aside the threadbare velvet drape and ventured inside. If only vengeance had not commanded him here tonight.
Tobacco smoke clouded the air, dimming his view of the men who crowded around the faro tables, gentlemen in evening dress intermingled with tradesmen in dark suits and rough-hewn men off the wharves. Gilt- framed mirrors cluttered the walls, and lopsided chandeliers hung from the ceilings, trappings of faux luxury. A ramshackle quartet assembled in the distant corner. The establishment had the feel of transience, as if every fixture, table, and drape could be snatched up at any moment, thrown in the back of a wagon, and installed elsewhere for the same effect. Understandable, as Cormack’s source had warned him the club changed locations often, so as to avoid discovery by the constables. Predators with painted lips and rouged cheeks circled him, already taking note of the newcomer in their midst.
“Looking for a bit of company t’night, good sir?” inquired a redhead, boldly assessing him with kohl-lined eyes.
“Two is good company. Three is a party.” The brunette sidled closer, offering Cormack an unrestricted view of her breasts, only barely constrained by a bodice of sheer muslin. “You look like the sort of man who likes more than just one.”
Hmmm…perhaps. But his tastes were far more refined than what he would find here.
As far as London brothels went, the Blue Swan was the seediest he’d visited thus far, though he’d paid a handsome bribe to the bully at the door for the pleasure of entering without the required referral. But he wasn’t here to drink, gamble, or to whore. He was here to find the man he had sworn to destroy. If only he knew who the hell he was looking for.
His hand passed over his coat pocket, confirming the existence of the hard lump within—the gold amulet he’d taken from Laura’s hand in the moments after her death, one bearing a severed Medusa’s head and the Latin word
Three years had passed. At last, he felt…close.
His hatred renewed, Cormack made his selection carefully and caught her wrist as she moved past, a woman in a jade-green gown. Older than the others with a faded complexion and dull hair, perhaps she would be more eager than her competitors to earn a bit of coin in exchange for a whispered, forbidden secret.
“’Ay!” The harridan’s eyes widened in outrage, but upon assessing him, they softened into heavy-lidded seduction. “Well, ’ow do you do, ’andsome?” she breathed. “’Aven’t seen you ’ere before. I’m Nellie. What are y’ lookin’ for tonight?”
“I’m looking for you, Nellie.” He took care to remain in the deepest of shadows. Though few would recognize him in London, he expected that might change, depending on how long this business of retribution kept him here.
In the crush of the crowd, she pressed against him, curling her hands into his lapels. “I’ve a room upstairs, nice and cozy. What do you say? I’ll get us a bottle, just for ourselves.”
“Actually, I’ve become separated from friends and would like to rejoin them. I was hoping that perhaps you know them?”
“Friends?” Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of friends?”
He pressed a crown into her palm.
After a quick glance to assess the coin’s worth, a smile eased onto her lips. “Per’aps I do know them. I’ve known everyone ’ere at one time or another, it seems.”
He murmured near her ear, “They follow this club from place to place. Meet here on occasion.” He did not know that to be certain, but he had a strong hunch that’s how the men he sought remained…well, invisible.
“Oh…” Her face went slack. “Indeed. A mysterious lot, they are. Don’t come here for the entertainments, for the most part.”
The beat of his heart increased. “Can you provide their names?”
She glanced over her shoulder before whispering, “Never actually seen their faces, but gentlemen they be, all of them, with fancy clothes and carriages. They’ve not yet arrived, but soon, I think. Keep an eye over there beside the stage. They’ll come through the back.”
He stepped away, and her hands fell from his coat. “Thank you, Nellie.”
“Wot, that’s all?” She pouted, a saucy smile tilting her carmine lips. “You paid for better than just a bit of chitchat.”
“Forget about me, if anyone comes asking later. That’s all I ask.”
“Beshrew me, forget that ’andsome face?” Her gaze traveled over him longingly. Regretfully. She sighed. “Don’t think that’s possible, but Nellie don’t tell tales on her favorites, and you’ll forever be one of mine.” She came near, her voice lowered. “But be careful with those ones. They’re dangerous men.”
“How do you know I’m not one of them?”
“I know,” she answered softly, and with a shrug of her bare shoulder, she disappeared into the crowd.
Just then, the musicians struck up a tune. Beside them, curtains jerked apart on ropes to reveal a makeshift stage made out of wooden shipping crates, a common sight on the nearby quay. On each of the four corners stood a young lady, frozen in a dramatic pose. Elaborate scarlet carnival masks studded with paste jewels concealed their faces above their painted lips. Close-fitting, flesh-toned body stockings conveyed the illusion of nudity. Those men not otherwise engaged at the gaming tables surged forward to jostle for position along the edges of the stage, shouting out expressions of vulgar admiration. The stage rocked and several of the girls wavered from their poses.
A bulldog-faced man in an ill-fitted greatcoat and top hat strutted to the center of the stage and bellowed, “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Do control yourselves!”
Hands held high for quiet, he waited for the clamor to subside.
“We have assembled here for your personal erudition and viewing pleasure, four of the foremost actresses of Drury Lane presenting the finest in
Cormack chuckled. Actresses, indeed. Having studied the classics intensively at university, he could not discern what any of their poses had to do with Electra or Agamemnon, but he supposed that wasn’t the point.
Though he could not claim to be an expert on strumpets, these four were clearly of a higher quality than the others who crowded the room. Young and pretty, at least from this distance, they had bodies to match with high breasts, pinched waists, and flared hips.
His attention lingered on one in particular, a young woman with blonde hair and luminous skin. Something about her engaged him and refused to let go. Perhaps it was the bright blue flash of temper in her eyes or the querulous set of her pretty mouth. He could not help but feel he’d caught sight of an angel who had unknowingly alighted among lesser mortals and who, now entangled in mankind’s sin, had become helpless to escape.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had noticed her, for suddenly the young woman yelped and smacked the hand of the patron closest to her, a man who, after being so rebuffed, snatched his hand away from the girl’s well-turned ankle. The collective thunder of male laughter shook the floor beneath Cormack’s boots.
Cormack did not laugh. Instead, he maneuvered closer to the stage, fixated. Inexplicably smitten. A bright flush moved up the girl’s throat into her cheeks to disappear beneath her mask. She resumed her pose, and yet… her hands trembled.
He knew in an instant she didn’t belong in this place.
With each step forward, a tangle of memories and regrets welled up inside him, along with a sudden impulse to protect her, to make whatever had gone wrong right. Something he’d been helpless to do for Laura.
So distracted by the girl was he that he almost…
Daphne cast another glare at the filthy creature who had grabbed her leg and resumed her pose. Was it only her imagination, or did her skin now
Perhaps it had been unwise to take Kate’s place after all. Not that Kate even knew she was here, of course. The girl would never have allowed her to walk out the door if she’d realized Daphne’s intentions. Unwise decision
