Once again, her eyes went to the wardrobe. The negligee was in there—the shockingly sheer, nearly nonexistent garment that the madam of the Marlborough Club, Addie Sampson, had given to Hope with a gamine grin just yesterday afternoon.
Despite their vastly different backgrounds and the fact that Hope's father championed the cause to shut down the brothels in the Levee District, Addie and Hope had formed an unlikely friendship. The bold, brassy madam and Hope shared one common goal—to put a stop to the rampant practice of white slavery. Their opinions differed on many topics, but unlike most Levee District madams or the vicious brothel owner Diamond Jack Fletcher, Addie seemed to truly care about the well-being of the young women who worked for her.
"Go on, take it, Hope. With your figure you'll do a Marlborough gown far more justice than even my most tempting girl. Oh, come on now," Addie had teased when she'd seen Hope's scandalized expression as she held out the negligee. "I'm not trying to tempt you to the devil. You yourself have admitted that if 'decent' wives weren't so uppity and tense in the bedroom, men might not find the Levee District so appealing."
"But I'm not a wife" Hope had whispered as she glanced around nervously for Dr.
"Walkerton. Hope had spearheaded a program under the auspices of the Women's Social Reform and Welfare League to provide medical services to women in need, including the Levee District brothels.
Although in truth, only the Marlborough Club and the Golden Parrot had agreed to participate thus far. And in fact, Hope had not yet successfully coaxed other women from the Welfare League to join her cause. She had high hopes for further Levee District reform, however, despite Addie's patient head-nodding and occasional exasperated rolls of her eyes when Hope launched into the topic with her typical militant zeal.
Addie had merely laughed at Hope's display of nervousness about the nightgown and shoved the frothy confection into Hope's hand.
"You'll be a wife someday, honey. Might as well get some practice. Wouldn't want your future husband lining up at the Marlborough Club's front doors, would you?"
Hope had opened her mouth to argue but heard Dr. Walkerton descending the stairs. By the time the elderly doctor had put out his arm for her in preparation to leave, Hope had secreted one of the negligees that the Marlborough Club prostitutes were famous for wearing into her reticule. She'd glowered at Addie's saucy grin before lowering the thick black veil she'd promised both her father and Dr. Walkerton to wear in the Levee District to protect her identity.
She'd quickly discovered that the Marlborough gown she'd shoved into the furthest, darkest corner of her wardrobe had some kind of strange, powerful hold on her imagination. The idea of allowing a man to actually see her wearing the transparent garment scandalized her.
Thrilled her.
It was the latter reaction that had her sweating as she lay on her bed in the frigid bedroom.
She slowly set down her well-thumbed book of sonnets and .approached the wardrobe, a tickle of excitement spreading from her lower belly to her sex. After she'd withdrawn the negligee she cast a guilty glance at her bedroom door before locking it. Her father would never bother her this late in the evening after she'd retired, but her maid Mary sometimes knocked to see if she'd like some logs added to the^fire.
She shed her long-sleeved, high-necked linen nightgown and shoved the negligee over her head before she could second-guess her impulsive actions. The sheer fabric fluttered across her naked skin as softly as a butterfly's wings, thrilling her heated flesh. Her eyes went wide when she saw the gown barely covered the dark hair between her thighs.
Her breath burned in her lungs as she raced across the room and opened the wardrobe door wide. She stared into the full-length gilt mirror for several seconds before she finally exhaled harshly. Her cheeks turned a vibrant shade of pink.
Who was this lush, wanton creature?
Her breasts heaved shallowly in excitement, the slight abrasion of the fabric making her nipples prickle with pleasure. She watched as the crests stiffened and distended, the tea-rose pink hue darkening in color. Hope resisted an almost overwhelming urge to put her hand between her thighs. It was one thing to rub that secret, delicious place beneath all of her covers in the darkness, but touching herself while she wore a whore's nightgown and stared at herself in the mirror was quite another matter.
Hope turned, her chin craning over her shoulder as she inspected her appearance from the back. She gasped. The rear view was even more scandalous than the front. The filmy negligee left the bottom curves of her buttocks completely bare! How could the women at the Marlborough Club even consider walking around in the company of men wearing this thing? It somehow seemed more lewd than complete nudity. How did they keep a straight face?
Hope snorted with a burst of laughter before she spun completely around, her loose hair flying around her shoulders. Her mirth froze on her tongue when she found herself staring into the startling cerulean blue gaze of a tall, dark man who looked every bit as shocked to see her as she was him.
Hope barely stifled a scream. She tripped on the edge of a rug in her anxiety to get away from the mirror and the man. By the time she'd grabbed her robe, flung it around her and scurried toward the door, a modicum of reason penetrated her panic. A quick survey of the room assured her she was completely alone.
She panted shallowly in fear a second later as she peered into her large wardrobe. Of course it was empty. And the only image that stared back at her from the gilded mirror was her own pale, shocked face.
Hope shook her head in amazement and guiltily removed the negligee, shoving her modest nightgown over her head. Unlike the gossamer-thin gown, the linen felt scratchy and uncomfortable next to her skin. She seriously considered burning the Marlborough gown for a few seconds before she tossed it back into the dark corner of the wardrobe and crawled into her bed, throwing the covers over her head. Her heartbeat thundered alarmingly loud in her ears.
She'd heard of drugs causing phantasms but had never before known that sexually sinful behavior could promote hallucinations. Because if her wickedest desires had been given free reign to conjure up a man, surely it would have been the man she'd just seen in the mirror.
She peeked over the covers cautiously and stared at the wardrobe.
Why had he been dressed so strangely? His trousers reminded her a little of the thick hickory cloth the men who worked for the railroad wore, but the man's in the mirror had been uniformly dyed indigo blue. She would have assumed those pants marked him as some sort of laborer if it weren't for the short coat he wore made completely of sleek, supple leather.
He'd been so large—not fat, if anything his hips had been trim and narrow—just big.
Taller than any man she'd ever seen, with wide shoulders and long thighs the size of a sturdy, young tree trunk. She blushed as she recalled how well those blue hickory cloth pants fit those strong thighs. He'd worn an unusual sort of beard that reminded her of the kind she'd glimpsed on Chinese men. It'd been as dark as his hair, short and well trimmed.
Who—or what—in God's name had he been?
If everything about him seemed strange and exotic, his eyes had Struck her as wholly familiar. They'd been a singular greenish-blue hue that brought to m
ind the color of the Mediterranean Sea on a crystalline day. He'd clearly been shocked to see her, just as she was him, but when he'd glanced down over her ever so briefly something else had flashed into those compelling eyes; something even more exciting than the illicit thrill of seeing herself in a Marlborough gown.