A group of older women sitting on a stoop had ignored him, smoking their pipes and chatting—until he'd flashed the diamond ring he'd brought with him in case Madeleine proved…averse. When he revealed his plans to wed her, the women couldn't seem to direct him to this building swiftly enough, and they only asked that Ethan remember their names so that Maddy would "passez le gras," or "pass the fat"—give a kickback to the ones who'd assisted in securing her good fortune.

As Ethan waited, he mused that Madeleine might actually be persuaded to come with him. Even after she saw his face. Surely she'd be desperate to leave this place any way she could.

Madeleine Van Rowen beholden to me.He liked that idea—

Ethan tensed when he spotted the door to her building opening. A tall, gray-haired woman with a bucket emerged from the dark interior. She strode around the drunken men fixed on the stoop, seeming not to notice them, then made for a pump not a block away.

The door was easing closed behind her. Fearing Madeleine might have warned others about a tall Scot, he dashed for the entry, then slipped through the doorway. Inside, he made for the pitch-black stairwell, forced to use the rope banister as he climbed blindly. The steps were unsound, the corridor so tight he had to sidle up.

What if she was indeed upstairs? He could see her in mere seconds….

As he alighted on the sixth-floor landing a board groaned beneath him, and a blowsy woman shot out of her room—a whore, by the look of her heavily painted cheeks and lips. A glance behind her confirmed Ethan's guess. In a haze of cigarette smoke, a man lay tied to her bed and blindfolded, turning his head dumbly at different sounds.

Ten minutes in this neighborhood—not to mention in Madeleine's home—had certainly answered Ethan's question about how the lass had learned to fondle him so well. She must see men serviced hourly.

"I'm looking for Madeleine Van Rowen," he told the woman.

"And who are you?" she asked, blinking.

Good, she spoke English. Ethan could speak French but preferred not to, outside of penalty of death.

"Are you the man from London?"

Had Madeleine spoken of him? If so, he couldn't imagine what she'd said. Still, he took a chance. "Aye."

"Which one? The first one or the second?" At his nonplussed look, she said, "The Englishman or the Scot?"

Madeleine must have been talking about Quin. Still thinking about that bastard. "The…Scot."

She shut the door behind her, ignoring the man's protests, then clasped her hands, her mien delighted. "Maddée told Corrine and me all about you! The masquerade,n'est-ce pas ?" She wagged her finger at him. "You weretrès mauvais to our Maddée. But here you've come for her at last!"

Madeleine told her friends all about me?He couldn't imagine what she'd said, or what, in particular, they had deemedtrès mauvais .

She leaned in and said in a conspiratorial tone, "You're just in time, too, with the debts coming due."What debts? "I'mBea ." Bea was simple, he realized. Kind, but simple. "I'm one of Maddée's good friends."

"Aye, Bea." He feigned a look of recognition. "I've heard much about you."

She patted her hair, pleased. Then she frowned and pointed directly at his face. "Maddée didn't say you were battle-scarred. From the Crimean War, yes?"

"No, no' exactly—" He broke off because she'd already shrugged and turned to another apartment door.

"Maddée's not here just now—out working." She dug in her blouse for a ribbon around her neck with keys strung together. "But I'll let you into her room to wait."

"Perhaps you could direct me to her place of employment?"

"Who can keep up with her? The bridge or the corner. Different taverns and cafés. Who knows?"

He felt his face tighten. "And what exactly does she do?" In the nearly seven weeks since he'd been with her, she'd become destitute. Who knew if she'd succumbed to her neighbor's profession?

At his expression, Bea cried, "Oh, no, Maddée serves drinks or occasionally sells cigarettes." She proudly added, "Turkishones." Then in a chiding tone, she said, "Our Maddée's a good girl. Notpopular in that way at all."

"Of course," he said smoothly, relieved. "I just doona like that she has to work."

Bea's eyes lit up. "Exactement!" she exclaimed, bustling to open the door. "So, here is her room." She smiled widely as she showed him in.

Ethan drew his head back, stunned by the interior.

"Amazing,n'est-ce pas ?" Bea was right to be proud. Though Madeleine's apartment was basically part of an attic room—the ceiling was slanted until he could barely stand up straight even at the apex, and beams crisscrossed overhead—Madeleine had made it into a fantastical space.

The top floor of an old mansion like this would have been used for servants' quarters or possibly a schoolroom, and there were remnants of the mansion's former glory—elaborate gilt and wainscoting decorated the long, narrow space. Above the wainscoting along the more damaged wall, she'd pasted colorful posters.

Two large windows dominated her bedroom area and were framed by red drapes and fronted by a small balcony outside. Glancing out, he found that she had an unimpeded view of Montmartre. On her balcony, plants grew in profusion and wooden wind chimes clanked.

"Maddée loves to sit out there."

He nodded, then said, "Do you no' need to get back to your…friend?"

"He is not going anywhere," she said, stating the obvious with an insouciant wave. "Well, go on, open up."

Ethan unlatched one of the windows, swinging it wide. An unseasonably warm breeze blew, and the chimes began tolling, the curtains fluttering. A black cat leapt inside from the balcony, pawed at Ethan's trousers, then wound around his legs. "Her pet?"

"Non, she cannot feed Chat Noir. He doesn't often take to people like this. This is a good sign."

Ethan shrugged. Considering how people universally disliked him, the fact that some animals took to him always surprised him. Indeed, beasties seemed to either love him or hate him.

Turning his attention back to Madeleine's home, he crossed to the second of the two windows. When he found a bucket hanging beside it, he realized Madeleinedidn't haul water and supplies up those rickety stairs. She pulled them up, and easily too—with two pulleys working in tandem to lighten the load.Clever girl.

Past the second window, a velvet curtain cordoned off a ridiculously small wooden tub—but then, she didn't have to fold six and a half feet of body inside it. Atop a simple plank bed was a bedspread, intricately sewn together of rich-looking materials, yet wearing thin.

He'd suspected that perhaps Sylvie had thrown Madeleine out after they'd lost the count. But Ethan felt a sense of permanence here—this was Madeleine's home and had been for some time.

Though pleasing now in the warm afternoon sun, her apartment would prove a hell to heat in the winter. The roof undoubtedly leaked, and many of the panes in the windows were cracked or missing, replaced with thin cloth. Artistic flare wouldn't keep her warm in the coming months.

Another thing he noticed—though she had a stove and kettle, there wasn't a scrap of food but for a single shining apple.

An unfamiliar, heavy feeling constricted his chest. No wonder she'd had that air of weariness about her, one of the tantalizing things that had first drawn him to her. And no wonder she'd been hunting for a rich husband. But why would she endure this destitution for so long when she had a wealthy parent and even wealthier friends?

"Why doesn't she live with her mother?"

Bea blinked again. "She did not tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

From the stairwell, a woman called up, "Bea! Is that you?"

"Oui!" she yelled near Ethan's ear."C'est moi!"

"The drunks said a man slipped in—is he one of your regulars?"

"Non! I saw no one." To him, Bea whispered, "I have to go now! Corrine would be very upset to know you are here." She sighed. "But then, she does not understandl'amour as I do."

In a low tone, Ethan said, "When will Maddy return?"

"I could not say. Best make yourself comfortable. Knock across the hall if you need anything." With that, she left him.

Alone, but for the cat weaving around him, Ethan searched through Madeleine's meager belongings. She had a few dresses, all of them frayed, yet bold in color and design, with a modern look to them. He didn't find clothing fitting for London, but she'd probably already sold that wardrobe. Had she given up the blue gown she'd worn that night with him?

In her chest of drawers—which only boasted two of the four possible drawers—her wee underthings were meticulously folded and overly mended.

He uncovered a stash of contraband in a hollow under a loosened windowsill. Inside, a silk handkerchief enfolded two silver engraved money clips, which she would no doubt have melted down after a waiting period. Also inside was a betting book, and her personal tally had more pluses than minuses. Stacked neatly by the book were coupons for coal and fruits—purchased this last June.

Fascinating.She was a thief, a gambler, and someone who bought discounted coupons in the summer for goods that grew dear in the winter.

After he replaced her belongings, he spied a milk crate beside her bed. Atop it lay fashion periodicals—Le Moniteurde la ModeandLes Modes Parisiennes —and a book,The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter: Scenes de la Vie de Bohème.He frowned, recalling that he'd heard of that book. It contained sketches of "Bohemians," poor artists, as they went about procuring food, drink, and sex. Did Madeleine consider herself one of those artistic garret types? She definitely had talent to have transformed this place.