ll need to clear the steps.”

“I beg your pardon!” Her chin came up defensively. She couldn’t believe her mother would hire such a rude and scornful servant.“I am Jocelyn Tolliver. This is my mother’s residence and I have come to be with her!”

“Your mother’s residence? I think you’re lost or into your cups. There’s no Mrs. Tolliver here and unless you’re off these steps with your baggage I’ll fetch a whip to—”

“Enough!” A tall figure filled the doorframe and ended the servant’s threats.“Take her things inside.” Without another word, the footman picked up her satchel and retreated into the house as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over his head.

Jocelyn forced herself to hold her ground as the man approached, his skin dark as coal. He seemed ageless to her, a striking, ebony giant whose skin was barely marked by time but whose eyes were careworn and sad as if from centuries of worry. If pressed she would have guessed he was in his late thirties, but she wouldn’t have risked a farthing on a wager of his true age.“I-I’m Jocelyn Tolliver and I–”

“I knew you would come.” His voice was soft this time, much gentler. The cadence of his speech was vaguely exotic but nothing she could place.“I am Ramis, her manservant. She swore to keep you from this, but I knew you would come to her side.”

“Then I am not lost?” Her relief overtaken by anxiety that this one small truth meant the worst of it was also true.“Then my mother is…”

His eyes confirmed it.“It is good that you have come. Please”—he offered his arm—“I’ll take you to her.”

Instead of leading her directly up the steps and in the house, he guided Jocelyn around to the back of the building. Before she could ask why, they’d crossed into the kitchens. The people working there looked at her oddly but didn’t utter a word as Ramis led her up a back staircase toward the first floor. The sounds of a merry party were muddled but unmistakeable. It was unreal, and all she could do was simply to take in her surroundings. Through a door, they entered a beautifully appointed hallway with paintings and lavish oriental decorations.

“I’m not sure I—” Jocelyn stopped mid sentence at the shocking sight of a woman exiting one of the rooms wearing nothing more than a corset and pantalets.

The woman simply smiled as if it were common to meet strangers in her underclothes.“Evening.” Without waiting for a reply, the woman sauntered down the hall toward what appeared to be a more public staircase.

“Sh-she forgot her clothes!” Jocelyn sputtered.

Ramis nodded his head before propelling Jocelyn gently forward.“It is this door.” He stopped at the threshold of an ornate mahogany door at the hall’s end.“I can go in with you, if you wish.”

Jocelyn hesitated. It seemed cowardly to ask a stranger to accompany her. She glanced back down the hall to where the half-naked woman had gone. It was madness to hear music and laughter and shrieks of some sort of giddy celebration and to be hovering outside her dying mother’s doorway. She’d imagined her arrival her mother’s home in London countless times—but never like this.

There was a logical explanation, of course, and her mother would set everything to rights. Jocelyn’s chin came up at the thought. Her mother’s illness would pass and the world would be put back on its axis.

“No, I’ll see her alone.” Without waiting for his response, she squared her shoulder, braced for the worst, and reached for the handle to open the door. It gave easily, and Jocelyn stepped inside, ignoring the terrible pounding of her heart.

She held her breath only for one moment before rushing toward the bed. Alone in the vast bedchamber, her mother looked so much smaller than she remembered. It had been nine long months since they’d taken a brief trip to Scotland together. Her mother had always been so vibrant and beautiful, so that everything around her would suddenly pale in comparison. But now the gray wash of illness had drained even her hair of color. Dirty white streaks had overtaken auburn, and her face was waxen and gaunt. It was as if her mother had been replaced by a different creature, one diminished by unseen forces.

But the shadow of familiarity was there.

This was no stranger. This was the woman she loved most in the world.

There was no physician present, no one in attendance. Her mother’s eyes were closed and Jocelyn’s throat shut at the terrifying possibility that she’d come to late. Trembling, she knelt gently by the bedside and took her mother’s hand. It was chilled, but the soft fingers fluttered against hers to confirm that there was still time.

“Mother,” Jocelyn whispered as she stroked her mother’s face. “I’ve come to you.”

Her mother opened her eyes, their sapphire hue clouded and dulled by fever. “Jocelyn”

Jocelyn let out a sigh of relief.“You can lecture me later about disobeying and I’ll accept every punishment you devise as soon as you’re well again.”

“I shouldn’t be please that you are here…but I am.” Her voice was tired and hollow, and Jocelyn leaned in to kiss her on her forehead.

“Rest now.”

“No.” Her mother shook her head, then swallowed hard before continuing.“It’s better now. I though…I wanted you to have a better life.”

“And I will.” Jocelyn glanced around to see if there were medicines on the sideboard, or a bell pull to request more coal for the fire. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Mother. I’m here and it’s my turn to take care of you.”

She went to the door and opened it, not entirely surprised to Ramis still standing guard.“Perhaps some broth and—”

“Come in Ramis! I want…you must witness…” The imperious command trailed off to a moan.

Jocelyn hurried back to the bed, now with the manservant in tow.“Mother, please don’t…tire yourself. Whatever you need, we shall see to it. Your hands are so cold. Why don’t you let me tend the fire and make you more comfortable?”

Her mother’s expression changed, her eyes locking onto Jocelyn’s face with a new intensity and energy, and she gripped her daughter’s hand to ensure that she had her complete attention.

Jocelyn gasped. “Mother!”

“I wanted more for you there’s no time. You’ll have to do it alone.” The effort to speak took its toll, but it was as if her mother were possessed. “The Belle will be yours. The girls fall to your care. If you abandon them now, they will fall to other hands, Jocelyn.”

“The girls?” It was incomprehensible. Jocelyn shook her head. “What bell?”

“Swear to me that you’ll keep them safe! That you won’t destroy everything I’ve built and the girls with it.”

Her mother’s grip became almost painful, and it was hard to see past the tears in her eyes.“I’ll swear whatever you want, but you cannot talk like this. You cannot mean to go…” Jocelyn choked on the plea.“Mother please.”

“Swear it, Jocelyn.”

“I-I swear.” She tried to pull away, but her mother’s icy hands were unrelenting.

“I should have told you, but I never could. I wasn’t brave, but you will be. For them, you can’t show any fear. The house is yours. You must keep them together and guard them as best you can. Ramis will help you. I was Mistress of the Belle but now it falls to you.”

“B-but—”

“As you will Madame.” Ramis touched his forehead and bowed.

Jocelyn began to feel a new sense of panic.“What falls to me?”

“Everything I have, and everything in my keeping including the woman of the Belle. You are responsible for them all.” Her mother gave her a sad smile.“Grieve quietly, my love. Don’t let them see it beyond this room. Ramis will show you…the account books are all there. Say you’re unwell and stay hidden for a few weeks until you’re ready. Then, take your place.”

“My place,” she echoed, lost and bewildered.

“Take my name, Jocelyn. It has a certain weight. No one…will question it after a time.”

Jocelyn looked at Ramis for clarification, but it was as if he were carved of pure ebony.“Don’t I already have your name, Mother?”

Her mother’s voice dropped to a whisper, her grip lessening on Jocelyn’s trembling fingers.“Now you are Madame DeBourcier, Mistress of the renowned and wicked Crimson Belle.”

“The Crimson Belle is…” Jocelyn felt the heat drain from her face and wondered if all good nightmares included a good fainting spell.“N-not a dress shop?”

Mrs. Tolliver shook her head.“Don’t…think less of me, my love.”

“No! Never!” Jocelyn’s spirit returned in a flash of instinct to protect and shield her dear mother.“You’re the most beautiful and accomplished woman I know! I don’t care about the Belle and what it is or is not.”

“You must! You must care!” Her mother’s distress was unmistakable. “The Belle is…an odd sanctuary, Jocelyn. Sin is relative in such a world…please…you promised…”

Jocelyn’s heart tripped and she forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat.“A lady always keeps her word, Mother. I promise…I’ll keep them safe.”

“And…I,” her mother prompted, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Jocelyn’s mind raced to recall the words that would ease her mother’s fears.“And I…won’t abandon them or allow them to be destroyed. I-I’ll take the name…and do whatever I must to protect the…”

“The Crimson Belle,” her mother supplied with a sigh, her expression taking on a new calm.

“I swear it,” Jocelyn whispered, praying that the promise would be enough to save her mother.“I love you, Mama. Please, don’t go.”

“Ramis will look after you…” Her eyes began to lose their focus. “Always loved you…my sweet girl…such a lady…be…brave…”

Jocelyn felt it instantly. That in one moment, her mother was whispering words of encouragement and the next, she simply was gone. Anguish overwhelmed her and she collapsed across her mother’s body, sobbing. It was useless to beg her mother to return, useless to deny that her mother’s spirit had fled. But she couldn’t stop herself. And then warm hands pulled her away from her mother’s body, and her head was resting against Ramis’s shoulder as he tried to comfort her.

“There, there, Mistress,” he said soothingly, though his voice betrayed his own grief.“Let her go now.”

She clung to his shoulder and cried until no more tears would come. At last, she was able to push away from him, modesty and reason returning to her. Her breath hitched in jagged bursts but she was determined not to crumble again. She glanced back at the door and then slowly took in the details of the room for the first time. It was an opulent room, with expensive furnishings and antique oriental decorations.

“Mistress?” Ramis asked gently.

“Th-the girls,” she countered softly.“How many?”

“Almost a dozen are now in your care.”

She met his gaze and realized that some fates are inescapable. Her mother had deceived her, and the reasons for her lies were all too clear. Her mother hadn’t been a dressmaker. Her mother was a fallen woman—one of those ladies that others whispered about and pointed at when carriages passed. All the money that had financed her education and schooling, all the talk of “a better life” were now put into a broader context.

Almost a dozen women were now in her care. She didn’t need to be told what future awaited them if she turned them out and burned down the house. Even in her sheltered upbringing, she knew the dire consequences for a woman living on the streets. At least, she understood the general threat, if not the exact details of the world’s dangers. An unprotected woman’s survival was unlikely.

And what of my survival?

A lady always keeps her word, another part of her echoed in response.

Jocelyn was two weeks away from her eighteenth birthday.

She’d never been to a dance or even had her hand kissed.

And she was now the sole owner and Madame of an infamous London brothel known as the Crimson Belle.