Making a Madam
Making a Madam
Delilah Devlin
Copyright © 2016 Delilah Devlin
Kindle Edition
Newly widowed Merry Winslow treks west to claim an unexpected inheritance. Upon arriving, she discovers she inherited a brothel! Rather than being dismayed, Merry’s intrigued, thinking it the perfect way to shed the shackles of propriety that have subdued her wild and impulsive nature. Only problem is, she needs to learn to manage her new business.
Nathan Boone is amused by Merry’s determination and knows the perfect way to begin her instruction. When he opens the peephole for Merry to peer inside as one of the brothel’s “soiled doves” pleasures a customer, he reveals the passion hidden beneath Merry’s “widow’s weeds”.
From the Author
To those of you who’ve read me before—hello, friends! To new readers, welcome to my world!
As you’ll discover, I tend to bounce around in different genres, from contemporary to historical to paranormal to sci-fi—all are very sexy, so be warned. I also write in many lengths from short story to full-length novel. If you can’t tell, I love to write. And when a story is fast, it’s short. If my characters need more pages, well, you get the picture.
I love hearing from readers and have a very active blog and Facebook friend page. I run contests, talk about my favorite TV shows, what I collect, what drives me crazy. I ramble a bit. I’m doing it right now. But if you’d like to learn more about me and what I’m doing or writing about, be sure to check out the “About Delilah Devlin” page after the story.
And if you enjoy this story, please consider leaving a review on your favorite retail site or simply tell a friend. Readers do influence other readers. We have to trust someone to tell us whether we’ll have fun when we open a new story!
Sincerely,
Delilah Devlin
Visit www.DelilahDevlin.com for more titles and release dates, and subscribe to Delilah’s newsletter at newsletter.
Table of Contents
Title Page
About the Book
From the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About Delilah Devlin
Cowboys on the Edge series
Chapter One
‡
Merry Winslow balled her hands into fists and stomped down the dusty planked sidewalk, forgetting every lesson in decorum she’d ever learned at Miss Peabody’s Finishing School or in Homer Winslow’s parlor.
Her aunt’s attorney had taken one look at her black widow’s weeds and decided, without ever taking her true measure, she was completely unsuited to the rough life in Cranston, Colorado.
She’d noted his slow perusal of her beaded lace veil, the gold watch pinned to her bosom, the sheen of her fine bombazine dress and polished leather half-boots—and the odious man immediately dismissed her as unworthy.
How could he have decided within two minutes of their meeting when her own husband hadn’t known until his mother pointed out all her faults?
Her posture was straight, her clothing immaculate. Had she somehow given him a clue of her unruly, impulsive nature?
When Mr. Regis’s gaze returned to her obscured face, a small obsequious smile curved beneath his thick reddish-brown moustache.
Before he even opened his mouth, Merry sucked in a deep breath, counting slowly, reaching into the verbal pit of venom Mother Winslow bequeathed her. However, she couldn’t think of a single caustic set down to put the man in his place.
Instead, she’d listened in silence like she always had to Constance Winslow. As the lawyer counted off all the reasons she ought to take one of the offers he presented, her face heated with outrage until, at last, her lamentable temper claimed her tongue.
What followed hadn’t been pretty. Mr. Regis staggered back into his creaking wooden chair, gaping as she towered over him and unleashed her fury.
Her anger blazed hot and quick and left her feeling strangely cleansed of self-doubt and guilt. Before this journey, she’d sold all of her husband’s possessions and her mother-in-law’s family heirlooms—had even given away their photographs as a means of purging their disappointment from her life. Yet, she hadn’t felt truly free until this moment.
Poor Mr. Regis received the brunt of her pent-up rage. His mouth opened and closed as he sputtered. His eyes bulged.
His expression reminded her of the little black fish she’d kept in a bowl on a table in her parlor. The only pet she’d been allowed to keep.
The attorney had been so shocked he hadn’t stirred at first when she’d turned on her heel, flung open his office door and headed south along the street, determined to see the property he’d tried so hard to “protect” her from.
He caught up to her just as she passed the sheriff’s office. “Miz Winslow, I assure you, the offers are fair,” he said, huffing as he skipped alongside her. “There’s no need to—”
“How dare you think me incapable of running my aunt’s emporium,” she bit out, keeping her voice low and heated. “Just because I’ve never worked outside my home doesn’t mean I can’t measure a pound of flour or a length of gingham.”
“There might have been a detail or two I left out of my explanations, ma’am,” he said. “Things I didn’t think a woman of your tender nature—”
She gave him a blistering glare and continued on her way, for once not paying the slightest attention to the people lining up behind the glass of the barber’s shop to gawk as she clomped past with Mr. Regis scurrying beside her.
At last, she caught a glimpse of a sign hung from the peaked roof of a rough wooden building—“Millie’s Emporium”—her inheritance from the aunt who’d generously provided for her education after her parents’ death. An aunt she’d never met or heard of until they’d passed.
She stared at the double swinging doors. “Now, how am I going to lock those? Am I expected to keep this establishment open all hours of the day and night?”
The interior beyond the top of the doors was too dim for her to see inside after the bright sunshine. With a quick move, she lifted her veil and paused to let her eyes adjust.
Fingers curled around her upper arm, but she shook them off. “Really, Mr. Regis, is this my property or not?”
His sickly smile gave her a first flicker of unease. Then sounds, muffled shouts and sharp cushioned explosions sounding rather like fists pounding bread dough, could be heard from inside the emporium.
Again, the lawyer reached out to pull her back.
She shot him another glare, and then from the corner of her eye saw something large hurtle through the swinging doors to crash at her feet.
“My word,” she murmured, peering down at the person who’d landed in a sprawl in front of her new establishment.
Before she could step back, a burly man wearing a towel tucked into his belt swung open one side of the doors and tossed a hat onto the man’s broad chest.
Merry paused to stare downward, her gaze taking in the homespun shirt washed to the color of mud, worn trousers, and scuffed boots. Had he filched jerky from the counter or insulted another patron?
Without giving her so much as a nod, the man rose on his elbows. “Dammit, Jake,” he bellowed, “I didn’t even get a chance to finish my drink.”
Her fascinated gaze swept the length of him, the dark hair that brushed his shoulders in ragged, curling waves, the tanned skin and harsh angles of his heavy brow and chin. A handsome man, no doubt, when he wasn’t dusting off a floor, but that wasn’t what made her stiffen, drawing her spine straight and her chin high.
Even from the ground she could smell the whiskey emanating from him.
She cast Mr. Regis a withering glance, sa
w him wilting against the hitching post, and turned to the doors, giving the burly man with the stained towel a look that had him quickly backing into the dark interior.
Merry pushed through the doors, never so satisfied when she heard the dull thud and coarse curse that sounded from the man on the ground behind her whom the door had struck.
She swept into her emporium, took in the long oaken bar with the array of liquor bottles stocked in the cupboards behind it, the numerous tables filled with men drinking from mismatched glasses—then raised her gaze to the sturdy set of stairs that rose to the second floor.
Shock took away her breath.
Women wearing corsets without a single shirt to hide their undergarments or the tops of their creamy bosoms leaned over the balustrade to gape downward.
All conversation halted as everyone turned toward her.
“Miz Winslow, come away from here,” Mr. Regis pleaded beside her.
“I own a saloon?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Yes, ma’am. D-didn’t quite know how to tell ya,” he stammered.
“The women…?”
“Work above stairs. Now, you understand why I tried to spare you.”
“I own a saloon?” she repeated stupidly, not quite taking it all in.
“Yes, ma’am.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from the top of his balding head. “Now, I know how this looks…”
“My aunt paid for my tuition, paid for my trousseau when I married, even offered a bit of dowry…”
“Miss Millie made a tidy sum from this place.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone in the territory knows about it. Yes, ma’am, she could afford to send you money.”
“I won’t be doling out licorice to children or chatting with the women when they bring their eggs to sell…” Merry swallowed hard.
“No ma’am. Fact is no decent woman around here will have a thing to do with you—you being the niece of Millicent Hannigan.”
Merry drew a deep breath. “She’s that reviled?”
“I’d prefer to say notorious. She may have owned a saloon, but she was good woman.”
“She’s notorious because of the saloon?”
“No, because of what happens above the saloon. Now, why don’t you come along back to my office and let me draw up those papers.”
Merry listened as he cajoled, but all the while her gaze flitted about her house of ill repute, wondering at the wickedness that must occur within its walls. The room seemed to grow quieter around her, the air thickened. She placed her hand against her tightening belly as her imagination painted lurid pictures of the nature of the wickedness that took place in the darkened rooms above the noisy barroom.
Only a woman of the lowest sort would even contemplate…
A slight, mewling groan passed her lips, because she was seriously considering the ramifications of owning such a place. Her reputation would be forever besmirched—beyond any hope of redemption. She’d be utterly ruined—
—and completely free.
Merry drew a deep breath, filling her nostrils with the sour aromas of whiskey, spilled beer, and stale sweat, and immediately felt giddy. All the resentment built up inside her over the years, as she’d tried her best to please her teacher and her husband’s mother, suddenly floated away.
“Mr. Regis, I won’t be selling this place,” she said softly.
“You won’t?” he asked, his eyes bulging. “You’re not one of them temperance women, are you? You’re not gonna burn the place down?”
“Of course not,” she said, with a breathless laugh. “My livelihood resides within these walls. Problem is, sir, I’m ill-equipped to take on such a responsibility all by myself.”
Relief seemed to pour off him, easing his tense features. He squared his shoulders. “You’ll be needing a manager then. Someone to run the place for you. You needn’t ever worry your little head—”
“I’m thinking I need a teacher,” she broke in. “Someone who can show me every aspect of this business.” Her mind made up, she gave the sweating man a direct look, the one Mother Winslow would have used on the coal man had she thought for a second he cheated her. “Those men—the ones who offered to buy my saloon—do you think any of them would be willing? For a price?”
The solicitor’s eyes widened. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. This isn’t Philadelphia. Working close to a man, day and night, when good women are scarce… Well, I wouldn’t recommend it.”
She arched one eyebrow. “I’m not asking for your advice. I’ve decided to stay and take the reins here.”
“But this is a rough town, and this place…um, it’s not fittin’ for a lady. In fact, I’m sure you don’t really understand what you’re asking.”
“I assure you I have an inkling,” she said, filling her voice with the same crisp starch she’d given him in his office. “If I’m going to run the most notorious place in the territory, I have a lot to learn.” She narrowed her gaze. “Give me a name, Regis. Arrange a meeting.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue more, but she lifted her chin, firming her lips. He shook his head slowly, but finally looked at her—at her—instead of her clothing or her gender. For the first time, his expression held not a single note of condescension.
“Arrange a meeting,” she repeated firmly.
A slow grin stretched his broad moustache. “Well, fact is, ma’am, you just met one of ’em. You stepped right over him coming in the door.”
Chapter Two
‡
The room was barely larger than a cupboard, the air inside stifling, or maybe it was just the woman sucking all the wind from his lungs. Nathan Boone stood so close her skirts billowed around his legs, dragging against his calves. Her sweet, flowery scent filled the small, cramped space, drawing him like a bee to honeysuckle blooms.
In the flickering candlelight, her plump lips glistened with moisture beneath the edge of her lacy veil as though she’d just licked them.
“Did Mr. Regis tell you what I want?” she whispered.
“He did,” he replied just as softly, trying his damnedest not to growl like a hungry bear too near a tempting honeycomb.
Calvin Regis had caught up with him at the hotel, just after he’d dunked his head in a basin of cool water in his room. Once he’d explained what Merry Winslow wanted, Nathan had been tempted to tell them both to go to hell. However, the fact she wanted him, even after the first impression he’d made, had him curious about the woman who thought she could fill Millie Hannigan’s shoes. So, he’d washed up, changed his clothes, and presented himself at Merry’s office door.
He hadn’t expected her to agree so readily to his suggestion about where they should start her education—perhaps she’d been unnerved admitting a man into a room that served as both her office and her bedroom.
“He told me you’d never accept my offer,” Merry Winslow said, “that you don’t need my money.”
“That’s the truth. I made a small fortune selling my claim to the Brewster Mining Company—and I haven’t accepted your offer yet.”
“He also said you’ve been spending your money freely in my saloon since the day you proved up your claim.”
“Isn’t much else to do around here,” he said, not feeling the least bit guilty about the lie. “As soon as you agree to sell it to me, I intend to invest in this establishment.”
Her lips crimped. “Are you going to use our time together to remind me endlessly of all the reasons why I’m not suited for this business?”
Her irritation amused him. Maybe there was more of Millie in the niece than she knew. The thought made his chest ache. He missed the older woman. She’d been the closest thing to a friend that he’d ever had. “I won’t waste my time talking to you, Miz Winslow,” he drawled.
No, he had other plans for her. The way she’d made Calvin shake in his boots and the straightness of her spine affected Nathan in a most peculiar way. His whole body felt enflamed each time her sharp-edged ton
gue cut him. He wanted to know whether it would soften when stroked by his.
“Still, you haven’t accepted my offer,” she reminded him.
“And you haven’t heard my counter offer yet.”
Her breath huffed out, and her small round chin lifted. “Is there a reason you insisted on negotiating inside a closet? And why we’re whispering?”
“Well, ma’am, this isn’t exactly a closet. I have something to show you. Although, I’m wondering why you agreed to meet me here…in the dark.”
“Not something a proper widow woman would do, is it?” she said, with a hint of defiance, her lips pouting slightly.
His gaze remained on those lush full lips. “Not that I have a lot of experience with your brand of womanhood, but it does strike me as odd.”
“You challenged me.” Her shrug lifted narrow, straight shoulders. “Maybe you thought I didn’t have the courage.”
His gaze came back up to her face. “I hoped you would.” Nathan wished he could see through the damn veil. Her eyes would tell him exactly what she was thinking—although her lips and posture had already told him an awful lot about the woman who’d caught his attention with her breathless, “My word,” when he’d landed at her feet earlier that day.
At the time, her words and the tilt of her head had betrayed a tantalizing curiosity rather than shock. Her reaction had stirred an attraction he hadn’t been able to shake.
“So what’s your counter to my offer, Mr. Boone?”
Her prim words seemed at odds with the deepening slide of her voice. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth upward when he realized his enjoyment of their conversation wasn’t one-sided. “I’ll teach you what you need to know about this business, but only if you agree to follow my instruction, without hesitation.”
“And if I balk?”
“Then you have to agree to sell me this fine establishment for the price I’ve already offered.”