Luck Is No Lady (25 page)

And then he met a young lady who crossed those boundaries with ease. She had settled into life at the club, filling a niche and drawing him in with her pert tongue and intelligent gaze. Yet, she existed in that other world as well. Gracing ballrooms and dinner parties with her gentle smile and self-possession.

It was to the latter she belonged and always would, and so her next words came as no surprise at all.

“I will not be returning to the club. You will need to find another bookkeeper.”

His teeth clenched too tightly for him to form a reply.

“I want to…thank you again for what you have done to help my family.” Her words were soft and stilted. “And for what you have done for me.”

“What have I done for you, Emma?”

She took a step toward him. Then another, until their bodies pressed together in perfect alignment. Tipping her head back, she met his gaze and lifted her hands to rest them gently against his chest.

“You allowed me the freedom to hold nothing back, to express all I have been feeling inside. It was lovely beyond comprehension.” She closed her eyes and Roderick brought his arms up around her, pulling her close, needing to feel her warmth and life. “But it can never happen again,” she murmured.

He had known the words were coming, had braced for them, but still couldn't prepare for the deep feeling of loss that filled him in response.

He understood. How could he not?

A woman who would risk her reputation to take a position at a gambling hell and then attend a notorious party in her determination to save her family would always put the security of those she loved before her own desires.

Shifting his arms around her, he lifted his hands to her face. “Just one more thing,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to hers.

It was not a kiss of great passion. It did not reveal all of the desire he felt for her, nor did it expose the deep regret he harbored in his soul. It was a kiss of reverence and understanding. A kiss meant to tell her without words that he would honor her wishes and he would not forget the night they shared.

When he felt her hands start to slide from his chest around to his back, he pulled away.

He would not withstand a full embrace.

Averting his gaze, he stepped past her and swept up his coat, hat, and gloves. He left without glancing back. He just opened the door, walked through, descended the front steps, and started off down the sidewalk with swift strides.

There was still some time yet before dawn and all was quiet in Mayfair. He was forced to walk a few blocks before he was able to hail a passing hack. Once on his way, he finally began to breathe again as he turned his focus away from what he could not change.

He had not lied to Emma when he assured her of Nightshade's abilities. He was likely the one person in London who had a chance of tracking Lily Chadwick to the gentleman who had claimed her.

There may not be much Roderick could do to assist in the search, but he had to do something.

Pendragon's Pleasure House was one of the most elite of such places in town. Madam Pendragon, the proprietress, was well-known for running an uncommonly discreet business. Roderick had never had cause to visit Pendragon's establishment himself, but he had often heard tales of the specialized services she provided to the highest members of London society and the most influential of visiting dignitaries.

From everything he had heard of Madam Pendragon, he knew she was not going to readily give up any information, but Roderick was not interested in speaking with the brothel's proprietress.

As Roderick anticipated, a burly servant dressed in fine footman's livery prevented him from proceeding past the foyer.

“Hold it there, sir,” the doorman muttered brusquely. “I can't just let you in if you've never been here before.”

Roderick lifted his brows. “How could you possibly be certain I haven't?”

“I've a memory for faces, and yours I've never seen. Have you a letter from a sponsor?”

“I have no letter,” Roderick replied. “No sponsor.”

“Out with ya, then. This business is for invited guests only.”

“I did not say I wasn't invited. I received a standing invitation from Madam Pendragon more than two years ago.”

The doorman snorted. “I'm no fool. There's only three men in all of London who received invitations and haven't cashed in on 'em.”

“There comes a time for everything, I suppose. I trust your memory is good for names as well. I am Roderick Bentley.”

The doorman's skeptical gaze widened a fraction of a degree as he stepped back against the wall. “Of course, sir. My mistake. Madam will be pleased to learn you have finally accepted her invitation.”

Roderick gave the man a nod as he continued through the double doors opening into a large drawing room.

The pleasure house was still well occupied, despite the nearing of dawn. Hazy candlelight created an otherworldly atmosphere for the guests wandering about the drawing room, as did the grand mural of mythical satyrs cavorting with voluptuous nymphs painted along one whole wall.

Roderick scanned the room for a familiar face, anyone from his membership list who might be persuaded to talk. Roderick hated men who used what influence they possessed to bully others into doing their bidding, but he was not above doing it himself if it might help Emma in some small way to protect her family.

After only a moment, he spotted a gentleman who fit his criteria perfectly. A man with a healthy debit in Bentley's books and a selfish disregard for anyone's concerns but his own. He crossed to where the gentleman lounged in an overstuffed chair. A woman danced before him in a diaphanous gown that had been wet through so the transparent material clung to every dip and hollow of her body as she moved.

“Lord Fallbrook, a word, if you please.”

The man looked away from the erotic dancer to angle a bleary glare at Roderick.

“How the hell did you get in here, Bentley? I thought the place had higher standards.”

Roderick ignored the insult. “I insist upon a moment of your time.”

“I'm busy,” the lord replied, turning his attention back to the woman.

“If you value your standing as a member of my club, you will indulge me.”

That got the gentleman's full attention as Roderick knew it would. Lord Fallbrook was a second son and only one of many members of a long and noble peerage going back several generations. His family was in possession of an enormous fortune, and naturally everyone assumed Fallbrook had unlimited access to that wealth.

Roderick happened to know otherwise.

Fallbrook also had a rather rabid obsession with the hazard tables at Bentley's and could be found at the club most nights of the week, gambling with money he borrowed from a long line of credit.

The lord gestured for the dancer to move on, then pinned Roderick with a disdainful look. “Get to it then.”

Despite the man's sneer, Roderick sensed his unease.

“Were you here earlier tonight for a special occurrence? The offering of a particular sort of woman?”

A disturbing gleam entered Fallbrook's eyes. “What do you know of it?”

“Only that such an event could have disastrous repercussions for the young lady involved.”

Fallbrook's expression lit with curiosity. “How do you know the chit was a real lady? You weren't even there. The others all thought she was some poor country maid dressed in fine togs.”

Roderick did not reply. Could that be possible? Was Lily Chadwick's identity unknown to those who had bid on her?

Fallbrook slouched further in his seat. His mouth curved into a smile that seriously had Roderick considering a more violent tactic than the one he had planned for the arrogant lord.

“Of course, none of the others have much interest in debutantes. I, on the other hand, recognized the girl right away.”

Roderick took a step forward. “I demand your assurance that you will not breathe a word of the lady's involvement in what happened tonight.”

“Damn me, Bentley.” Fallbrook sneered. “Do you think I'm stupid?”

Roderick again decided it best not to reply.

“Obviously, you are not familiar with the contract Pendragon insists we all sign. She's got every one of us tethered securely to her lovely wrist. Nothing that happens here can ever be discussed outside this building.”

Roderick smiled—a cold, measured curve of his lips. “Then you are fortunate they allowed me in. Tell me who claimed the girl.”

But Fallbrook, it seemed, intended to be difficult.

“I am not telling you a thing, and neither will anyone else. If it's the lady's reputation you are concerned with, don't bother. Pendragon has it well secured. Even if the other sots happen to realize who they almost had in their beds—not that they ever would, the blind old fools—they'd never let on.”

The look in Fallbrook's eyes turned Roderick's stomach. “And I can certainly keep a secret. I can be content to wait it out for the sweet thing to become available again. I do prefer that first blush of innocence, but there is something about a young girl who has been well broken.”

Roderick fisted his hands tight at his sides to keep from sending them both into the gentleman's smug face.

“Allow me to give you a bit of advice, Fallbrook.” Despite the fury and disgust rolling through him, Roderick kept his tone even, almost friendly.

The other man lifted his brows in question, though he was only half listening, his attention already being drawn to the dancer who was making her way back to him.

Roderick continued, “You will stay away from the young lady, you will not even look her way, because if you do—if I even hear the whisper of her name from your mouth—I will see to it that your debts are called immediately.”

The other man scoffed. “I have more than enough to cover my balance at Bentley's.”

“Perhaps, but I happen to know the exact amount of your yearly allowance.” Fallbrook whipped his attention back to Roderick, who answered the lord's wary gaze with another smile. “I also know the conditions under which your father affords you that spending money. You may be able to pay my club, but you haven't nearly enough to cover the debts you have incurred around town. Think of what would happen when your father learns of your extensive gambling habits.”

“You cannot possibly possess the influence to have all my debts called in at once.” Though his words were full of derision, Fallbrook's tone was not nearly so confident.

Roderick laughed and the sound carried a genuine note of amusement. “I almost hope you will call my bluff on that, Fallbrook, I really do.” Roderick started to leave, confident he had made his point, but then couldn't resist turning back for one last jab. “By the way, did you know your father comes to the club every week for a private game? No. I can see you did not. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Fallbrook.”

Roderick left Pendragon's, torn between relief that any gossip regarding Lily's sojourn to the brothel was extremely unlikely and frustration at still not knowing where she was now. Until Lily was found, far more than her reputation was at risk.

He would have liked to return to the dowager countess's town house and share what he had learned with Emma in the hope that it might ease some of her concern. But he had one more stop to make first.

Mason Hale was a ruthless and hardened man. A bare-knuckle boxer from the age of nineteen, he had taken more men down to the mats than anyone since, and he brought the same fierce determination to running the stakes. He was not a man to cross in any fashion.

Roderick did not know him very well, but their paths had intersected a time or two over the years. Like many men in the business of bets and wagers, Hale was motivated by money, something Roderick had in abundance.

The hackney reached Hale's address and came to a stop. Roderick leaped to the ground, and after he paid the driver to wait, his long strides ate up the pavement to the door of the building that served as Hale's office and residence. A light from the upper windows suggested Hale had not yet found his bed.

After knocking sharply on the door, Roderick waited with fragile patience as he heard a scuffle and some plaintive cursing beyond. Then the door opened just a crack to show the face of a thin, scraggly-looking man with a recently bloodied nose—swollen and turning a dark shade of purple. A man who was clearly not the former prizefighter.

“I am here to see Hale.”

“Doesn't anyone come about at reasonable hours anymore?” the man complained. “Hale's indisposed.”

Roderick reached out to prevent the man from closing the door in his face. “I insist.”

The servant backed quickly away, letting Roderick enter unheeded. “Damn me, but I ain't one to make the same mistake twice. No amount of wages is worth this kind of abuse.”

And with a wary glance, the man turned and scurried down a narrow hall leading to the back of the building.

Roderick didn't know if Hale had been the one to batter the man's face and didn't much care just then, especially if the servant had any hand in Lily Chadwick's abduction. He took the steps two at a time to the second level. The single door at the top of the stairs was open. He walked in boldly, his instincts tuned to every nuance of his surroundings, his awareness on high alert for any sense of danger.

It was a large, open space that appeared to serve as office, sitting room, dining room, and whatever else all at once.

Roderick spotted Hale immediately. He was seated at his desk with his elbows propped on the surface, his head in his hands, and his spine curved forward. There was no mistaking the thick breadth of the man's shoulders or the roped muscles in his forearms, visible under his rolled-up shirtsleeves.

“I told you I didn't want any interruptions,” Hale said in a vicious snarl without raising his head.

Roderick had come to a stop a few steps into the room. He relaxed the tension along his spine and allowed his intuition to guide him. As he stared at Hale, he experienced a guarded wariness, a sort of heightened caution, but no ringing alarm to indicate danger.