The Gothic Tower
The Gothic Tower had always been infamous for its dark aspect – clients with less conventional tastes usually preferred it to the other boudoirs of the courtesans, and I wasn't surprised that the Duke would choose it as his setting. Fitting to the situation, I had chosen a long, dramatic black dress, the bodice tightly laced and sleeveless, with a strap going over only one shoulder. A pair of black satin gloves reached just past my elbows, a veil descending from my hat shielding my face.
I drew in a breath and swept through the entryway of the tower, pausing just within the doorway to lift the gauzy lace material of the veil.
"My dear Duke," I breathed, "I hope I have not kept you waiting."
He was waiting there, suit coat exchanged for a burgundy smoking jacket. That same smile, condescending and insincere, spread across his face as his eyes settled on me.
"Not at all, my dear," he responded with a lecherous look, "It was well worth the wait."
I gave a seductive smile in return and walked slowly around him, well-aware of his gaze trailing after me with an unveiled expression of lust. I paused in front of the fireplace, tilting my head to the side as I began to tug off one of the gloves, making my movements slow and deliberate. I had learned from time and experience that men liked to look at me in the light of a fire – Christian had described my hair as a halo of flame reflected in candlelight – and from the look on the Duke's face, I could see it was having a similar effect on him.
"The boy has a ridiculous obsession with me," I told him lightly, as if Christian's 'secret love' for me happened to be one grand joke.
His expression darkened at the mention of the writer he despised with such passion, but I pressed onward, my voice evenly tempered. "I mean, I indulge his fantasy because he's talented. We need him . . . but only until tomorrow night."
Acting had never been quite this difficult – lying about Christian, denying what we shared – but everything came at a price, and if I didn't fix this, we would pay dearly.
"Yes," the Duke responded and stepped toward me, a slight sneer finding its way onto his face as he spoke of 'the writer.' "I've always thought he rather fancied you. Rather ridiculous of him, to think that you could fall in love with the likes of him."
When you could have someone like me instead, I could hear implied in the tone that made it seem utterly preposterous that I could love Christian. Something inside me fought against this, but I had to know it was for the best – wasn't this what I was trying to convince him of from the very start?
"Well." His voice broke into my reverie, and he came forward to gesture me toward the long table that was set up, a no doubt lavish and carefully prepared dinner set out atop it.
"Enough about that," he went on, as if we'd been talking about something so below him that the very idea disgusted him. "Shall we dine, my sweet?"
The delicacies proved to be common of the upper class. They preferred to have their food rich, yet insubstantial – perhaps like everything else in their lives. I could see everything working perfectly to my plans, but a sinking feeling pervaded in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't understand why. Shouldn't I be happy that everything was working out?
This was for the best, I had told myself, and yet an increasing sense of dread threatened to smother completely the insistence that this was something that must be done.
The Duke rose and moved down the length of the table toward me, coming to a halt beside my chair. "When this production succeeds," he whispered, "You will no longer be a can-can dancer – but an actress."
He paused, and added with emphasis, "I will make you a star."
I looked away, pretending modesty, and he bent to press his lips – cold and sending an uncomfortable shiver down my spine – to my neck.
Then he straightened again and said, "Come, I have something for you."
I rose, wondering what he could possibly have for me, and he took my hand, leading me toward one of the attendants who stood nearby. The Duke gestured to him, and the man offered a large velvet box that he held – revealing an elaborate diamond necklace that sparkled against the midnight blue lining.
I gasped in surprise – something the Duke was apparently pleased by – and gave him an uncertain glance.
In response he reached for the necklace, lifting it out of its bed of silk, and moved to fasten it around my neck. The clasp locked with a click, and it hung heavily there, like a collar.
He leaned down and breathed against my skin, "Accept it as a gift from this maharajah . . . to his courtesan."
I lifted my fingers to the strings of diamonds, to find the sparkling jewels cold as ice beneath my touch.
"And – and the ending?" I questioned, the impulse to ask about this having come seemingly from nowhere.
My throat tightened in reflex – why had I asked him that, now? – and I unconsciously held my breath.
"Let Zidler keep his fairytale ending," he responded, and I lifted my gaze to the mirror, where our eyes met.
I started to reply, but he took my hand again and led me out onto the balcony that extended from the tower. "You and I shall make our own ending."
Then he advanced toward me, thin lips pressing affectionless kisses to my lips, my neck, and my back. I stood rigid, unable to relax, my eyes unconsciously wandering toward the dark shape of the Moulin Rouge hovering nearby, the red sails of the windmill casting a strange, fiery glow on the street below.
A shape emerged from the nightclub, nearly deserted in preparation for the upcoming show, and as he came closer, I could see Christian's familiar features put into surreal relief against the night.
He paused and looked up at me, a pained expression on his face, and my grasp tightened on the balcony railing – the frigid stone calling to mind a fitting comparison to the man who stood behind me.
I gazed down at Christian, then drew in a slow breath and sang softly, "Come what may . . . I will love you . . . until my dying day."
I could see his expression shift as my words carried on the wind, and then with a sudden jolt, I gasped out a single word that would ruin everything – "No."
The Duke looked up, his expression incredulous.
"No?" he repeated, looking over my shoulder, and I could sense his outrage as understanding dawned.
"Oh, I see," he said, dangerously quiet. "Our very own penniless sitar player."
I turned and moved around him as Christian walked away below. I stepped back into the interior of the tower, realization striking me as to the weight of what I had just done – but suddenly it didn't seem to matter anymore. I loved Christian, and I couldn't hide it. I couldn't betray him like this, even if it was what was expected of me.
The Duke entered behind me, anger radiating off him as the glass-paned doors slammed shut at his back.
I spun around to face him, hesitating. "Dear Duke –"
"Silence!" he yelled, and stepped forward, his hands gasping my wrists like bands of iron.
I cried out, struggling against him, and I could see the fury in his eyes. He forced me down to my knees, voice quaking in anger. "You made me believe that you loved me . . ."
"No," I protested, trying to wrest my hands free as he reached behind me and grasped the necklace, tearing it from around my neck and casting it aside, where it landed with a metallic clatter against the floor.
I scrambled up from my hands and knees and pulled free of him, running toward the table, but he followed and reached out for my arm. I swept dishes off the table in a futile attempt to free myself, silver and glass meeting the floor with a shattering crash. Then he had both my arms in his grasp from behind, fingers tightening to the point I was certain bruises would be left behind.
I struggled against him, only to be thrown to the floor, and there was no use bothering to scream – everyone else had left the tower as instructed, and no one would come to save me.
I sat there motionless, shaking with fear and anger of my own, a sudden cold feeling fusing itself in my limbs. He tore the comb free that had held my hair up, then pulled me to my feet again as my hair cascaded down from its arrangement. His lips found my neck in forceful kisses, then moved to my back.
I cried out as his teeth sank into the bare skin there, and pulled away again, but he locked an arm around my waist, his free hand snaking down the front of my bodice.
Tears of shame and humiliation began to run down my face, and I could only think of Christian – his gentle kindness, his consideration of my feelings and my needs. I stood frozen in shock, unable to will myself to move or to get away. It wasn't the first time I had endured harsh treatment, but it was almost impossible to comprehend what was happening.
Only a vague awareness existed in the back of my mind as the Duke began to unlace my dress, impatient overcoming care as he finally simply grasped the delicate material and ripped it off.
I covered my face with my hands, trying to force myself to believe that this nightmare wasn't real, but then his hands were on my arms again and he threw me forcefully back onto the bed, stalking toward me.
I closed my eyes and waited for what would come, trembling with the sense of violation. Then everything suddenly went still, and the only sound I could hear was my own pulse pounding my ears.