All the while, I think of nothing but her. Birdie. She read Adelaide’s diary. She knows everything. She knows how I failed. She knows that I was unable to protect my family. How will she ever trust me to protect her? Why should I even try?
Bessie appears a few moments later, after I’ve lost a hand, then won a hand. “There is a new girl, just came in today, hasn’t had any clients. I had a feeling you might come back soon. I was saving her for you.”
I grunt.
Saving.
I highly doubt that she was doing that at all, then again, I’m not sure that I care either way. An unsoiled, soiled dove, I kind of like the sound of that. Standing, I look down to her.
“Show me the way, Madame Silks.”
She smiles slowly. Her lips curving up into a grin. “Right this way, Mr. James.”
My stomach clenches with each step that I take. It hurts to the point where I want nothing more than to double over and land on the floor, writhing in pain. Clearing my throat, I continue to move, no matter how badly it hurts.
Bessie steps to the side and stands next to a closed door. “She’s just what you’re looking for, I believe,” she announces.
I don’t respond to her, instead, I reach for the handle of the door and twist it open before I make my way inside. The room is dimly lit, I can’t see much, but when my gaze lands on the bed, I’m shocked at the sight before me.
She looks exactly like Adelaide. Inhaling a sharp breath, I take a step forward. “Adelaide?” I rasp.
Her eyes are wide as she watches me, then they shift from side to side. “If that’s what you’d like to call me,” she offers, her voice shaky.
“What is your name?” I demand.
She clears her throat. “Adelaide?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I don’t move, still staying in my spot. “Your real name.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile. “Daisy,” she exhales.
“Pretty.”
I take a step toward her, but my stomach protests so I stop in my place. She’s wearing a thin nightgown, see-through and untied at the neck which exposes her shoulders. I watch as she sits up slightly and allows the nightgown to fall to her slim waist.
She’s a little heavier, a bit curvier than Birdie. Then I blink as she rises to her knees and begins to crawl toward me, stopping at the end of the bed.
“I know who you are,” she whispers.
“Do you?”
She nods her head. “I’ve seen your photograph and I have to say, I never thought I would ever meet you, let alone…”
Her mention of the word photograph causes my stomach to twist further. Birdie is a photographer. I could do so many things to make her comfortable, to make her happy, including buying her equipment to allow her to pursue her hobby here, since I have no doubt that she misses it.
“I can’t,” I mutter, taking a step back.
Daisy reaches out and her hand takes mine. Her fingers squeeze as her heavy breasts sway. I can’t deny her body is that of which dreams are made, but she is not my Birdie. Her touch makes me feel queasy.
I don’t feel that sensation of my blood boiling with desire beneath the surface of my skin, I don’t feel the need to rip her clothes off and bury myself deep inside of her. I just feel sick to my stomach.
Shaking off her grasp, I turn away from her and walk out of the door. Reaching into my pocket, I take out some coins and toss them toward Bessie. Wordlessly, I leave the bordello.
Lonesable is angry at me and refuses to speak the entire way home. Which is fine, I’m pretty upset at myself as well. When I reach my home, I’ve almost forgotten the soldiers that are camped out everywhere and my body jerks in surprise at the number of tents that are set up all around my property.
Guiding Lonesable toward the barn, I dismount and clear my throat.
Nothing happened.
He is silent for a few moments before he finally speaks.
Whatever has happened. Fix it.
Jerking my chin in a nod, I wait for him to make his way into his stable and then I go in search of Birdie. I hear voices as soon as I walk into the house and all of my senses go on alert. Nobody should be talking. It’s late, they should all be asleep, but as I approach the dining room, they are louder.
Opening the door, I freeze at the sight of the three scholars who are staring back at me. I didn’t expect them at all, especially at this time of night. Florence is standing next to them and she lifts her gaze to meet mine.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Colton. These men would like to speak to you, they think that they may have information that we need,” Florence says.
Nodding my head, I look for Birdie or her guard, but they’re not in the room. “We were advised that the woman not know anything until after we spoke with you, sir,” one of the men announces, answering my silent question.
“Jeremiah has taken Miss Collins back up to her room to retire for the evening,” Ernest announces.
“Shall we all go in my office, then?” I suggest.
They look at one another, but it’s Florence who speaks first. “There is more room here, Colton. They have scrolls and documents that they would like to show you.”
“Scrolls?” I ask.
They all nod eagerly as if they just simply cannot wait to get started. My needs will have to wait, apparently, because as badly as I need Birdie and her touch right now, these men are in no mood to wait even five minutes.
“Ernest, whiskey, please,” I growl.
He dips his chin, then quietly sneaks away and into the kitchen as the scholars prepare. I’m not sure what’s about to come, but I have a feeling that it is going to, yet again, blow my mind. I
