"This story will draw you in from the very beginning. Napoleon maybe very domineering but he has a sexy side to him that comes across quite well. Even though Savannah is the Madame of a bordello, her innocence still shines through loud and clear. I guarantee you will derive great pleasure in reading this story, I did."--Candy Cay, Coffee Time Romance
"Bordello is a wonderful love story. I enjoyed visiting 1893 New Orleans and following Napoleon and Savannah as they navigate the traitorous road to love. This story is full of emotion and intensity. It has lots of laughs and a few sad moments. It is a wonderful read that I fully enjoyed."--Tamar, JoyfullyReviewed.com
"What a fascinating story! Captivating from the first sentences, it held my attention right to the end! I recommend this to lovers of historical romance, and those readers seeking a good plot, with a worthy cause, and well-researched characters who are three-dimensional, not paper doll cut-outs. As soon as this book is available, buy it, read it, enjoy it!"--Annie, Ecataromance.com
A smile curved his mouth and he touched Savannah's dark hair with the lightest of strokes. She stirred and he reluctantly stopped. He raked his hand through his hair and then with a halfhearted, quiet sigh he pushed the covers away from himself, and careful to keep her covered, slid out of the bed.
They were very close to finding Lynette now. He could feel it in his bones and he hoped it hadn't been a mistake letting Savannah tag along. He padded over to the end of the bed and picked up his clothes. Quietly as possible he dressed. He finished buttoning his shirt and went over to the dresser to get his cufflinks. He found one, inserted it and searched for the other.
The clock from the town square tolled and he counted the hours. One, two, three, four and when it stopped at seven, he paused. He hurried over to the curtains and shoved them apart. Morning.
"Damn," he muttered. He raked his hand though his hair. His man must be wondering what happened to him. Hurriedly he crossed the room to finish putting on the other cufflink. When he reached the dresser, he pushed Savannah's purse to one side to locate his cufflink and the purse fell on the floor, hitting the rug with a soft bump. Some of the contents spilled out.
He glanced at Savannah, but she still slept. Bending over he picked up the purse and the contents. Shaking his head at the purely feminine contents, he began to put them back in the purse, but a folded piece of paper snagged his attention. He used one hand to flip over the paper and held it up toward the early morning light infiltrating through the gauzy under curtains. As he read it, his mouth turned down in a tight frown.
Disappointment and rage tightened his gut. Eyes narrowed he gazed at Savannah and thought of all the times she had asked him about Lynette and how he and his men were searching for her. He had told her everything. No wonder she wanted to accompany him on this trip. She needed to warn her friend. And last night....
He now suspected last night's love making was only a ploy on her part to keep him busy. It meant nothing to her and everything to him. Carefully he refolded the paper and slipped it back into her purse. He wouldn't let her prevent his finding Lynette De Dentelle.
He bent and picked up a business card. When he saw it was one of his, he frowned. When had he given her his card? He tapped the card on his other hand. Had he given her this card when he had first been hired by François De Dentelle? He couldn't remember. He had given Savannah's brother, Parker, his business card. Perhaps he had given the card to his sister. That had to be the most likely way she received his card. Through her brother.
As he started to put it in her purse he glimpsed writing on the back of the card. He put the purse down and slowly turned the card over. He couldn't believe what he was reading. There in his own handwriting were his words asking the Madame de Masque of Le Hibicus Rouge about the medieval chair he wanted to purchase. Heart pounding in a painful rhythm he silently moved to Savannah's side of the bed. Holding his hand just above her eyes and nose, he studied her in the muted half-light and knew then who she was. For a moment he gazed unseeing at the wall.
Savannah Knight was the mysterious Madame de Masque of Le Hibicus Rouge. Her being a madame accounted for her busy and unavailable nights. And her smile. No wonder it haunted him. He should have recognized her smile from the start, but his own foolish heart had kept him from seeing the truth.
When she was so frantic to get to the fire, it wasn't because one woman was there, it was the entire bordello's group of women she wanted to save. He did have to give her a point for that, willing to expose herself to save others.
Still in all, it didn't matter. She had lied even that night. Pretending Mimi was unknown to her, even asking if she were the madame. He recalled how she even managed to look shocked when he told her he had been at La Hibicus Rouge, not for the women, but for the chair.
He had fallen in love with a whore. An expensive, beautiful and elusive whore.