The Copper and the Madam: Blind Cupid Series, #3

By Karyn Gerrard

In 1897 London, Detective Sergeant Rory Kerrigan never expected to find love among the crime-ridden streets he's vowed to protect. His tragic past has hardened his heart, keeping emotion from his life. This ensured no interference with his police work. Yet, an unlikely woman finds a way around his defenses.

 

 Rea owns the brothel, The Blind Cupid, and harbors a desolate past of her own. As a result, she trusts no man. However, it is hard to deny that the ruggedly handsome Rory is everything honorable and appealing. He awakens feelings she's never experienced before.

 

 A dreadful murder has them determined to bring the killer to justice. As danger lurks, secrets are revealed, and passion ignites. Despite the many obstacles, love blooms between them. Will the copper and the madam acknowledge their mutual yearning even at the peril of their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: KG Publishing
• Release date: Nov 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9780994076960

Karyn Gerrard

Karyn Gerrard, born and raised in the Maritime Provinces of Eastern Canada, now makes her home in a small town in Northwestern Ontario. When she’s not cheering on the Red Sox or travelling in the summer with her teacher husband, she writes, reads romance, and drinks copious amounts of Earl Grey tea.   Even at a young age, Karyn’s storytelling skills were apparent, thrilling her fellow Girl Guides with off-the-cuff horror stories around the campfire. A multi-published author, she loves to write sensual historicals and contemporaries. Tortured heroes are an absolute must.   As long as she can avoid being hit by a runaway moose in her wilderness paradise, she assumes everything is golden. Karyn’s been happily married for a long time to her own hero. His encouragement and loving support keeps her moving forward.   To learn more about Karyn and her books, visit www.karyngerrard.com.

Book preview

Summary

In 1897 London, Detective Sergeant Rory Kerrigan never expected to find love among the crime-ridden streets he’s vowed to protect. His tragic past has hardened his heart, keeping emotion from his life. This ensured no interference with his police work. Yet, an unlikely woman finds a way around his defenses.

Rea owns the brothel, The Blind Cupid, and harbors a desolate past of her own. As a result, she trusts no man. However, it is hard to deny that the ruggedly handsome Rory is everything honorable and appealing. He awakens feelings she’s never experienced before.

A dreadful murder has them determined to bring the killer to justice. As danger lurks, secrets are revealed, and passion ignites. Despite the many obstacles, love blooms between them. Will the copper and the madam acknowledge their mutual yearning even at the peril of their lives?

The Blind Cupid Series

Was Cupid blind?

Madam Rea chose the name The Blind Cupid for her brothel because she knew love would never take root in the den of sin. Rea and her employees hide wretched pasts and devastating secrets while remaining cool and detached with regard to their carnal dealings.

But Desmond, Lila, and Rea cannot deny their desire or the fact that their hidden emotions and passions are awakened. Can they learn to trust again and let love into their lives?

Author’s Note

The Blind Cupid trilogy was initially published in 2012-2013 with a digital publisher. As rights reverted according to the terms of the contracts, I’ve completely revised, re-edited, and rewritten the three books—and changed book one’s title.

Book one is the novella, The Spinster and Mr. Glover. (Revised edition now available)

Book two is the novella, The Governess and the Beast, and takes place five years before book one.

Book three, The Copper and the Madam, is a longer novella and picks up immediately after book one ends.

When I wrote book one in 2012, I had not intended it to be a series. I decided when revising to keep the original timeline.

Characters from my other historical romance novels mentioned and/or appearing in this story:

Gideon Broyles, the Duke of Watford:  The Duke of Pain (The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park #4)

Desmond Glover and Anne Sommer: The Spinster and Mr. Glover (Blind Cupid #1)

Simon Wolstenholme, Baron Stonecliff, and Lila Jenner: (Blind Cupid #2)

Dedication and Acknowledgements

This a nod to one of my favorite BBC programs: Ripper Street. It undoubtedly inspired my copper/hero Rory Kerrigan and his world.

Again, to my own hero, thank you, Mr. Gerrard, for your continued support and encouragement.

Many thanks to Cora Bignardi of Cora Graphics, who designed the three beautiful covers for the Blind Cupid Series.

Prologue

Whitehall Place, Scotland Yard

London, Winter 1889

Are you certain you want to do this, lad? Rory Kerrigan, a police constable, firmly held Desmond Glover’s elbow as he steered him toward the rear entrance facing the alley off Great Scotland Yard Street.

If he could be called such, the boy mumbled aye in response. The fifteen-year-old resembled a man in his twenties, not a gangly adolescent. Already he stood six feet in height and, by all probabilities, was not finished growing. Weariness and, more disturbingly, emptiness haunted his golden-brown eyes.

No bloody wonder.

Desmond had just been released from Newgate Prison after serving five months of hard labor for indecency, specifically, The Offences Against the Person Act.

Detective Inspector Frederick Abberline, the arresting officer in the Cleveland Street Scandal of five months previous, had asked Rory to take charge of the lad. The Cleveland Street Telegraph Office had acted as a male brothel, and Desmond had been one of the messenger boys arrested in the aftermath of the raid. 

The London papers quashed the names of the aristocracy who frequented Cleveland Street. Charles Hammond, the owner, had escaped to France, which heightened Rory’s ire. The scandal has since faded from public memory. 

It was swept under the rug more like.

Abberline wished for Desmond to be settled. In other words: off the streets. When Abberline explained that the young man would be sent to a bawdy house, Rory had to bite his tongue. 

Why? 

He hadn’t been given a satisfactory answer. Even though Desmond was offered a chance at another line of work, the boy refused.

It is what the lad wanted, Abberline stated with an indifferent shrug.

Unbelievable.

Tucking his annoyance away, Rory turned his attention to the matter at hand. A fancy carriage stood in the alley. Two black horses nickering impatiently drew the conveyance, their breath cascading in jets, forming an icy cloud. Light snowflakes fell from the gray sky above. It was the first of December and already frigid. Rory pulled his wool muffler tighter about his neck to stem the chill.

A woman stepped from the carriage and strolled toward him. Her velvet and silk gown with a matching cape was a dark burgundy shade, as were her hat and boots; her hands were tucked into a mink muff.

What drew his attention was the unnatural copper-red shade of her hair, along with her curvaceous shape and petite stature. With her face heavily painted, it wasn’t easy to ascertain her level of attractiveness. If nothing else, she certainly looked every inch the madam of a brothel.

Rory touched the brim of his hat. Abbess Rea, I presume? 

He never cared for the slang term abbess for a madam, but Abberline said this woman wanted to be referred to as such. So be it.

Yes. This is Desmond Glover? Her sky-blue eyes contemplated the lad’s face and form.

Aye. It is, Rory replied. 

The brazen woman inspected Desmond as if he were a piece of prime beef on display at the butcher’s shop. 

Go sit in the carriage, Desmond. I’ll be along directly. The lad loped off without a word, and Abbess Rea turned her intense gaze to him. You have something to say, Constable? I can tell by the contemptuous curve of your mouth that you don’t like this solution. Her tone was haughty, and Rory didn’t like it. Not at all. 

No, I don’t bloody approve. This boy has been through enough. Now you’ll use him again, making money off his body, golden locks, and pretty face. Your kind disgusts me. Rory crossed his arms, not hiding his distaste for the madam and this entire situation.

Abbess Rea blinked. A brief show of hurt flickered across her features, but infuriation soon replaced it. This ‘boy,’ as you call him, has been alone on the streets since he was eight years of age. He knows no other life. Even he knows that.

She blew out an exasperated breath. Left to his own devices, he would wind up bent over empty wine crates in a dirty alley for a quick shilling rut. Perhaps you will find him diseased, starving, used up, or dead, as many are. I’m giving him a roof over his head, his own room, an education, and clean clothes. Three square meals a day. I’m giving him—a home.

The madam exhaled, giving him a glimpse of an impressive bosom. When he’s ready, Desmond will entertain a select group of lonely spinsters and widows, nothing more. I will not be using him in the depraved ways of his past.

Rory laughed, the tone cynical to his own ears. "Well, we have a different definition of ‘using,’ but hear me, Abbess Rea. I’ll drop by your establishment monthly to check on the lad to see if you’re treating him right. He took a step closer. To make bloody sure that you’re giving him a home and everything else you claim."

Anger radiated from her narrowed gaze. Come ahead. Stay for supper. The Blind Cupid, Tyers Street in Lambeth. Two doors up from the John Bull Pub. I’ll see you next month, Constable Kerrigan.

Rory admired her firm, resolute tone—and her luscious body. 

But the last thing he was looking for was an entanglement with a female—especially one with a bold look and personality to match. 

Considering his checkered past, Rory would never become involved with the madam of a brothel.

Ever.

Chapter 1

Eight years later

London, May 1897

What did you say? Rea demanded.

Her coachman crumpled his cap as he shifted his weight from one leg to another. He cleared his throat as his nervous gaze darted about the room. 

I said, Desmond Glover, ain’t wit ’me. ’e made me stop the carriage. ’is exact words were, ‘I’m done. Tell the Abbess I’ll be by in a few days to settle the account or some such. Pete held up the leather satchel. Left ’is kit, ’e did. Ran all the way, ’e did. ’e slung ’is ’ook.

Rea tapped her fingers impatiently on the desk. 

Blasted slang. 

Slung his hook? He ran where exactly?

Back to ’er, I imagine. The old spinster. The one ’e’s been with these nights. ’e were in there six ’ours or more, longer than we agreed. Glover finally appeared on the second stop. You want me and the lads to go and fetch ’im?

Frustrated, Rea glanced at the clock. What would be the point of sending her bullyboys to the spinster’s flat at one in the morning to cause a disturbance, which would no doubt bring the coppers down on her head? 

No, I know where he is. Desmond has never broken his word before. I’ll give him a few days. Off with you, Pete. See to the horses.

Like an anxious weasel, Pete scurried from the room.

Well. 

Rea opened the desk drawer and reached for her ledger. She flipped through the pages until she found the information.

Anne Sommer

13 Honey Lane, Cheapside.

Rea remembered the meeting and the letter she had written Miss Sommer. During their conference, Rea noted that the woman was embarrassed to be there, but Rea admired Miss Sommer’s bravery for acting on her desires. Rea had gone to great trouble convincing Desmond to take on the assignment.

And this is how I’m repaid for my generosity?

For Rea did not send Desmond to service just anyone. 

To protect her people, she methodically interviewed prospective clients. An exclusive clientele kept her brothel running smoothly and without incident. She’d had enough conflict in the past and avoided dramatic episodes whenever possible.

Desmond stood as her shining star in her small, eclectic group of male prossies. Handsome beyond measure with shoulder-length golden hair, he possessed a well-formed body sought after by ladies from all walks of life—one they paid well to enjoy. His popularity with the aristo-widows and the many lonely, unattached women throughout London proved that. 

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Desmond was still relatively young. Though barely twenty-three years of age, he looked much older. No doubt because of the harsh life Desmond led on the streets. Desmond claimed his age was unknown. Perhaps he was older. Most children on the streets did not know their actual ages, let alone their parentage.

But beyond that, he’d been trained to keep emotion out of all his meetings with the ladies. More than anyone, Desmond took those lessons to heart.

What on earth transpired between them?

The multi-night encounter may have been a mistake.

Usually, Desmond spent one night with a client, not several in a row. And damn it all for encouraging Anne Sommer to draw Desmond out and engage her emotions—and his. 

What possessed me to write that in a letter?

Rea had been genuinely concerned about Desmond’s standoffishness, which had only recently increased. But never in her wildest imaginings did she believe anything serious would grow if that is what happened.

She turned the page to examine the upcoming schedule. Desmond was expected at the Dowager Countess Bloodstone’s private residence in five days. Rea ignored the lesser appointments and sought out the more important ones. The ones that paid a great deal of money.

Rea leaned back in her chair. What to do? Who else did she have to send in his stead if needs must? Perhaps Gordon. His delicate, pale features and silver-blond hair were popular with men and women alike.

Would the countess consent to the change?

The older widow preferred her male flesh firm and young. Rea would hate to lose the three hundred pounds the countess paid for Desmond’s company. She’d have to send word in the morning and pray that the hag agreed to the change in assignment.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Rea slammed her ledger shut. God, she was so tired of it all. At thirty-four, Rea wondered if it were time to sell up, move to a quiet hamlet, and live out the rest of her days in solitude. Sighing, she placed the ledger in the drawer. Taking