Wild Star by Catherine Coulter

small table.
    “Sit down, Mrs. Butler. Surely you don’t wish to make a scene. I’m fairly certain that many of the passengers know your husband. What would he say, I wonder?”
    There was truth in what he said. She eased back into her chair. He could do nothing to her here, nothing at all. She would simply endure until he tired of baiting her.
    “That’s better. Tell me, Byrony, does your husband please you in bed? Did it concern him that you came to him a soiled dove? Or did you deceive him and scream at the appropriate time? Perhaps a bit of fake blood?”
    Her eyes widened. He wanted to shake her. Guileless-ness, the mark of a good actress. Her eyes fell to her lap, and he saw a flush of anger, pain, he didn’t know which, color her cheeks.
    “Ah, I see your show of ignorance didn’t last long.”
    No, she thought numbly, I know what you’re talking about. My dear father told me the same thing. I have to get control of myself. He can’t hurt me, not here. Not anywhere. Soon I’ll be free of him. That brought an unaccountable pain, and she blinked.
    “Mr. Hammond, who is the duchess? And what does she have to do with a house next to your saloon?”
    He looked startled, then threw his head back and laughed deeply. “My dear, you have been listening when you shouldn’t.”
    “I thought perhaps that she was your mistress.”
    He laughed all the harder. “No, she’s not my mistress, she’s my business partner. Her name is Maggie, and wonder of wonders, she is an honest woman. Diogenes would have been thrilled had he run across her. As for her house it is a brothel. The duchess is a madam, one of San Francisco’s finest. Belle Cora and Ah Choy don’t touch her in terms of the beauty and skill of her girls.”
    “A brothel,” she repeated numbly.
    “Yes, I’m sure you know what that is. A place where men pay to be pleasured. Her house of pleasure connects to my saloon. The two businesses, side by side, complement each other, as I’m sure you can imagine. A man wins, he wants to celebrate. A man loses, he wants to bury his sorrows, and what better place than in a woman’s warm body?”
    Byrony couldn’t believe he was speaking of a brothel and what men did so matter-of-factly. She could think of nothing to put him in his place. He would only laugh if she told him the truth. She’d already told him the truth and he hadn’t believed her. All her life, she’d been protected. It was her father had made her feel dirty.
    “Perhaps,” Brent continued in a lazy drawl when she continued silent, “you will want to visit Maggie. On the sly, of course. A woman who marries an older man for his money rarely stays content for long. A rich husband need only enjoy his purchase; he need have no qualms about not satisfying a lusty little wife. As I said last night, Mrs. Butler, when you tire of the charade, I might consider bedding you. Only, let me be the first. I don’t want to be too far down the list of your lovers.”
    She’d tried not to listen to him, but couldn’t help herself. She supposed dispassionately that most men were like him, like her father. Only Ira was different. She rose very slowly and smiled down at him. “Mr. Hammond, are you quite through, now?”
    “No, I still have to bare your bottom.”
    “I believe you are through, sir. My husband is a very kind man, a gentleman. He is, as a matter of fact, the only kind man I’ve ever known. I told you once that there was no meanness in you. Obviously I was wrong, quite wrong. Good-bye, sir.”
    She turned on her heel, pausing abruptly when he said, “When is the child due?”
    She slowly turned back to face him, her face drained of color. “What do you know of that?”
    “I asked,” he said, his voice as cold as a winter night. And the truth was on her face. “It seems that you and your sister-in-law are going to be staying for some months in Sacramento. Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Butler, I won’t spread it about that the bedding preceded the