An Indiscreet Debutante

by Lorelie Brown

  “Because you troll the underbelly of the city all the time?” He couldn’t help the heavy measure of doubt that laced his voice.

  “Not exactly.” Her smile was radiant, and he had the strangest feeling whatever she was about to say was going to give him a massive headache. “But I have friends in low places who will be so very happy to see me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  By Friday night, Lottie was more convinced than ever that she’d made the right choice in insisting on going with Ian. She stepped from the carriage with her hand in his. Down the narrow, crooked street, a single streetlamp at the corner threw a sickly glow over a circle’s worth of city.

  The building before them wasn’t much. Only two stories, and the windows were small and dirty. A sign over the door swung in a desultory breeze. The scent of it, thick with salt and rot, implied the air came from the docks a street or two away. If only it had stayed there.

  She lifted gloved fingers to her nose as her stomach gave a little twist. “Such a dreadful smell.” She dropped her hand and intentionally took a deep breath, the best to acclimatize.

  “The city at its finest. And this is supposed to be superior to the country in which manner?”

  She bent her mouth inward to hide a smile. “I certainly didn’t mean this part. The environs I normally cling to are much more amenable. You’ll have to take me to Hyde Park tomorrow to alleviate this memory.”

  “Wet fish rot does have a particular clinginess to it.” He presented his arm and tipped his head toward her. His beaver-pelt top hat tilted at a rakish angle. His cheeks pinched on dimples that inspired reckless thoughts. “Tell me your friend’s name and I’d be glad to return you to Chelsea so you can avoid the stench.”

  He’d been right the other day. She hadn’t wanted him, not in the body-deep way that grew every time she looked at his mouth. Not really. This was something new. Something that expanded with every smart quip or teasing grin. She liked him. Just like he’d said the other day that he liked her. She appreciated who he was as a person, the way he was determined to shield his sister from the brunt of her choices.

  “You’ll know the name in a moment. When we go inside. I won’t risk you running about without me.” She wouldn’t pass up such an expedition.

  He didn’t like it. He’d protested the entire way that she didn’t need to be attending any gambling halls, much less one of the lower classes. Then she’d caught him looking when he hadn’t realized she could see. The way his gaze lit. The intensity that absorbed him. She liked it. She loved it. Plenty of men had admired her over the years. But never had she felt quite so...fully enfolded. He already knew about her mother and wasn’t put off.

  “As you wish,” he finally said.

  The groomsman darted around them and opened the door, releasing a flood of noise and smoke. The air clashed with layers of sounds. Gamblers cheered each other on. Bone-carved dice rattled in cups. The clatter and clink of glasses.

  Inside was a madhouse. Tables of all sorts and sizes crammed the room. Across the right wall, narrow stairs led to an upper level. Opposite of that was a long bar which bustled like a beehive with people coming and going at a fast clip.

  She let herself lean toward Ian. He was so much larger, he could take the brunt of the crowd’s impact. She’d allow him that privilege. Being the big, strong man got rewards such as her clutching his arm more closely.

  The way he bent his head toward hers left her feeling sheltered and protected. “It’s not too late to back out.”

  “Do I seem like the sort likely to back out of anything?” Her heart took a strange tumble, and somehow she found herself oddly hopeful.

  It mattered, to her, whether he found her good and worthy. Whether she counted in the larger scheme of things, if a girl liable to go crazy as soon as she accomplished her female purpose ever did count.

  “You don’t.” He tucked a carefully pressed ringlet behind her ear. She thought it might be an excuse to touch her because his fingertip strayed over her temple. “You have more fortitude than most men I’ve met.”

  Her chest eased and bloomed open. So stupid, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. “That’s about to be put to the test. Come along.”

  She led him inexorably toward a plain door at the far back of the room. They had to wade through crowds. Bodies pressed in on all sides, and unlike usual, Lottie hardly noticed. She didn’t like strangers touching her—invading her space. But with Ian walking close at her back, she was safe.

  She knocked on the unremarkable door and was surprised that it wasn’t answered immediately. She had to knock again, her heartbeat trebling with worry that maybe her note had gone astray, before Sera opened the door. Her friend was dressed in a fine evening gown covered all over with silver lace. The cleavage displayed by the plunging neckline was red with a blush, and she was breathing hard.

  “I can’t believe you actually came again, and at this hour,” Sera exclaimed. She hauled Lottie into the room. “You foolish girl, you couldn’t at least come through the back entrance like I did?”

  “Back entrance,” Ian echoed behind her with no small measure of dry wit infusing his voice. “There’s a back way?”

  “Of course there is. Through the alley, but we keep it well lit and fairly clean back there.” Sera led the way to another door.

  “So there was no reason for us to arrive at the front of the rooms and make our way through the crowd?”

  “Certainly there was,” Lottie said. She looked at Ian out of the corner of her eye because there was no way she’d miss his response to this one. “I wanted to.”

  “Of course.” His mouth quirked up on the left, and he glanced at her. “I should have guessed. Isn’t that the reason for most of the things that we’ve done lately?”

  She swatted his shoulder, unreasonably pleased with the fact that his firm muscles didn’t give. “We shouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for your wishes. Don’t fault me for taking some small measure of pleasure out of it.”

  “Pleasure?” he scoffed. “You have no idea of what pleasure is if that qualifies.”

  Opening the door to another small room revealed a study that was surprisingly cozy for the surrounds. Sera moved to stand beside her husband. Fletcher Thomas sat in an ornately carved chair with red upholstery and gold trim. The thing was as ostentatious as a throne. Any other man would have looked absurd in it. Not Fletcher. He sprawled in the thing like a king of old. A man who’d look more at home grasping a battleaxe than wearing his finely tailored suit.

  He scooped up Sera’s hand from the chair back and lifted it to his lips for a silent kiss. Sera’s blush started in a pink wash at her temples and scored across her cheeks. Her gaze stayed steady on Lottie’s as if she didn’t feel the kiss. Liar girl.

  The glimpses of Sera’s marriage that Lottie saw were the few things that made her doubt her resolve to not marry. But then, Sera didn’t have the same sort of risks as Lottie did. Childbirth raised the odds of her losing her grip on the world more than anything.

  Lottie lived for knowing her friend was happy. She patted Ian’s arm. “Sir Ian, allow me to present Fletcher Thomas.”

  When two men of equal power were introduced, particular magic charged the air. Both Fletcher and Ian were gentlemen of top standing. It was so much energy that a girl couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. She held back a shiver, but Ian still saw it.

  Her hand looped over his forearm, and he squeezed his fingers over hers. She was firmly held between determination and lean strength. “Mr. Thomas. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Ian said.

  Fletcher flicked a look up at his wife, who gave a tiny nod. Sera wielded a quiet power over him that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with the reassurances given and taken in turn. “Same here, I’m quite sure.” He held out a hand, which Ian took with a brief shake. “I understand you’re on the lookout for a paper.”

  “More, a woman.”

  Sera gave a teeny, s
prite-like smile. “You have a woman at your side.”

  Ian chuckled. The sound wove through Lottie’s body with soft promise. She pushed temptation down, away. Not the time for it.

  If she looked too closely, she might have to admit how much she liked being at his side.

  Ian had moved on anyway. His gaze focused on Fletcher. “But have I heard of you before? Your name sounds rather familiar.”

  Fletcher relaxed into his chair. His good humor melted into something more smug. “It’s possible. My interests are many.”

  Lottie laughed. “How droll he is when he wishes to be. Fletcher is one of the largest crime bosses in London at the moment. If Patricia has any intention to indulge in her gambling hobby, she’ll come into contact with Fletcher’s people.”

  Ian’s eyebrows flew up. His body tensed, and he looked from Lottie to Fletcher and back again. “You’re friends with an underworld criminal?”

  “Of course I am,” she said on a smile. Oh, how she liked discombobulating him. “Doesn’t everyone have a favorite criminal?”

  “No,” he said, feeling rather like the prude and country bumpkin she’d teased him about being. “Most people never come into contact with criminals, not on a regular basis.”

  Mr. Thomas chuckled roundly, and his petite wife smiled. “Well, now,” he said, “I’m not quite as sure about that as you are. I’m of the opinion that you come into contact with criminals nearly daily.”

  Sera curled a hand over her husband’s brawny shoulder. They looked about as mismatched as possible. Fletcher Thomas was a brute, with roughly hewn features and cutting ice-blue eyes. His wife was short and curvy. In her features dwelled calm serenity Ian wouldn’t have guessed from a criminal’s wife.

  Sera smiled at Fletcher before speaking. “It’s only the thieves and riffraff you meet simply aren’t quite so open about their activities.”

  “While I see no reason to hide anyone’s drinks or gambling. Everyone finds what they’re looking for. I candidly afford them the opportunity.” Fletcher pushed out of his chair and ambled to a sideboard filled with crystal decanters and squat tumblers. He poured a generous helping of liquor into a glittering glass. “Doesn’t seem like horrible criminality to me. Would you like a drink?”

  “Thank you.” The whiskey burned Ian’s throat like fire. “Is there a plan in place for finding the chit?”

  Lottie scooped the glass out of his hand, her fingers trailing over his like another touch of that fire. Except this one seared hotter. “Fletcher’s men are watching for her, but they don’t know her like you and I do. We’re going out to the main area to observe.”

  “Can’t hurt.”

  Fletcher saluted with his glass. “You’re welcome to sit with me and my wife at my usual table. Or you can gamble if you wish.”

  Ian lifted a single eyebrow. “How kind of you.”

  The other man gave a charming shrug. “It was worth an attempt. And really, I’ll spot you the first few quid.”

  “How generous.”

  Lottie waved the tumbler of whiskey, which Ian suddenly realized she’d almost fully downed. A whiskey-drinking lady. His mind rather flipped. “We’ll sit in the royal booth, thank you very much,” Lottie said with cheeky assurance.

  “Royal booth?” Ian echoed.

  “Lovely,” Sera said. Her smile barely curved, but her eyes warmed with true pleasure. “This will be fun.”

  Thirty minutes later, Ian was rather surprised to find out that was true. Sera had insisted they drink champagne, a very good bottle she admitted came from Fletcher’s personal selection rather than what was sold to the regular hoi polloi filling the gambling tables.

  Indeed, they hadn’t sat among most of the attendees. The seating Lottie called the royal booth was on the second level, abutting the balcony and looking out over the rest of the room. Beneath was a clear view of the gamblers and drinkers and girls working. The table itself was trimmed with gold and inlaid with mahogany stripes across. At the top of the stairs a bodyguard stood silent sentinel, but Ian was convinced by the one good look Ian had gotten of the man’s face.

  The men Fletcher Thomas employed were not to be messed with.

  When a man with a bartender’s apron approached, Lottie took the opportunity to lean toward Ian. “This is all rather exciting, is it not?”

  If she hadn’t such a problem with being called insane, he’d have told her how very cracked she seemed. “You forget I’ve been to gambling houses before.”

  She pushed her lips into a pout. “How very masculine of you. I’ve little opportunity to indulge. Never when feeling so safe as well.”

  “Oh, goody,” he intoned. “You do realize the corridor behind us is lined with women of reduced means who take to their backs to fund their lives, yes?”

  “I do. I’ve been able to convince several to begin classes at my school, but it’s rather surprising how many are either honestly pleased to stay where they are or are too frightened to change.” She cupped a shallow, wide glass of bubbling wine. “I’ll be back in two days to take another run at convincing them to flee Fletcher’s evil clutches.”

  “I do wish you would,” Fletcher interjected. “Responsibility for them is drawing me attention in more circumspect company.”

  Sera patted his arm. “Fletcher is going to be a railroad baron.”

  Lottie lifted her champagne glass in Ian’s direction. “In the meantime, do try to appear as if you’re having a good time.”

  “Are we being watched?” Ian sat too close to Lottie. The hint of her cleavage above her dress’s bodice enticed him. “Must I entertain the masses below?”

  “No, for me. I tire of seeing such a sourpuss face,” she said before laughing. “You’d be surprised how far a little forced enthusiasm goes. In no time, you’ll feel it for real.”

  If anything, he was enjoying himself. But the gambling hall wasn’t a novelty. What pleasure he felt came from hers in turn. Seeing her excitement was enough to light him up.

  Until a scream echoed through the air behind him.

  Lottie jumped. Champagne dribbled over her wrist. Ian was up before he had time to think it through. His chair crashed to the ground. Fletcher scrambled out of his own seat. The man at the top of the stairs started to follow, but Fletcher put up a hand. “Block any crowd.”

  The scream echoed again, louder this time.

  Coming from the second door on the right. The door was locked, the brass handle not moving an inch. “Do you care?” Ian asked Fletcher.

  “By all means.” Fletcher backed up a step to give him room.

  Leaning back, he kicked hard at the knob. Once, then again. The wood cracked, showing pale white unstained by smoke or time. The door gave up completely with a quiet creak.

  Ian got only the briefest impression of a small room. In the corner, a tiny blonde cowered and covered her face. Blood dripped from behind her hands.

  A ham-fisted man towered above her with his shirt off and suspenders drooped around ample hips. “You’ve got no right, cunt. None. I’ll beat that mouth off you if you say it again.”

  She peeked out from behind her fingers. One eye was already swollen. Her bottom lip was split. She spat blood across the hardwood floor. “You’ve the willie of a four-year-old, and it’s not my bloody fault if you can’t fuck a woman.”

  The john drew back his foot, roaring with fury. “Whore,” he snarled.

  Ian launched. Damp, sweaty flesh and the bitter stench of pure cowardice filled his senses. Ian kicked, taking out the man’s ankles with the edge of a boot. A flurry of blows and punches flew from Ian’s fists. One punch struck the bastard in the throat. No reason to fight fair when the bloke obviously didn’t—for it was completely unbalanced to attack a half-dressed woman.

  The man clutched at his throat, making a whistling, choking noise as his face turned red and purple. For good measure, Ian punched him powerfully enough that his chin snapped back. The man tottered. First left. Then right. He snatched a knife from hi
s belt, only to try to run. Except he came face-to-face with Fletcher, slashing wildly. Fletcher punched him and sent him spinning back toward Ian. He ducked a wheeling knife swing and connected his fist with the bloke’s temples.

  He fell.

  “Bravo!” cheered a voice Ian should have expected. Lottie stood in the doorway with Sera at her side. Though she still held her glass of champagne, now half-empty, she tapped fingertips against her palm in applause. “Well done, sincerely. Have you spent time boxing?”

  “Truly?” His blood pounded in his temples. His fists couldn’t unclench. All through him rushed wicked power and awareness of himself as male and Lottie as female. He wanted to take. And she wanted to play games. “You think violence worthy of accolades?”

  She shrugged and flicked a glance toward Sera at her side. “When it’s for such a worthy cause. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Certainly.” Sera nodded. “I appreciate all champions of womanhood, no matter the form.”

  Behind him, Fletcher had given the woman a robe and was roughly inspecting her face. “I think you’ve likely got a break along your cheekbone, Melody. It’ll be long to heal, at any rate.”

  “A damn shame.” She held still in Fletcher’s grasp. “I won’t be able to give any of my specials until it’s less painful.”

  “Hurts like a right son of a bitch, doesn’t it?” Fletcher asked.

  “Language,” piped up Sera from the doorway. “You’ll slip at the Duchess’s ball. Again. We barely got invited back this time.”

  “You heard my lady wife. Use more respectful language when discussing such woeful matters.” His mouth tweaked with a hint of humor. “Now, Melody. What happened to anger the bloke so?”

  She shook her head, tucking the robe closer about her midsection. The silken lapels gaped open. Waving a hand through the air drew attention to her ample cleavage. “He called me mummy last time, and spent all his time admiring...these. I simply asked if he’d like to again, an innocent-enough question. Surely not worth getting my lip busted over.”