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While nowhere as big as Noah, they were still twice her size.

She didn’t stand a chance against one of them, let alone both at once, but when they approached, Rowie still resisted.

When the first one reached for her, she ducked and punched him squarely in the groin.

He bent double and dropped to his knees, his moan of pain most satisfying.

But she didn’t celebrate her small victory with the second one to deal with.

He made a grab for her, ready to block a similar maneuver, but she twisted out of the way and brought the heel of her hand up hard into his nose. He staggered back with blood spurting between his fingers.

With Heloise’s henchmen temporarily incapacitated, Rowie ran for the door. The only thing remaining between her and freedom—from her bedroom prison, at least—was the madam herself. The rest she’d figure out when she got into the hall.

“Stop her, you ham-handed oafs,”Heloise shrieked yet again.

“Are you going to let a mere slip of a girl best you?” The brothel owner was bigger, but Rowie had youth and determination on her side and planned to go through her if necessary.

Lowering one shoulder, she plowed into the madam who, with an oomph, staggered backward, allowing her to sail out the door.

As she turned toward the back stairs by her room, she smelled the sweet scent of freedom, but a yank on her waist-length hair brought her to an abrupt halt. Her scalp burned as one of Heloise’s henchmen reeled her in like a fish on a hook.

The madam, who had shown glimmers of concern, even compassion, exhibited none of that now. Her cruel laughter bordered on deranged. It grew louder as Rowie kicked and clawed to get free but eventually wore herself out.

When she hung limply between the two much larger, stronger men, Heloise walked toward her.

She grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her head and wrenched it back sharply.

Rowie couldn’t keep from crying out in pain.

What had once been an asset, what her papa had called her crowning glory, they had used repeatedly against her.

“You fool,”Heloise hissed, leaning closer with a vicious grin.

“You’ll have no strength left for your appointment with Augustine.

That would be a shame, since he enjoys breaking the fight in a quarrelsome girl.

”From the wild look in her eyes and how she was practically salivating, Rowie concluded she had passed the border of deranged and was full-on mad.

“Have you figured out from my clues his particular taste, dear Jade? Or are you too simple?”

“That’s not my name!”she cried. “And you won’t bait me into playing your crazed little guessing game, which is obviously your intent.”

“It’s a game, all right. One of cat and mouse; guess which one you are?

”She didn’t wait for an answer. “I told you the price of disobedience would be steep. How fortunate that we have a master of punishment in our midst tonight. You’ve heard of the Marquis de Sade?

”She made a little moue with her crimson lips then shook her head.

“No. On a farm in Virginia, I don’t suppose you would have.

Like Monsieur Augustine, he, too, was French.

He was also an author and a philosopher who enjoyed testing his theories. ”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To prepare you,”she replied with a malevolent grin. “Our monsieur has a long-held fascination with de Sade, who had a predilection for pain—of a sexual nature.”

“No,”Rowie whispered. “You can’t mean to give me to him.”

She patted her cheek ungently and crooned, “Ah, but I can. I own you and can do whatever I want. And, with my permission, so can Monsieur Augustine.”

“I’ll fight him. I won’t cooperate.”

“Good!”she exclaimed. “Don’t you understand that’s what he likes?

He used to be a military man. At the behest of Napoleon III, the monsieur served as his primary interrogator.

He likes to brag that, be it a close-mouthed enemy spy or a misbehaving whore, he’s never failed to get a confession or been unable to break the recipient of his whip— Oops!

”Her hand flew to her lips. An artful affectation that would have received applause on any stage.

“I’ve given his secret away, one of them at least.”She waved at the guards.

“Take her away, boys. The next time I see the little bitch, she’ll be more cooperative; I guaran-damn-tee it. ”

When her struggles were ineffectual, she tried pleading with the guards. But beg all she would, they weren’t in the mood to be gracious after what she’d done. And Heloise’s servants were dutiful, if not exactly loyal.

One of them advised as they dragged her down the hall, “Give in, and he’ll soon get bored.”

“Roger’s right,”the other, obviously Nate, agreed. “If you fight, his prick will only get harder. His enjoyment comes not only from causing pain but from conquering resistance.”

“How many before me?”she whispered, her steps lagging as her fear mounted.

“Dozens,”Roger answered. “Madam Heloise caters to customers’ special requests, no matter how unusual or depraved.”

“Men with deep pockets come from as far off as New York City to get their brand of depraved,”Nate said with a snicker.

“Farther than that, you dumb fuck. Augustine’s from France, remember?”

“Living in New York City now. And who are you calling dumb?”he returned in protest. “At least I don’t have to take off my boots to count past ten.”

More insults ensued, leading to pushing. She could only hope it would escalate to a brawl so she could escape, but they arrived at a door midway down the third floor.

Roger reached around her to open it. Staring into the darkness, Rowie’s fear mounted, and she shrank back.

“Please, don’t make me go up there.”

“You faced down the mistress. Given the choice between him and her, I’d take the monsieur. Now move,”Nate ordered, giving her a shove.

Her shin hit with bruising force against the first tread of stairs, and she fell forward. When she stood, rough hands shoved her again. To keep from falling and knocking her teeth out, she climbed, tripping up every other step as they demanded she hurry.

A faint glow became visible as they neared the top.

“Gentlemen, and I use that term extremely loosely, please be careful with my entertainment for the evening. A blank canvas is preferable to begin with.”

Rowie’s head snapped up. At first, he appeared only as a silhouette, but as she drew closer to the brightly lit attic room, his image became more defined.

Tall, slender, dressed in a flamboyant lime-green coat, he held a pair of gloves in one hand, slapping them repeatedly against the palm of the other.

“Bring her to the post in the center of the room, s’il vous pla?t ,”he requested then disappeared into the shadows.

Images of her bound at the wrists and writhing beneath the searing, cracking whip sent her into a panic. She spun, pushing at the two guards. If they fell by her hand, so be it.

“Get out of my way. You can’t make me do this.”

“Afraid we can,”Roger replied impatiently, fending off her flailing hands. “Because we are.”

Nate grunted in exasperation, bent forward, and shoved his shoulder into her belly. He lifted her and carried her, despite her kicking and screaming, the rest of the way.

“Let me go!”

Roger muttered, “Shouldn’t have pissed off the madam,”as he trailed along behind them.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, her word is law in this house,”Nate advised. “Better get that into your head tonight so you don’t have to return for lesson number two.”

“Remove the dress before you bind her,”a voice called from the darkness.

They complied, whisking her barely there gown over her head before they tied her wrists to straps bolted to the top of the post. Once she was bound—the situation well in hand as the madam requested—they departed, closing the door at the foot of the stairs with a solid thud, with an undeniable sense of finality, sealing her fate.

***

Her back, bottom, and thighs burned like fire after at least two dozen strokes of his lash.

Although he’d laughed sadistically, his eyes gleaming with every crack of the whip and each cry of pain, that didn’t satisfy the depraved monsieur.

He had many other tortures planned for her before the interminable torture session concluded.

If he hadn’t weakened her with his lash, leaving her weak-kneed and trembling, she could have fought him and likely triumphed over his slight form.

But she could barely stand when he untied her and moved her to a wooden table.

As Rowie lay there, her body trembling violently, the cold seeping into her bones, she watched and waited for an opportunity to escape.

The odds were long but not impossible because the Frenchman had made several costly errors.

First, he mistook her compliance for surrender.

Second, he had only bound her wrists, leaving her legs free for who knew what twisted game. And, third, he turned his back on her.

As soon as he bent to get another torturous device from his satchel, she made her move.

Slipping her hand from the too-loose leather cuff, she quickly unbuckled the other and slid off the table.

On bare feet with steps as light as wobbly legs could manage, she grabbed the ceramic basin from the commode stand and brought it down hard on the back of his head.

It shattered on contact, and he dropped to his knees.

After swaying a moment, without the slightest effort to break his fall, Napoleon’s detestable interrogator fell flat on his face. Rowie heard a sickening crunch as he hit and saw blood spurt across the floor.