Three
“She’s practically making love to that damned cream puff,” Apollo muttered to no one in particular as he observed Aurora Montalban devour a mountain of pastries with a single-minded passion that was nothing short of pornographic.
The muscles in his neck spasmed as she delicately picked off some of the cream from the pastry with the tip of her tongue. In hindsight, knowing what he did about the doctor’s appetites and the effect their display had on him, he should’ve thought the gesture through. “She’s a bloody public menace with an éclair in her hands.”
He was quite transfixed by Aurora Montalban’s appetites. The way she ate, drank, worked…the way she demanded pleasure, all of it with such vigor. He wondered how no one else noticed that the forbidding Doctora Montalban was a secret hedonist.
“Are you drooling, brother?” His sibling’s irritating laugh forced him to tear his gaze off her for a second.
“Why are you bothering me?” he growled, prompting another amused laugh from Evan. “Aren’t you supposed to be chasing after your wife’s skirts?”
As expected, his brother did not take his bait. On the con trary, Evan seemed to relish any references to his utter infatuation with his wife. While other men might bristle at the implication that their woman had them wrapped around their fingers, Evan relished it.
“My wife.” His brother loved saying those words, my wife . Like there was no higher cause a man could hope to achieve than that of being someone’s husband. “She stopped in to see Seynabou, she’ll be here shortly.” Evan’s beloved had inherited a stake in her family’s rum distillery in the Dominican Republic and, in the months since she’d arrived in Europe, had made impressive inroads to offer her spirits in quite a few markets. Now she was looking to fill every pleasure palace in the continent with it. “I came looking for you, Sédar is waiting for us.” Watching Aurora tongue the cream off a bit of pastry blasted any thoughts of business dealings right out of his mind.
“Sédar is here all night. He can wait for ten damned minutes.” Evan raised both eyebrows at his tone, which only made Apollo more cross. This woman made him volatile.
“I thought you’d be happy she’s enjoying what you sent her.”
“Who said it was for her? Maybe I wanted to do something nice for Cora.” Evan scoffed at the blatant lie, while Apollo practically choked on his tongue at the sight of Aurora using hers liberally over a bit of frosting. “Besides, she’d come and throw it all in my face if she knew it was from me.”
“She probably would,” his brother agreed with a knowing grin. Aurora Montalban’s disdain of Apollo was no secret. Which made the one they shared even more delicious. Because she might despise him, but she wanted him.
“I still can’t believe she’s working here,” he mused as he watched her. Aurora’s first time at Le Bureau was the stuff of legends, when she’d accidentally entered a live fellatio demonstration and practically fainted from horror. He knew that was not the only side to Aurora Montalban. There was also the woman who’d come to his apartment in the dead of night asking assistance in her sexual rebellion. But she’d always been cautious about not doing anything that could impact her professional reputation. Working as a brothel physician was not exactly the most respectable of occupations. “She used to be more careful.”
Evan was quiet for a long time, which told Apollo there was something he was reluctant to say about his wife’s friend.
“From what Luz tells me these days, she can’t afford being too careful.” How could the heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in Mexico not afford to stay out of Parisian brothels?
Was that the reason she’d come to him that night? Had she been disowned? Cut off?
Aurora didn’t seem the type to be reckless with money. He gave her clothes a look and frowned. They were as shabby as always and seemed to hang off her, even more ill-fitting than usual. There were also dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping. Was she in trouble? He turned to his brother again, tempted to push him for more information. He could probably get it out of Evan if he prodded, but he’d had enough of cowering behind columns.
“Excuse me, brother.” He didn’t wait for Evan to answer, his feet carrying him to where she sat. She was so distracted with her pastries, she didn’t notice him until he was right in front of her.
“Annan.” She spoke around a bite of éclair, with a gloved hand over her mouth. But he could still see a tiny spot of cream on her bottom lip he desperately wanted to lick off. He was transfixed by her damned gloves, and he was not ashamed to admit he’d lain awake imagining himself sliding them off with his teeth while she whispered utterly depraved things in his ears. He was so caught up in the fantasy, he almost missed her insult. “Did you knock out some poor unsuspecting woman with your excessive use of cologne and need me to revive her?”
If he’d had a drink, he would’ve spit it out. She was so deliciously vicious. She fixed him with one of those icy looks she favored in his presence and turned that button nose up at him. He didn’t know where to look first. The chocolate bonbon eyes that burned like embers. The sweetly curved cheeks, the pugnaciously pointed chin.
“I’ve come to offer my aid in finding you a less depressing wardrobe.” He made a point of looking at the cuff of her shirt, which was missing a button.
“How generous of you,” she sneered in between bites of food. “If I ever decide to dress like an out-of-work court jester, you’ll be the first person I call on.” Her undisguised vitriol felt like a fresh breeze after weeks of dreadfully boring conversations about fossils and English rainfall. The way his pulse raced, it might as well be foreplay.
“You say such sweet things,” he told her in response, before pulling up a chair and sitting down. He noticed that despite her claim about his appearance, her eyes seemed to be taking stock of his person in minute detail.
“I did not invite you to sit down.” She shot him another one of those dirty looks which stirred him up to a frenzy and gave a dismissive wave of her fingers. “I’m waiting for someone.” That he did not like.
“Very naughty, Doctora. If you needed a tumble, you merely had to say.”
“I’ve already partaken,” she said, with a yawn, then flashed those white teeth in his direction. “The profiteroles are much more satisfying.” If she only knew what her insults did to him, she’d truly be furious.
“I can see that from the way you were lapping up the cream from that éclair.” He made a point of lingering a moment too long on that spot on her lip. “Incidentally it brings to mind another kind of cre—”
She let out a horrified little cry that ran right through his bloodstream. “You’re disgusting. Is sex the only thing you think about?” She was livid, but not quite enough to keep from staring at his mouth.
“We are in a brothel.” She growled, baring a row of white teeth at him and brought her plate closer, as if concerned it would become contaminated with all the sexual innuendo.
“You’re quite fetching when you growl, you know,” he whispered, pulling his chair close enough to hers that the tips of their boots kissed. “Now that I think about it, when was the last time I heard you growl?” He tapped the table with two fingers while she glared at him. “Oh, that’s right, it was when I—Ow! Dammit, Aurora,” he cried out, rubbing the spot on his arm where she’d pinched him.
“We agreed not to speak about that night, you cretin.” She bit out the words, pointing at him with a gloved finger. He hadn’t intended to, but she was so damned prickly. One of the things no one told him about this new title was that even the people who hated him would never contradict him anymore. His brother did, his aunt, but there were days when he felt like Apollo didn’t exist anymore, just the Duke of Annan. Aurora’s utter disregard for his feelings—never mind his title—transfixed him.
“My apologies,” he finally conceded, reaching for a frosted pastry, but she caught his wrist.
“I will pinch you again,” she warned him, before finishing the bun in her other hand in two ferocious bites. “Now, go away, I’m busy.”
“Busy with what exactly? You can’t be working at one in the morning.” He didn’t expect her to take his prying well, and she did not disappoint.
“I don’t know how to say this without offending, but there is nothing that is less your business than mine, Your Grace.”
“I just thought an heiress so mindful of her social standing would be more careful, that’s all.” She sent him a scathing look while she licked sugar off her leather gloves. If she kept at that, there was a high probability he’d disgrace himself in this room full of people.
“I thought all new dukes were supposed to be getting indoctrinated in exploiting the poor and stealing with impunity, but here you are.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand.
“That’s uncalled for.” He pretended to be offended, but she was utterly unmoved.
“What’s uncalled for is your attempt to question my presence here when you’re doing the exact same thing.” He opened his mouth to say that, unlike her, he was not an employee, but she held up a finger and pointed it right at his face, in warning. “If you utter the words I’m a man , I will commit violence on your person.”
“I would not dream of it,” he said in as conciliatory a tone as he could manage, putting a hand to his chest. Which she regarded mutinously. “I rather enjoy thinking of you engaging in unladylike activities.”
“I’m warning you, Annan.” She threatened him with a very small fork.
“Is that the way you thank me for sending you trays of your favorite treats?” Immediately she narrowed her eyes, then lowered them to her plate with a regretful expression that had him very close to laughing out loud.
“Mentiroso,” she finally bit out. “Besides, how would you know what I like?”
“I’m not lying.” He ought to scrub the smugness out of his voice, if he didn’t want to lose an eye to that tiny fork, but he could not control himself with her. “Besides, you told me yourself.” He was violating the promise of not bringing up their night together, but how else would he know.
If it were an éclair or a canelé, perhaps I’d be tempted.
That was what she’d told him that night when he offered her chocolates. The profiteroles had been pure indulgence on his part, as well as a secret hope that she’d lick some chocolate off her lips.
For a few moments of taut silence, she glared at the remaining treats before finally looking up at him.
“If it’s true—” she clearly didn’t quite believe him “—thank you.” She expelled the words from her mouth with the sweetness of a viper. Heat stirred in him at the absolute noxious glare she sent him.
“You’re welcome, Fiera.” As expected, the color rose in her cheeks, a flush of pink making those delicious freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks stand out.
“I don’t like that nickname.” She ground out each word like she was attempting to curse him and his progeny for generations to come.
“You’ve forbidden me from calling you Bella Doctora too.”
“Then, call me Doctora Montalban.” She waved away whatever she saw on his face, then surprised him with her next question. “So, what is it that you intend to do with your duchy, besides find some dollar princess with a fat dowry? Get richer? Hoard more resources?” He had come to poke at her, and turnabout was fair play.
“Don’t go easy on me because I brought you treats,” he said acidly, which earned him the first real smile from her that evening. She had not been kind in her questions, but they weren’t unfair either. “And did I detect a hint of jealousy regarding my hunt for a bride?” She actually snorted, as if the notion itself were beyond ridiculous. He retaliated by stealing a canelé from her plate, which he popped into his mouth.
“Get your own!” she protested, sliding the plate far from his reach. “And don’t avoid my question.”
“I don’t quite have an answer,” he heard himself confess. “I’m still figuring that out. I never thought I’d actually be in a position to consider what manner of duke I’d be.” Seeking revenge on his father had always seemed like a mission one didn’t return from. And even if he’d considered that success was actually attainable, he’d never expected to become duke so fast.
Once he saw for himself the state his father had left things in, he wondered if the bastard was laughing at him in hell. He’d spent weeks visiting tenants who were living in deplorable conditions. Hundreds of people under their care who had been left to their own devices while the duke kept his second wife in diamonds and Worth gowns. Evan had tried, but he didn’t have the means to fix every problem. Apollo wasn’t quite sure how he would.
“To be fair to you, I don’t imagine any of the dukes in your line ever gave it much thought either,” she said, not unkindly.
“I’d like to think I can do better than that.” He tried not to get his hackles up when she made a skeptical sound.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I need alliances. I need leverage.”
“I assume the House of Lords is of no use,” she said with unsurprising perspicuity.
“You assume correctly,” he sighed. His peers were quite useless in fact. The ones who were not actively trying to boot him, like Ackworth, were either lukewarm about his presence or so financially desperate their support scarcely mattered. He had some friends, but they were not enough to grant him the leverage he needed to actually have influence in the Lords. “And the white burghers who do have influence and solvency are not exactly rushing to form alliances with a Black duke.”
“So boring and predictable.” He liked her sharp tongue, and despite her disapproval of his position, it was a relief to speak frankly on this without being bombarded with a barrage of platitudes. Aurora Montalban had no interest in putting him at ease.
“Then you need to look for other powerful friends to ally yourself with.” He raised an eyebrow at this, because it was exactly what he’d been thinking since he arrived in Paris. “You can’t allow these pilferers to rob you of your senses, Apollo.” Every time she said his name, even in obvious rebuke, his entire body seemed to catch fire from within.
“I’m pretty certain my senses are still in place,” he told her, trying very hard not to smile at her zesty expression. She turned in her seat, so that they were facing each other, her lovely heart-shaped face glowing like bronze in the gaslight.
“Are you not a Black man who owns a respectable amount of the coffee in Colombia?”
“I am.” Or he had been. He’d dissolved a lot of those holdings now.
“My father is one too, a direct descendant from Mexico’s first president, also a Black man.” It was the first time he’d heard her speak of her father and she did so almost with reluctant pride. As if she was not certain if she liked the man yet could not help but feel pride for his accomplishments. “The Brits may have sold us the story that the sun never sets on their empire of thievery and rape, but we don’t have to believe it.”
“I don’t,” he protested, but she had more to say.
“This isn’t our world, you and I know there is a lot of power out there that doesn’t belong to the couple of hundred men in that house you now belong to. A lot of those who wield it are in Paris right now.”
He knew that, in fact half of them were already invited to his villa in Nice as part of his aunt’s scheme to find him a wife. Apollo thought of the businessmen, heads of state, scientists, inventors he’d met at the exposition. Many of them from the Americas, South Pacific, Asia, Africa, the Middle East. Hell, a significant number of the most powerful men in the Americas would be in Paris until the end of the fall. She was right, he could use those connections for business.
“That’s good advice,” he admitted, bowing his head.
She rolled her eyes at the compliment, primly dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, then turned to face him. “How hard is it to throw a party? Isn’t that most of your job as a duke?”
He wanted to lean down and bite that sneering lip. “Among other things,” he acquisesced with a shake of his head.
“Excellent.” She flecked the crumbs off her skirt and pushed her plate aside with a flourish. “Now that I’ve given you a task, I’d like for you to leave.” She made a shooing motion in his direction. “My friend will be here any minute, and I don’t want him thinking we know each other.” That he did not like at all, but he knew he had to proceed with caution.
“Who is this suitor you’re waiting for? I won’t divulge your secret, I promise.”
“I’m not here for an assignation.” She didn’t look at him, focusing her attention on gulping down a glass of lemonade. Her throat moved as she drank thirstily, and Apollo could not tear his eyes off her.
“But we were having such a lovely conversation.”
“Fine,” she huffed, standing up when he didn’t immediately move, and, with an air of dignified outrage, plucked up the remaining pastries on the table, placed them delicately on a linen napkin, which she promptly shoved into that horrendous Gladstone bag she took everywhere. “I’ll go, then. He’s here anyway.” She pointed a gloved hand at a slender man with dark brown skin and a Byronic air that instantly annoyed Apollo. This man could not handle his Fiera. She’d gobble him up like she had those buns.
“I’d like to meet your associate.” He also stood and for a second, he wondered if she was going to try and shove him away. Despite her being a good foot shorter than him, he had to admit he liked her chances. She was that fierce.
“Abelardo is very shy, and your gigantic size will scare him,” she whispered, as she sent the man a smile and beckoned him over.
“I promise to be polite. Besides, we’re practically related. It’s my duty to make sure you’re not mixing with the wrong sort of man.” He grinned shamelessly when she sent him another of those icy looks.
She took a step toward him. “For the last time, he’s not a suitor. He’s a colleague.” She stomped her minuscule kid leather boot on the floor. Which only brought to mind the shapely legs she kept so well hidden. “I have a patient waiting and Abelardo’s escorting me to the appointment.”
The outrage came upon him like a wave. Had she really said she was going to see a patient? It was past one in the morning.
“You can’t be serious, it’s the middle of the night.” He tried to keep his voice level, but the cool indifference he’d relied on his entire life seemed particularly fleeting when it came to Aurora Montalban.
She hefted that ugly leather bag and skirted around him. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, sir.” He had the most overwhelming urge to put her over his shoulders and drag her to a dark corner where they could really unleash whatever was brewing between them.
“Aurora, there you are.” Abelardo sounded like a happy enough fellow and didn’t seem particularly lecherous, but Apollo did not like the sight of the man’s hands on the doctor’s shoulder.
“Abe, thank you for coming.” She was all smiles now as she offered her cheek for a kiss. What was this familiarity? He’d been seen by doctors all his life, and he’d never known them to smile or cluck around, patting people on the arm.
“Won’t you introduce us, Doctora?” There was no helping the menace in his voice. He was tired and he did not feel like exercising restraint. Abelardo at least had a good sense for danger, because the moment he saw Apollo, he took a full step away from Aurora.
Excellent. “Abe” might get to his bed with all his fingers still attached.
“I’m sorry.” Apollo reconsidered his assessment of the man’s instincts when he extended a hand. “I’m Abelardo Bona.”
“A pleasure,” Apollo said, applying enough force to the handshake to get his message across. “Duke of Annan.” The man paled upon hearing the title. Aurora made a face of disgust, then pulled Apollo’s hand away.
“Stop that, you’re hurting him.” Instead of continuing to yell at him, she turned to Abelardo with an apologetic expression.
“Abe, could you wait for me by the entrance downstairs? I left something in the women’s surgery I must retrieve before we leave.” To Apollo, she sent a very hostile look. “You, behave.”
With that, she took her leave. Abelardo, the poor sod, actually attempted to engage him in conversation instead of heeding her warning.
“Is this your first time here, Your Grace?”
“Abelardo, are you a gambling man?” he asked, to which the other man reacted with a nonplussed expression.
“Not particularly,” he answered, pushing a pair of spectacles up his nose. “I do play dominoes occasionally, but mostly with my—”
“What do you think are the odds of you getting lost between here and your meeting place with Doctora Montalban?”
“Lost?” Abelardo looked around wildly, and Apollo should’ve felt bad for the man. He didn’t.
“This is a big building, and one could get turned around easily,” he said pointedly at a confused Abelardo.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll escort her to where she’s going.”
His view on Abelardo improved when the smaller man shook his head. “With all due respect, Your Grace, Aurora’s my friend, and I don’t know what your intentions are with her.”
“Are you implying a duke could be capable of hurting a woman in his care?”
The doctor squared his shoulders and pursed his mouth mutinously. “I’m implying that the fact you are a duke makes me think you almost certainly will.” Apollo thought he might even come to like the man.
“Annan, take your hands off the poor man.” Abelardo slumped in relief under Apollo’s clutches as Manuela and Cora sauntered up to them.
“I was just explaining to my new friend here that I would be glad to assume the responsibility of escorting Doctora Montalban to see her patient.” Manuela nodded slowly, while Cora perked up in a very worrisome manner.
“That’s an interesting offer, Annan.” Cora spoke in her usual bored manner, but her eyes were the very opposite of apathetic.
“It’s the least I could do. The doctora and I are family, after all.”
Abelardo frowned again, likely remembering the barrage of nonfamilial threats Aurora had tossed at him before leaving.
“Family?” Manuela asked dubiously.
“She’s grown quite attached to me.” He had a hard time keeping a straight face for that last one.
“He’s a jackass,” Cora said, turning to a now fully befuddled Abelardo. “But he,” she continued, then seemed to re consider, “or more likely, his man Jean-Louis, will make sure she gets there safely.”
“If you’re sure,” Abelardo said dubiously.
Cora shook her head, as if this was all beyond what her patience could handle this late in the evening. “She’ll be if not in ‘good’ hands, at least in hands capable of decimating any villain she encounters on the way.”
That and the arrival of Cora’s stepson, who Abelardo was quite giddy to see, seemed to settle matters, and mere minutes later, Apollo arrived at the meeting point right outside the brothel. Aurora was already there, holding that blasted Gladstone in one hand and some kind of metal canister in the other.
The moment she saw him, she let out a curse in Spanish that had him biting his lip.
“Language, Doctora, this is a respectable establishment.”
She snapped her teeth and hiked up that metal canister menacingly. “What did you do with my friend?”
“Doctor Bona sends his regrets,” he informed her, sliding both hands into his trouser pockets.
“You bastard,” she spit out, as she waved that big metal can in the air. “Do not follow me.” She turned on her heels and loped down the sidewalk like a very furious, and adorably mussed, medical fairy.
“Wait for me, Fiera,” he called out, but she only walked faster.
“Don’t call me that,” she shouted over her shoulder, lifting the canister over her head for emphasis. Even with his significant height advantage, he had to pick up his pace to keep up with her. The little diabla was quick, and before he knew it, she had a few hundred yards on him.
“Demonios, mujer!” he called out to her in Spanish, but she ignored that too. He had to break into a run to catch her, and almost lost an eye for his trouble.