Chapter Ten
A disguise was one word for her outfit. A straight-jacket was another. Yet Amanda couldn’t deny that the French corset, binding her all the way from her hips to her breasts, made her feel secure. She might not be able to draw breath, but she was locked up tight, just as she liked. Breathing was overrated anyhow.
Reaching under the hood of her cloak, she fingered the mask Julius had given her to wear. It was crimson, to match the corset, with feathers extending from the edges. It was beautiful, but what earned Amanda’s admiration was the fact that it covered half her face, making her anonymous. Her heart had barely raced above a flutter when she’d exited the townhouse, concealed as she was. And even though Julius had opened the windows of the carriage, the darkness outside could almost make her believe she was still safely ensconced in her room, not racing through London to a club Julius belonged to.
A Venus club.
Amanda had thought that nothing could shock her senses any longer. She’d been wrong. Julius had spent the first part of their journey describing The Black Rose as though it was nothing more out of the ordinary than a stroll around the Pump Room.
She’d never known that men’s appetites could be so … varied. And the women’s, too, as Julius was quick to point out. Amanda shifted in her seat. For once she’d have news to write to Liz. Her sister’s letters from Italy were full of new discoveries, descriptions of art and architecture, admirations over the food. Amanda could only respond that she and Reggie fared well. Her letters were all of three sentences long. Now she would get to tell her sister about a new experience.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Julius pushed open the door and hopped down. Amanda could hear the footman huff, and she smothered a smile. The duke’s household were an unfortunate lot. With their master and mistress gone, they served a woman they didn’t want to, and weren’t allowed to serve the lord they did.
Julius stretched out a hand, and she grabbed it, holding on tightly. She could do this. Two steps down to exit the carriage. Her feet froze when she saw the cobblestone of the street below. Could she do this? Perhaps it would be better—
Julius yanked on her hand, and she tumbled down the steps, landing heavily against his chest.
His arm banded around her waist. He tugged her hood further down her forehead and leaned close. “No one can recognize you,” he whispered. “You can stay wrapped up in your cloak all night, if you wish. Although it would be a shame not to show off how lovely you look in that corset. And”—he traced the ridge of her mask over her nose—“I’ll be by your side all night. You are perfectly safe.”
Amanda nodded. She hoped he was right. Her palms were damp inside her gloves, and she didn’t think her struggle to breathe was entirely due to the tightly-laced bodice. But she had to take the chance.
She held onto his hand like she was drowning and let him lead her past a footman at the door to The Black Rose.
The bright lights of the gas lamps on the walls made her blink. She’d expected dimly lit rooms, with shifty-eyed patrons. Not the tasteful soiree they’d stepped into. The artwork along the walls was elegant, and the plush, embroidered settees scattered about the room fashionable. The walls were covered with hand-painted paper in designs of gold, and candles winked through crystal prisms in the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Two men sitting in the corner glanced up at their entrance. Apparently finding nothing unusual in her cloak and mask, they returned to their conversation. A woman carrying a tray of drinks circulated the room, trading full glasses for empties.
“This isn’t what I expected from a …”
“Venus club?” Julius provided helpfully. “What did you expect?”
“Well …”
“Women dancing naked? A seething den of iniquity?”
Amanda flapped the hem of her cloak, the crackling fires on both sides of the room making her sweat. “Well, yes. I expected people to be doing more than drinking and talking.”
Julius placed his palm on her lower back and guided her slowly around the room. “This is the main room. It’s like a normal club, where members meet and talk. Sometimes gamble. The amusements begin when you go down that hallway.” He pointed to their right, to a corridor papered in muted red-and-gold stripes.
Amanda craned her neck but could see nothing but a row of doors before the hallway ended at a T-junction.
“I’ll show you whichever room you’d like.” Julius’s breath was hot against her neck. He traced the rim of her ear with his finger, and a shiver skittered down her spine. “Just as soon as I speak to someone.”
Amanda inhaled slowly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. If she focused on such minute matters the swirl of people about her wasn‘t nearly so intimidating. Or so she told herself. “The tall, spindly man you told me about in the carriage? The one who threatened the clerk’s family at this club?” Julius had relayed his conversation with Mr. Dawnley, although she suspected he’d kept some key bits of information back. But for a man trained in secrecy, the fact that he told her anything warmed her heart.
“No, it would be too convenient to find that man here tonight.” Julius scanned the room, the flecks of green in his eyes catching the light and making them seem more hazel than brown. He might not think the man was here, but Julius looked like a hunter searching for prey just the same. “It’s the proprietress I’ve come to speak with.”
Ah, yes, the beautiful woman with flaming-red hair. Amanda remembered that description, too. She tugged her gloves off, tucking them into her cloak’s pocket, and enjoyed the air swirling around her palms.
Julius had a few low words with a man in a service uniform. He nodded, and the man disappeared into a small door in the side of the room. A woman in a diaphanous gown strolled past, carrying her tray of drinks. Julius plucked off two and pressed one into Amanda’s hand. “Madame Sable has yet to come down from her rooms. We will wait.”
Amanda shifted, placing Julius’s body between her and the fireplace. She flapped the hem of her cloak open. “How long must we wait?”
“As long as it takes.” Julius stared at the door the servant had gone through, the one that presumably led to Madame Sable’s quarters. He had the uncanny ability to hold himself absolutely motionless. He would stand, rooted in place, for as long as it took. It was a stillness she recognized.
But not one she wished to emulate tonight. “Can we find a cooler place in which to wait? Between the corset, cloak, and my hair hanging free, I am hotter than one of Hades’ handmaidens.”
His lips twitched. “There is a remedy for that.” He flicked one side of her cloak back. A cool draught of air swirled across her bare shoulder, and she almost moaned in relief. But the feeling of being open, exposed, caused her skin to itch, and she shrugged the cloak back into place.
She kept her gaze on his chest, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes. “The gown you gave me to wear under the corset has no sleeves.” Better to let him think she objected on decency grounds.
He stepped close, his chest brushing against hers. “You’ve left the security of your home. Taken a risk to come here,” he murmured. “I am very proud of you.”
She drew a triangle in the carpet with the toe of her slipper. Of course, he would see through her deceit. “You must be ashamed of my weakness but are too kind to admit it.”
He encircled her waist with his hands and squeezed even tighter than the corset. “You are stronger than you think.” He sighed. “And you are also burning up. Perhaps we can find a less heated room to wait in.”
Taking her hand, he led her down the red-and-gold hallway, silently opening doors and peering inside rooms, before finding the one he wanted. He pressed his finger to her lips in warning and drew her into a room lit only by a few candles surrounding a low bench. Something shifted, stretched out on the bench, and the figure of a woman lying on her stomach emerged into view.
A naked woman.
Now that was something she could write about to Liz. Julius closed the door and leaned against the wall, drawing her back to rest against his front. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Amanda made out a few other figures standing around the edges of the room, watching the bench. But much less people than in the main room. Amanda’s shoulders began to unclench.
A shadow separated from the darkness and circled the naked woman. The man wore trousers, but no shirt. Squatting by the bench, he lifted a candle from the ground. The light flickered across a broad expanse of bare chest. He moved his hand from the top of the woman’s head, along the curve of her back and bottom, and down her long legs, the candle sending flickers of light to illuminate each bronzed inch of her flesh.
Amanda held her breath. She didn’t see any rope to bind the woman. No implements to use upon her. As far as peculiar desires went, this seemed rather tame. But the room itself seemed to hold its breath with Amanda, waiting.
It happened quickly. A tip of the candle, a splash of wax. The woman stiffened and gasped. The man repeated his action, this time drawing a long line of candle wax across the woman’s back. She writhed under the onslaught, and the man placed a meaty palm on her lower back to keep her still.
Amanda stepped forward, uncertain. Was he burning her?
Wrapping an arm around her stomach, Julius drew her back. “The hurt is only temporary,” he whispered in her ear. “And the lady wants it. She comes back for it again and again.”
Amanda had a hundred questions, but kept silent, watching intently. The woman’s gasps and moans did seem to sound more of pleasure than pain. Putting the candle down, the man ran a hand through his bushy beard before picking up a different candle. With the eye of an artist, he drew patterns on her skin with the liquid wax, holding her down here, shifting her body there. The only sounds in the room were the woman’s throaty moans, the crush of skin against velvet as she shifted restlessly against the bench, and the soft drips of wax striking flesh.
The chamber was several degrees cooler than the main room, but Amanda’s body temperature rose higher. She pressed her thighs together and tugged at the top of her corset. Through the thin linen of her gown, her breasts scratched against the whalebone.
Tugging her hood back, she gulped down the cool air. Julius gathered her hair and pooled it to one side, over her shoulder. He blew gently on the back of her neck, a soothing breeze.
The tongue he used against her heated flesh was anything but soothing.
With the tip, he traced a pattern from the nape of her neck to her ear, sucking the lobe inside his hot mouth, making her melt. “Do you enjoy watching her struggle against the pain, to see as she surrenders to her pleasure?” His voice was a husky growl, and it sent a shiver from her eardrum to her core. “Do you grow wet seeing her submit? To give her body over to the care of her partner?” He grabbed her skirt at her thighs and began to gather it up. Inch by inch, her legs were revealed to the cool air.
Amanda tugged at the strings of her cloak, loosening the knot. The thick wool shifted down her back, still tied onto her, but exposing more and more. Maybe in the dark room, with Julius at her back, maybe she could remove it.
Her hands froze at the ties when Julius’s fingers brushed bare skin. He had her skirt raised to her waist, and only the darkness covered her.
“Do you see how pretty she is in her passion?” He scraped his teeth against her ear, and she sagged against his chest. “Not as pretty as you when you submit. That moment, when you stop struggling against the ropes, stop trying to find comfort, to find satisfaction. When you surrender, and give yourself over to me to pleasure you as I see fit.” He shifted behind her, pressing his hard length into the crease of her bottom. “You are the most beautiful thing in the world at that moment.”
Her eyes blurred, and the flickering candles turned into dancing spots of lights. His thick finger found its way between her folds, gliding easily. “I knew you’d be wet,” he whispered, satisfaction oozing from his voice.
She clutched at his arm, her fingers digging into his coat. Her own gasp was covered by the shriek of the woman on the bench as wax was poured onto her bottom, the candle only inches from her skin. The bearded man sat back on his haunches and appraised his work. With a nod, he licked his thumb and index finger and snuffed out the candles, one by one. Each hiss of the dying flames was echoed in the back of Amanda’s throat. Julius’s fingers danced along her intimate flesh, making her mind splinter along with her body.
The room went full dark, heavy breathing the only sound. Leaning her head back on his shoulder, she let Julius’s fingers sweep her away. He vee’d two fingers and rubbed back and forth around her clit. He reached his other hand down her corset and pulled out a breast. The tip was aching for attention, and when Julius pinched down, she almost wept with pleasure.
She was almost there. Just—
A gas lamp flared to life, lighting the chamber with amber shadows. The man and woman at the center of the room stood before the small group. He turned the woman so her back faced the audience. Different colors of wax splashed across her body in a lively pattern. The spectators clapped politely.
Julius’s hands were otherwise occupied. With one hand he continued his relentless assault, with the other he draped her cloak back over her body, covering her nudity. Amanda struggled to stuff herself back into her corset and rearrange the top of her gown beneath the cloak. She clutched her breast through the stiff fabric. She couldn’t let anyone see her like this, red-faced and panting, but her hips had a mind of their own, thrusting into his fingers. She was so close. Rational thought abandoned her, replaced by all-consuming craving.
The bearded man looked up from his human canvas and caught her in his stare.
Heat raced across her skin. Embarrassment. Lust. Need. It was all the same. “Julius,” she begged.
Spinning, he nestled her body against the wall, his own blocking her from view. “Do you want me to stop?”
“God, no.” She placed her palms flat against the wood, wishing there was something she could grab hold of. “Please …”
With no more teasing strokes, Julius increased the pressure. He thrust two fingers in her channel and circled her clitoris with his thumb. With his other hand, he palmed her mouth and leaned in close. “It’s all right. No one can see or hear you. Come for me, Amanda.”
She clawed at the wall, ignoring the sharp prick of a splinter. She stood on the edge of the abyss, her heart skipping a beat, before flying off, shattering into a million pieces. His hand muffled her moan, his arms keeping her from slipping to the floor, a boneless mess. He rubbed her slowly, prolonging her crisis.
After her body stopped shuddering, he slipped his hand from between her legs, and her skirts dropped to the floor. He straightened her cloak and pressed a soft kiss to the skin beneath her ear. “There’s one more reward I owed you.” His lips curved against her skin. “Though I’m still much in your debt.”
She took a steadying breath and turned. Everyone in the room was grouped around the naked woman, admiring the streaks of color along her back. No one took notice of what Julius had just done to her in the corner. No one except the bearded man.
He strode across the room, everyone stepping aside for the behemoth. Stopping in front of them, the swarthy man crossed his arms across his broad chest. Amanda shrank into Julius’s side under the man’s scrutiny.
His fingers disappeared into his beard as he rubbed his jaw. “A new plaything, Julius? She doesn’t look much like your usual sort.”
Amanda’s spine snapped straight. What did he mean? And what was Julius’s usual sort?
Draping an arm around her shoulder, Julius pulled her into his side. “Not a plaything. A friend. And someone who will be assisting us tonight, so be nice.” He turned to Amanda. “This shaggy fellow is Maximillian Atwood, Baron of Sutton. He rarely has much of import to say, so feel free to ignore him.”
Sutton grunted. “Are you sure she wouldn’t like a bit of sport?” He eyed her exposed neck and the top of her gown between the folds of her cloak that just barely covered her breasts. “Her skin is delightfully pale. The wax would look wonderful on it.”
Julius bared his teeth. “Not. For. You.”
Amanda chewed the inside of her cheek. “Assisting you? I thought you only wanted me by your side for appearance’s sake.”
He squeezed her arm. “Yes, that. And I need you to distract Madame Sable while Sutton and I search her office. A bit of acting, if you will.”
Amanda and Sutton were twin images of gaping fish. The baron recovered first. “Julius! What the bloody hell? Who is this woman that you’d speak so freely in front of her?”
“Oh, my apologies,” Julius said, sounding anything but contrite. “Did I forget to introduce you? This is Amanda Wilcox, Montague’s sister-in-law.” Opening the door, Julius led them into the hallway and towards the main room. “And don’t worry. She already knows.”
“I daresay she didn’t know about me.” Sutton kept his voice low but his words held plenty of heat.
“Acting?” Amanda squeaked. Her feet took root to the hallway floor. “I am no performer.”
Julius swept her hair over her shoulder and squeezed her arm. “I thought the idea might alarm you, so I waited until now to tell you to save you from the worry. But think of it as a bit of entertainment. Just follow my lead.”
Turning to his friend, Julius clapped the man’s back. “And you, cheer up. She rarely goes out of doors, and speaks to no one but me and Marcus’s dotty aunt. Your secret is safe with her.”
Sutton didn’t look convinced.
Of all the devious, under-handed tricks. Amanda glared at the man who was looking much too pleased with himself by half. Her irritation was so great, she barely noticed as Julius guided her into the main room of the club full of people.
“I don’t know what plan you think you’ve devised—” she began.
“You’ll do splendidly. Have faith in yourself.” Julius wrapped an arm around her waist. “And in me.”
Amanda grumbled to herself, but she didn’t have an argument for that. She did have faith in Julius. He always kept her safe.
A flash of red and a tinkling laugh drew their gazes to the center of the room.
“Ah, there’s our hostess.” Julius’s fingers dug into her side. He blew out a breath and relaxed his grip. “Let me introduce you, my dear.”
Amanda stumbled forward, her heart rate increasing with each step she took towards the center of the room. All gazes in the room were directed at the red-haired beauty, and Amanda had no desire to stand in the shadow of all those eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Julius whispered in her ear. “Just let the current take you where it may.”
Amanda frowned and tugged the cloak tightly around her body. Julius swept her in a half-circle and presented her to the proprietress, bowing his head. “Madame Sable. How lovely to see you this evening. Might I introduce my guest, and someone most eager to become a member of your esteemed establishment. Mrs. Matthew Walker.”
Sutton snorted but covered the sound by clearing his throat. Amanda frowned at him. This was hardly the time to come down with the giggles.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Walker,” Madame Sable said, her voice a musical tinkle. “Have you had a chance to enjoy The Black Rose?”
“Indeed, I have.” Heat flushed across Amanda’s cheeks as she stuttered the words. “Your club is most intriguing.”
The redhead laughed, the heavy ruby and diamond necklace she wore shimmering above her breasts. “That is one word for it.” She swept a hand towards a closed door. “May I show you to my office? We can discuss membership there.”
Julius held the door open and followed the women into a stairwell. “You are most kind. However, Mrs. Walker has a similar complaint as I. Rather worse, actually. And your office, while charming, is most small.” The foursome reached the top of the stairs and entered into a large hallway. A window sat at the far end and two doors were on either side of the corridor. Julius swept a hand towards an open door. “Perhaps your interview can be held elsewhere?”
“Of course.” Madame Sable grasped the handle of the fan dangling from her wrist and tapped Julius in the chest with the closed end. “But you know my interviews are held alone with the prospect. I demand complete frankness with the candidates, and that rarely occurs when one’s friends are in the room.”
She extended a hand, to point back down the stairwell Amanda thought, and Julius grabbed it, lightly kissing the skin above her fingers. “Of course. I know your policy well. Sutton and I will wait in your breakfast room.” He turned and entered the room across from them, Sutton lumbering behind. Still without his shirt.
Madame Sable eyed the muscled back and bit down on her lip. “There are great benefits to being a member here, as you can see.” She turned and entered the sitting room. “But female members remain rare. I am quite interested to learn what piqued your interest.” She held her hand out to an empty chair, a smile on her face.
Amanda sidled past the woman and took the seat on the settee that faced the open door with its view of the hallway. She willed her racing heart to slow its pace. “Perhaps”—she licked her lips—"perhaps female membership is rare because men hold women’s purse strings. Not because we are so different in our needs.”
Madame Sable raised her eyebrows, but settled gracefully in the chair opposite. “Too true. And all too unfortunate. If men only knew what women were capable of they would no longer underestimate our sex.”
Amanda shifted. She didn’t know of what she was capable. Except for the one moment she’d stood up to her father, the moment she’d lost control and lashed out at him with a knife, she hadn’t accomplished anything in her life.
That one horrible deed had achieved her sister’s and her own safety from a monster. And that was the grand sum of Amanda’s life. It was a depressing thought.
The proprietress loosely clasped her hands together above her knee. “Now, let’s get down to business. I take it you heard about our little club from Julius?”
Nodding, Amanda smiled through gritted teeth. Hearing his Christian name roll off the woman’s painted lips was as irritating as the scratchy jute rope Julius had tested against her skin.
But it shouldn’t be. Julius was a man with a past, and a future that wouldn’t include Amanda. He could have as many red-headed harlots screaming his name as he wanted.
A pit opened up in her chest at the thought. She had been fooling herself to think that she could keep her affair from touching her heart. She had been half in love with Julius from the day they’d met and adding physical intimacy had only strengthened her attachment. No, she could no longer fool herself but she prayed Julius would remain unaware of her feelings.
Madame Sable’s eyebrows drew together the longer it took her to answer, and Amanda squared her shoulders. She could console herself later. Now, she had a job to do. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “The earl knew we had mutual interests and thought I might enjoy your club.”
Said earl poked his head out of the room across the hall and slipped out the door, heading for the office. Sutton tip-toed behind him, his knees slowly raising to his bare stomach with each step. He looked like an extremely large child sneaking out of nursery, and Amanda bit back a smile.
A floorboard in the hallway creaked.
“I was quite impressed with my tour,” Amanda said loudly. “You seem to, uh, have something for everyone.” A guess, based on the several closed doors downstairs. If dripping wax on a woman was in one of the rooms, she could hardly imagine what the other chambers contained.
Smoothing down her skirts, Madame Sable sent her a satisfied smile. “I do try to cater to everyone’s needs. Well, the reasonable ones, at least. The safety of my girls and the other patrons is of paramount importance.”
“Of course.”
The madam smirked. “If you came with Julius, I can imagine what your need might be.”
There was a muffled bang from down the hall, and the proprietress turned to look out the door. “Did you hear something?”
“No.” Amanda gulped down a breath. “Nothing at all.”
“Maybe I should go check …” Madame Sable began to rise.
Amanda scooted to the edge of her seat. “Please. I’ve only ever been tied by Lord Rothchild. But he won’t always be available.” Especially not if he was thrown in prison for burglary. She swallowed, trying to bring moisture back to her parched mouth. “Can you tell me how your club would handle finding me a partner?”
“Of course.” She cast another concerned glance over her shoulder but sank back into her chair. “I can either find another guest whose preferences suit yours, or one of my domestics. They are highly trained, and all interactions would be monitored until you feel comfortable with your partner. Now.” She leaned forward, her breasts threatening to spill from the top of her gown. “Let’s talk business. It is an annual membership, entitling you to entry any night you wish. Or every night.” Her sharp gaze flicked on Amanda’s mask. “Anonymity is highly-prized. Each member signs a contract guaranteeing they won’t disclose anything that he or she sees at the club to non-club members. You never have to reveal your face, Mrs. Walker, if you don’t wish to.”
“The members sign contracts.” A bead of sweat gathered at Amanda’s temple, and she brushed it away. “But what about the workers. As you say, you have many girls.” She looked to the empty door and back to the madam. When would Julius be finished? She didn’t know how much longer she could maintain the pretense.
“And some men,” Madame Sable said. “I provide for every taste. And they, too, are made to sign privacy contracts.”
Amanda wiped her damp palms on her skirts. “And you? What guarantees do I have of your discretion?”
The woman opened her mouth, but it was a deep voice that rang out across the room. “Apparently no guarantee at all.” Julius stepped into the room, Sutton right behind.
The baron leaned against a side table and tapped a leather-bound book against his thigh.
Madame Sable spun in her seat. She saw the book in Sutton’s hand and gasped. She shot to her feet. “How dare you? That is private property.”
Amanda pressed her hands to her stomach. Thank the heavens. Her task was done. Rising to her feet, she asked, “What did you find?”
Madame Sable turned her venomous glare on her. Amanda lifted one shoulder.
“We found proof that Madame Sable is as greedy as she is stupid.” Julius shook his head. “Keeping the book in your top desk drawer, and with such a flimsy lock?” He tutted. “Did you really think no one would ever come looking?”
Stalking to Sutton, the proprietress tried to grab the book from his hand, but he held it out of reach. “That is proof of nothing. Merely some notes.”
Sutton opened the journal. “Aidan, Marquess of Derry. Likes to wear a lead and be made to bark like a dog. Five hundred pounds. Harry Cockburn, second son of the Earl of Manchester. Likes spanking men who are dressed as women. Eight hundred and fifty pounds.” He snapped the book shut. “I guess the tupping goes without saying.”
“Notes to help me run my business better.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Madame Sable stalked back to her seat and sank down.
“And the quid amounts?” Julius asked. “I know the fees here are much greater than those amounts. But still a nice cut for doling out information to blackmailers.” He tapped a crystal dangling from the sconce of a gas lamp and watched it swing. “Did you need the money? I thought this club was more than profitable.”
“The Black Rose is extremely profitable. And your accusations couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” Julius came to Amanda and put a hand at her waist. “And unfortunately for you, the men I work with will take my suspicions as fact. Life is about to become very unpleasant for you. Unless you cooperate.”
The woman sniffed. “You work for the government, I assume. Those aren’t the men who scare me.”
“Then you haven’t been properly introduced.” With firm pressure, Julius guided Amanda to the door. “Sutton will be more than happy to show you just who you’re dealing with.”
Amanda saw the woman shrink away from Sutton as Julius closed the door. The baron’s broad back blocked her view of the proprietress just as the door clicked shut. Gripping her elbow, Julius hustled her down the stairs.
“But we can’t just leave them.” Amanda turned at the foot of the staircase and tried to push back up. Julius tucked an arm under her cloak and banded her waist. He all but carried her into the main room.
“Sutton won’t harm her. Not truly.” He found an empty settee along the wall. “But she needs to believe he will, and if we are in the room, the illusion will be harder to sell.” He pressed her down into the red silk cushion. “And she doesn’t deserve your sympathy. She’s responsible for hurting many people.”
“So you think. She has yet to be convicted of it in a court.” Not that the courts had done Amanda much good. But her sense of justice demanded fair play for those suspected of wrongdoing, even if she was nearly certain they were guilty. Especially then.
The hard lines of Julius’s face softened. He crouched before her. “As I said, no true harm will come to the woman. But she has information we need. Information that could save lives. We need to let Sutton work.” He rubbed the skirts above her knee. “And you and Madame Sable are not of a kind.”
Amanda laughed, the sound harsh, grating. “I’ve killed. You accuse her only of selling private information. Her alleged crime doesn’t compare.”
Frowning, he stood and plucked a column of champagne off the nearest serving girl’s tray. He pressed it into her hand. “You’re right. There is no comparison. You acted in self-defense. She acts from greed.”
“That still doesn’t mean she should be …” Amanda cleared her throat. “Are you certain your friend won’t hurt her?”
“I’m certain,” he said. “But if it will ease your mind, I’ll go back upstairs and ensure the situation hasn’t gotten out of hand.”
She nodded slowly. She didn’t want to be in the club without him, but her worry over the madam’s well-being overrode her nerves.
“Any other concerns before I leave?”
“Yes. One.” Amanda tilted her head. “Why did Sutton laugh when you introduced me as Mrs. Matthew Walker? Is that another friend of yours?”
“No.” The edges of his lips tipped up. He leaned into her space, his breath hot against her lips. “A Matthew Walker is a type of knot. Not of much use for binding a woman, but lovely just the same. He is all too familiar with my predilections. Now”—he tucked her cloak securely about her—“will you be all right sitting here alone?”
Rolling the stem of the wine glass between her fingers, she swallowed. “I’ll be fine,” she lied.
With a curt nod, he strode for the stairs.
Adjusting her mask, Amanda examined the room. A young woman sat on a man’s lap across on an opposite settee, but other than that the scene appeared almost respectable. But very crowded. She fixed her gaze on a chandelier, trying to block out the rest of the room. Julius would be back soon and then they could go home. She’d had quite the adventure, but now she wanted the comfort of her own bed.
Her gaze drifted to the stairwell Julius had entered. Any moment now he’d return. A portly man leaning against the far wall, raised his glass to her, and winked. She tucked her cloak more tightly around her, grateful now for the warmth. Mouth dry, she tossed back a swallow of champagne and looked back at the ceiling. There were an awful lot of candles in the chandelier. Perhaps if she started counting them …
Raucous laughter made her drop her gaze. The couple across from her had begun a playful tussle on their settee. A man stepped from the hallway to her right, adjusting his cravat. A tall, cadaverous man with light brown hair and a thin mustache. Her heart knocked against the corset. There had to be many men who met Dawnley’s description of his blackmailer. Men so slender that they appeared like scarecrows. Men with that unfashionable facial hair. Men who frequented the very club Dawnley had been taken to. The tall man headed for the front door, stopping only when a serving girl put a hand on his arm and gave him a coy smile.
Amanda closed her eyes. What were the odds of all of that being a coincidence? Glancing at the stairs, she willed Julius to appear. He didn’t. Downing half of her champagne, she plopped the glass down on a side table and pushed to her feet. She took a step towards the stairs.
The serving girl dipped a curtsy, giving the man a nice view down her dress, and moved on with her tray of drinks. Tall man headed for the door.
Her head throbbed and indecision made her feet feel like lead. Julius wouldn’t want her interrupting whatever was happening upstairs, but he wanted this man. And if she did run upstairs, chances were the tall man would have disappeared before Julius could follow.
A party of gentlemen gathered in front of the entrance to Madame Sable’s chambers, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, singing drunkenly. And the portly man who had caught her eye earlier fixed her in his sight and headed her way.
Amanda changed direction. The path of least resistance led her to the front door. Her decision was made. Follow the tall man and report back to Julius. But by the time the footman opened the front door for her, the man was nowhere in sight. Despite the cold air swirling around her, sweat rolled down her back. The wide expanse of London surrounded her, crushing in upon her. And at her back was a room full of strangers eager for an intrigue. Both options daunted her, but only one would help Julius. She didn’t know if it was her fear, the corset, or the London fog, but knowing what she had to do she suddenly found it quite difficult to breathe.
She forced herself to inhale slowly, the bitter air abrading the back of her throat. She inched her slipper towards the first step. Shuddered when her heel hit the next. There were only two stairs. She could make it.
The swirl of a greatcoat disappearing into shadow made it easier to push through her dread. Her quarry was within sight. She couldn’t tell Julius she’d lost him because she’d been too frightened to walk out of doors. She tugged the hood of the cloak over her head. Besides, no one could recognize her.
She scurried up the street, her breaths seeming unnaturally loud in the still night. The cross street a block up was an explosion of carriages and horses, but this side street was a quiet haven. The man strode to a parked coach and waited for the driver to open the door.
Amanda bit her lip in dismay. She was going to lose him. She took in every detail of the coach as it rolled away, its gold coat of arms gleaming under the gas lamps when it hit the main street. She raced after it to the corner, pressing her hand to her side, out of breath. If she could have just—
A shoulder knocked into hers, its owner hustling down the street, not bothering with an apology. As if the contact had knocked off a blindfold, the sights of the rest of the street crashed over Amanda. She lost sight of the gold-crested coach, but twenty other carriages took its place. Pedestrians swirled around her, so fast they made her dizzy. And gas lamps hanging from posts made the street so bright she could have sworn she felt the heat from each flame.
Amanda stepped back, onto someone’s foot, and earned a snarl. She spun to apologize, but the man was already twenty paces away. A shout from the street had her twisting back. Two drivers argued from their high perches, one cracking his whip over the other driver, he in turn yelling with indignation. A horse whinnied, and twenty other drivers hollered at the blockage.
Heart pounding in her throat, Amanda grabbed her ears between her palms. The sounds still bled through. She was surrounded, lost in a crush of people, no clear avenue of escape. Bile crept up her throat, burning. Her body was rooted to the spot even as her mind screamed at her to move.
Almost like she was climbing a step, she lifted one slipper high, forced it forward and down. One step closer to her quiet street. One step closer to Julius. Why had she ever left his club?
The sound of wood ramming into wood broke behind her, but Amanda refused to turn. She lifted her other foot. Sweat beaded her skin, and the feathers of her mask stuck to her cheeks. She focused on the mouth of the side street, her vision tunneling to its dark entrance. Everything would be all right if she could just make it back to that street.
She was close. Just a few steps away. Another pedestrian jostled her as he rushed past, knocking her hood back. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. She could see lights from the front of The Black Rose. They seemed a thousand miles away. She focused on those torches, the rest of the world fading to black. As long as she kept lifting her feet and heading towards those lights, everything would be all right.
A man stepped into her path, making her lights disappear. He smiled, opened his mouth to speak, but it was like watching a pantomime. No sounds reached Amanda’s ears over the rush of blood. She tried to sidestep around him, to catch sight of her beacons again, but he moved with her, a cocky grin on his face.
It didn’t matter. She had nothing left in her. It took all of her energy to merely remain standing. London swirled around her like a cyclone, and she was a fool to think she could withstand the storm.
The man in front of her pointed at her mask, tossing his head back in a soundless laugh. His teeth caught the glow from a gas lamp, and Amanda’s gaze fixed on that slight shimmer. If she could just keep one light in focus, perhaps she could keep the encroaching blackness at bay. The man closed his mouth, and her lodestar blinked out.
The world swept sideways. As she fell, Amanda felt each beat of her heart pounding faster and faster until she thought the organ must explode. And when her head hit the sidewalk, blissfully, she thought no more.