4. Summer’s Heat Building #3
“But you are closing The Domus,” Nell said, her voice quiet.
“Yes. Without delay.”
The room shifted. Someone made a broken sound and covered it with a hand. Another woman muttered something sharp beneath her breath.
Rose could not feel her hands.
The Domus was not merely the place where these women worked. It was where they slept without fear. Where they learned, ate, and were protected by rules that applied to everyone.
They had choices here.
And yet, Rose understood precisely what Lord Reginald was doing.
He thought he was saving them.
She swung around to face him. “Well that takes care of that then, doesn’t it?” Her fists clenched at her sides. “As long as you send us off with a little money, your conscience is clear.”
“I did not say the transition would be easy. But, it’ll be better for everyone in the long run—”
“So you’re doing what’s best for us, is that it?”
“Is it not?”
“How would you know if it was? You yourself admitted this is your first visit to The Domus. Have you even been in a brothel before?”
His face flushed just the slightest hint of red, giving his answer without a single word.
“We’re not children to be managed,” Rose continued.
She looked out over the employees gathered below, and as she did, she happened to make eye contact with Nell. The ladies’ manager was watching them both closely and tapping a finger against her bottom lip, a sure sign that she was thinking hard about something.
“I never said you were children,” he answered.
“No.” Rose kept her voice even. “You merely intend to dismiss us as if we were.”
A faint line appeared between his brows. “No one will suffer for my decision.”
“And how can you be so sure of that?”
His jaw clenched.
Rose saw it, and immediately softened her tone before he could harden his own.
“I do not question that you mean to be fair,” she said. “That is what troubles me.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Rose drew a breath. “You have not seen The Domus.”
His gaze moved over the lounge below. “I am looking at it now.”
“You are looking at one room.”
He shrugged. “A very fine room. I’ll admit that.”
“It is meant to be.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“This is what people expect to see,” she went on. “Silk. Candles. Beautiful women. A little mystery.” She glanced toward the lounge. “It is a stage.”
“It is a brothel,” he said yet again. “I understand that much.”
Apparently, he did not.
“The Domus is different,” she said.
He scoffed. “Right.”
“You see one room. You see what is offered here—women who have learned how to make gentlemen comfortable with what they want.” Her fingers tightened together.
“But you do not see the work that goes into it. You do not see the rules. You do not see the frightened girls before they learned how to hold their heads up. Girls who only knew how to look at the ground.”
No one below them moved.
“You do not see Mr. Huxley making certain every woman is paid what she is owed. You do not see how the kitchens, always clean, provide hot meals without fail. The rooms upstairs, designed for pleasure, yes, but also comfort and—most essentially—for safety. You do not see the infirmary.” Her breath caught, but she went on.
“You do not see the women who come here with nothing and learn they still have a few choices.”
His face had gone still, almost as though he was finally listening.
Rose could feel her plea now, rushing through her veins. She could not let him close them down.
“This place is not like any other,” she said. “Your brother made sure of that. I beg of you,” she continued. “Don’t judge this place before you know it. Before you know… us.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, “What would you have me do?”
For one moment, Rose could not answer.
An hour-long tour would not be enough. He needed to understand it.
And suddenly, she remembered the garden. The way he had lost control when desire caught him unaware.
He was not practiced. Not in this.
He didn’t know that pleasure need not come with shame. That a person could want—and be wanted—without being made lesser for it.
There were, indeed, things The Domus offered that he did not understand.
And if they were to stand any chance at changing his mind, Lord Reginald needed to understand all of it.
“Keep The Domus open as it is for now. Let us show you what you mean to close,” she said. “Speak with Nell about the operations. Look over the accounts with Mr. Huxley. Explore upstairs. Know all of it before you decide what becomes of us.”
“And how long could that possibly take?”
“Thirty days.” Rose threw out the first timeline that made sense.
A murmur moved through the lounge below, but Rose forced herself not to look away.
He looked down at the room once more.
At Nell. At Mr. Huxley. At the women who had gone so quiet they scarcely seemed to breathe.
If Rose had not been watching him, she might have missed the faint shift of his mouth.
“Very well. A month. I’ll allow the doors to remain open until the end of August.”
So thirty-one days then. Hope flared in Rose’s chest, sharp enough to hurt.
Then his eyes came back to hers.
“Don’t mistake that for a change of mind,” he said. “I despise places like this, and I mean to see this one closed.”
Rose swallowed.
He did not understand.
Not yet.
There were things The Domus offered that no ledger could ever convey.
Lord Reginald looked beyond her, toward the people gathered below.
“I appreciate your loyalty to my brother’s establishment," he said, rather stiffly. “But I mean to be plain. I won’t change my mind.”
He then turned away from them.
The room began to stir as everyone returned to their business. Soft voices rose. Chairs scraped against the floor.
Then the man looked back at her.
“You have your thirty days.” His voice was low enough that no one else could hear. “But make no mistake, I am going to close it.”
“Perhaps.” She’d let him believe that. For now.
His gaze held hers for one long moment.
“Thirty days,” Lord Reginald Preston said.
Rose inclined her head.
One month to save The Domus—and show the man who meant to destroy it everything he had never understood about desire and pleasure.
Thirty days.
She would have to make every one of them count.