Chapter Six
Lady Mary
Mr. Ryder stiffened noticeably as the new man stepped into the club. He inclined his head. “Cooke.”
The man named Cooke gave his coat to Bernard. “Mr. Ryder. The man trying to save the world with one small pen.”
“I would rather try and fail than give up and succumb to the devil’s temptation.” Ryder nodded to me, his face carefully blank. “I’ll leave you to your guest, Lady Mary. Have a nice day.” And he strode out the door.
“I do hope I didn’t chase him away,” Cooke said sounding anything but sincere.
I examined the newcomer more fully. His face was lined, worn, the deep grooves in his cheeks and forehead speaking to a man who’d lived a hard life.
The confident manner in which he held his body said that he’d risen to the challenge.
He was handsome, almost devastatingly so, but his looks were not for the faint of heart.
A woman would have to have a spine of steel to want to capture this man’s attention.
He gave me and the club brief assessments. He had the air of a man who had no patience for trivialities, and my curiosity spiked wondering what had brought him to my doorstep.
“Mr. Ryder had been leaving in any case.” I nodded reassuringly to Bernard, who was looking decidedly discomposed at having yet another man enter the club. Or perhaps it was this man in particular. “And you are?”
“Edric Cooke.” He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “I have some business to discuss with you.”
Bernard had gone still as a mouse when Mr. Cooke had said his name. My curiosity increased. I tapped my finger against my lips. “All right. Come to my office.”
I led him through the club, our path the subject of more curious glances. There had been more men traipsing through The Minerva Club in the past week than there had been in the last six months.
Based on the appraising looks my new guest was receiving, the women didn’t seem to mind.
I entered my office and went behind my desk. The tea service was still on the desk. “Tea? I can order a fresh pot.”
“No, thank you.” He lowered himself into my guest chair.
I sat across from him. “So, Mr. Cooke.” I spread my hands. “The floor is yours.”
He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “I’ve heard so much about your club, I’m glad to finally see it. It is…charming,” he finally decided upon.
I inclined my head. It was charming, nothing like the tawdry picture painted by Mr. Ryder. Just because Lady Richford happened to get herself killed here didn’t diminish that fact.
“It’s unfortunate that it has come under attack in recent days.
” Cooke stared directly into my eyes, making my body hum with awareness.
His eyes were those of a predator, and a powerful one at that.
I wasn’t one to normally watch my step, but I also wasn’t one to run foolhardily into danger.
And something told me this man was dangerous.
“We will survive,” I said evenly. I always survived.
He dipped his chin. “I know something about attacks on one’s business. I thought perhaps I could be of assistance?”
“And what is your business, Mr. Cooke?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I am fairly diversified. Entertainment, security services, deliveries. If there’s a way to make money, I’ll find it.”
I sat back. It was rare for a man to speak to me about base profit endeavors, let alone sound proud about it. The ton acted as though business was uncouth to speak of, let alone engage in. And to converse with a woman about it was nigh on unheard of.
I found his frankness refreshing.
“What does a man of such varied interests think he can offer to me by way of aid?” I tilted my head. “And why would he want to?”
“For purely mercenary reasons, I can assure you,” he said, the barest hint of Ireland in his voice. “Your club’s reputation has taken a hit in recent days. Has membership declined?”
The day after the murder, the halls had been packed, but the curious onlookers had dwindled. I wouldn’t know until the start of the new month whether members would pay their monthly dues. “We’re doing fine.”
“But you can always do better.” Mr. Cooke leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “It would be helpful if those articles in The Times were put to an end, yes? Perhaps a favorable opinion piece instead?”
I matched his pose, planting my elbows on my desk. “How would you accomplish such a task?”
“I have my ways.”
“And what would you require in return for such a service?”
He pursed his lips. “Some guarantees. An agreement not to compete with my business and a percentage off the top.”
My eyebrows slammed together. “You’re starting a women’s club?”
He exhaled heavily through his nose. “Let’s not play games, Lady Mary. I’ve tolerated some of your side ventures because they have been on such a small scale. There is potential here, however. Potential I want a part of.”
“What side ventures?”
He dipped his head and arched one dark eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. A look that only managed to irritate me because at the moment I wasn’t in the know. I also wasn’t in control, not of the conversation or the situation, and my irritation grew.
“How much of a cut do you take off the top for your members’… trades?” he asked. “Whatever profit you’re making, I can double it.”
My mind raced, trying to make his words make sense. I failed. “You said you don’t like games, and I agree. Tell me plainly what you want.”
“I want to help both of us maximize our profits.” He gave me a smile, all teeth. “I can set you up with competitive vendors to supply your club and I can eliminate the morality committee as one of your obstacles.”
A chill shivered down my spine. I feared the method he might use to eliminate said obstacle.
And something warned me not to remain too long in this predator’s cross-hairs.
I stood. “Mr. Cooke, I fear we are speaking at cross purposes, but I can assure you I need no assistance to manage my club. And as to Mr. Ryder, I will handle him myself.” I went to the wall and rang for a footman.
He slowly uncoiled, rising to his feet. His bulk suddenly made my office feel small and much too isolated. “Perhaps you should take some time to think this through. Refusing my services isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”
I was a fool. This was no simple man of business. Mr. Cooke was something else altogether.
“I don’t make any decisions lightly.” Bobby appeared at the doorway, his livery a welcome sight. “Bobby here will show you out.”
With one last piercing look, Mr. Cooke swept from the room.
I sank into my chair, my knees uncomfortably wobbly. I didn’t like not being in the know, and there were undercurrents to Mr. Cooke’s conversation I most definitely did not understand.
My club was threatened, Mr. Cooke had implied something disreputable was going on within these walls, and a woman was dead.
There was too much I didn’t understand. I pressed my palms flat against the cool oak of my desk. And it was time to get savvy.