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.

He exhaled, sinking down on her small bed, with the purring cat quick to follow. Ethan knew he was alone but still glanced around before petting it.

Admitting that his revenge plot had glaring holes, he wondered if Sylvie would evencare if he took her daughter away out of wedlock. The idea of removing Madeleine from the woman's use no longer seemed to apply. The girl was already very distinctly removed.

Perhaps he should merely walk away.

He picked up Madeleine's pillow and brought it close, wanting her scent. His eyes slid closed in pleasure. No, there'd be no leaving until he had her beneath him again.

Besides, he liked solving mysteries, and if Madeleine's life wasn't a mystery…

Decided, he stood and began pacing as if he was…nervous. A man of his experience, cynicism, and bitter derision was anxious about seeing the chit again.

Because now she would see his face.

He crossed to stand before the partially cracked mirror hanging above her chest of drawers. Every time she looked into this glass, beauty stared back at her. Regarding his own brutish reflection, he gave a harsh laugh. Beauty and the beast.

But this beast has money, he reminded himself,something she obviously lacks.

Dusk was coming soon, so he climbed out onto the balcony, hoping to catch sight of her before the sun went down. He noticed that two neckless bruisers, obviously henchmen, had begun casing the front of the building. Bea had mentioned something about debts. Were the men here for Madeleine?

Ethan rotated his shoulder, testing the stitches in his chest. If he had to fight the two, he might not tear his wound too badly—

The stair head groaned. His entire body tensed with anticipation. He lunged for the door and yanked it open. He found himself staring at Bea, who'd yanked open her own. They frowned at each other across the hall.

The woman he'd seen earlier with the bucket stood at the stair head, only now she carried a broom. Though gray-haired, she had a wholly unlined face, making her age difficult to approximate. "And who might you be in Maddy's room?" she demanded. "Who let you in?"

Out of sight of the woman, Bea was shaking her head frantically, waving her arms.

"I've come for Madeleine. I'm waiting for her here—unless you know where she is."

"You're the Scot! The one who hurt my Maddy!" She changed her grip on the broom, raising it above her. "I'll be damned before I tell you. We're going to get rid of you before she comes back. She has enough on her plate without you!"

Bea finally stepped forward. "Corrine, maybe we should wait. Maddée said he's the one she truly liked. Truly—"

"Shut your mouth, Bea!"

She liked me?Ethan thought, then castigated himself. As if he gave a damn.

But Bea persevered, saying out of the corner of her mouth, "Maddée said that the Scot was the one she—"

"That was before this one threw money at her, treating her like a whore." She glared at Ethan, then turned back to Bea to say, "No offense."

"Non?"Bea blinked at Corrine as if she didn't comprehend the offense.

Was that how Madeleine had viewed the money he'd tossed to the bench? He'd thought he'd simply been paying for the cab. "I wish to make amends to her," Ethan said. "And to explain a few misunderstandings."

Corrine studied him from head to toe. With one shrewd look she'd probably nailed his net worth within five hundred pounds. Strangely, his scar received only a passing glance.

"I just want to talk to her," Ethan said, sensing she was wavering, "If you'll tell me where she is." For good measure, he added, "And I liked her, too."

"See!" Bea cried.

At length, Corrine lowered her broom, setting it against the wall. "Unless you've come to offer for Maddy, you don't have any business here."

"That's precisely what I intend to do," he said.

She exhaled a relieved breath. Over Bea's excited clapping, Corrine said, "In that case…Maddy told me she was going to try to get work in the Silken Purse, in Montmartre."

He nodded. "Excellent. I'll go there directly."

"That's up the hill," Bea chirped, smiling encouragement. "Look for her waiting in line in the back." Then her face fell, and she turned to Corrine. "The Silken Purse? Corrine, are you sure?" When Corrine nodded, Bea spoke in French so rapidly that he couldn't keep up. All he could catch was "she said that he said," "then her cousin heard," "he told them," and finally, "Berthé."

Corrine paled.