Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

“Before you go, have a brandy with me in the library,” Del said.

“That sounds like I’m not invited,” Chauncey said.

“No, love, not this time. I need to calm my weak man’s nerves. Come on, Saint.”

Over delicious French brandy Del said in a pensive voice, “I heard the strangest thing just this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It appears that someone rescued a very pretty girl last night from the Crooked House.”

“Good for that someone,” Saint said in a bland voice.

“I agree. It’s just that someone is probably in a very precarious position now.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Saint said easily.

“I met Jameson Wilkes some two years ago,” Del continued. “He is not a nice man, which is an understatement. Evidently, according to my source, he’s on a rampage. One can but hope that the someone who rescued the girl can trust all the men who helped him. If one of them spills the beans, there’d be trouble, real trouble.”

“It sounds like one of them already spilled the beans,” Saint said, looking at his friend closely.

“No,” Del said. “I discovered what happened from Maggie. It turns out that one of the members of that little club at the Crooked House showed up at her brothel late last night. He told one of her girls, Lisette, what had happened, and she told Maggie.”

“And Maggie told you. So now Lisette, Maggie, and you know.”

“That’s right. You may be certain that Lisette and Maggie won’t say a word.”

“That’s a relief, certainly,” Saint said.

“I’m here if you need help, Saint.”

Saint met Del’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ve got to go now.” He turned at the doorway. “How did Lisette and Maggie know the someone was me, if I may ask?”

“Size.”

“Ah.”

“Well, not just size. Maggie guessed because she knows how you feel about enforced prostitution.”

“Let’s hope no one else guesses.”

There was no real choice, Saint knew. He had to get her back to Maui as soon as possible, for her own safety.

He said as much to her that evening over dinner. She was wearing a simple gray gown that Lydia had bought for her, and her glorious hair was pulled back from her face and tied with a black ribbon. She looked fresh and beautiful.

She didn’t look like a fourteen-year-old girl.

He saw her bucking and writhing in his arms, her face pagan with pleasure. He felt the softness of her, the moist swollen woman’s flesh. I’ve got to stop this, he told himself. But he wondered if her husband, that mythical man whose face and name he never wanted to know, would pleasure her as he had, revel in her pleasure as he had despite his best intentions.

“I don’t want to go back there,” Jules said calmly after a long moment of silence. She laid down her fork. Lydia had already returned to her boardinghouse and they were alone. “I want to stay here, with you.”

That took him aback. “Jules,” he said, “your parents must be frantic about you—”

“My parents believe me dead, drowned.”

“Then their grief will cease shortly. It’s your home. It’s your life, it’s—”

“I don’t like my parents,” she said, a stubborn lift to her chin. “Certainly you remember my father. He is just more so now. My mother is still fading like a wilted plumeria, my sister, Sarah, is such a prig, and she’s become more and more insufferable and snobbish.”