Chapter Six #2
The social club in question resembled a tavern from the outside, but the queue of patrons lined up in front had us joining it in a hurry.
I spied a few familiar faces from some of the discussions in the combination rooms, but it was more of a challenge to recognize my schoolmates without their academic gowns and tassels identifying them.
We were supposed to wear our gowns outside the college, but no one wanted to be singled out, for good reason.
I wondered briefly if my stern tutor would be here and then laughed.
Tarik St. Clair would never.
He’d be pronounced dead before entering a place like this.
Suddenly, a frisson of nerves scattered down my spine, and one glance at Will’s very pale countenance had me convinced he was feeling the same onslaught of panic. “Are you well?” I whispered, bumping him with my shoulder.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he whispered back. “With all of us and so many other students here, it seems like a magnet for trouble.”
“Stick to the plan,” I murmured. I squinted up at the tower clock that was down the street, the hands barely visible though it seemed like it was not far from chiming the nine o’clock hour. “We’ll leave at a quarter to ten. That should give us enough time to get back before curfew.”
“Fine,” he replied.
“Chin up, Will,” I said, and pushed a bright smile to my face. “This could be fun. Let’s give it a chance and have a capital time.”
“If you say so.”
Harold jostled between us with a slightly spooked expression. “Klaus said there are girls here. Women…courtesans.” The last was whispered in a strangled tone, the rest of his words choked out. “Do you think this place might double as a brothel?”
I blinked at the almost-garbled question.
I supposed such a thing wouldn’t be out of the ordinary—these kinds of gaming hells had a fast reputation.
Drinking and gambling went hand in hand with other vices.
I’d overheard enough conversations from my cousin and his friends about a few of their escapades in some of the more notorious areas of London.
While most of the aristocracy—and polite society in general—looked down on courtesans and light-skirts, I was of the controversial opinion that a woman could do what she wanted with her own body.
If she chose to be a mistress to a man under her own terms, that was her prerogative.
While I understood that some women might not make this choice themselves and others did only out of necessity, none of them deserved to be vilified.
Besides, many of the gentlemen of the ton openly had mistresses.
No one chastised them for their behavior!
I’d heard gossip from the maids, who were dependable fountains of information, about several aristocrats who committed adultery with no care for their wives.
Thank God my father didn’t. My mother, for all her grace and decorum, would not stand for it.
“Don’t worry, Harold,” Klaus promised. “We’ll take excellent care of you, or at least, we’ll find a pretty ladybird to oblige you for the evening.”
My snort was loud. “Aren’t you studying to be a vicar? Shouldn’t you be preaching self-restraint and abstinence instead of moral excess?”
“Consensual pleasure isn’t a sin, dear one,” Kristof interjected solicitously.
I lifted a brow. “Coitus before marriage is according to the Church of England.”
The deviant waggled his own dark blond eyebrows. “Yes, but there are many other marvelous appetizers than can be enjoyed before the main course. And besides, those rules are for ladies, perhaps, not for us men,” he replied smugly, and suddenly, I wanted to kick him.
I wanted to kick every man standing in this line who might share his odious, archaic opinion that women were nothing but vessels of virtue to be consumed at their leisure, even after the bonds of wedlock. Many of them, most likely.
That would mean a lot of kicking.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked, sidling up to me. “You look positively murderous. Was it what the twins said? You know how they are—they say contemptible things to get a reaction.”
“My cousin is a lady,” I whispered heatedly. “Shouldn’t she be deserving of a choice as well?”
He blinked. “To be in a brothel?”
I waved a hand. “To be anywhere, to do anything she pleases. Why are women always viewed as lesser or weaker?”
Will looked genuinely confused. “I don’t doubt that there is a double standard, Roz, but that’s the way the world works.
At least for now until change happens.” He shrugged with a wry grin, his round cheeks dimpling.
“And sometime in the future when women’s voices have as much weight as men’s, indubitably, they will outthink, outplay, and outpace us. ”
I stared at him, stunned. “Do you truly think so?”
“If women are to have the same employments as men, they must have the same education,” he said, and I frowned at the familiarity of his words. “Plato wrote that in The Republic,” he added.
“You’re right, he did,” I said with a low laugh, clapping him on the back. “Will, if I haven’t said it before, you are a true gem. Whatever you do, please never change.”
By the time we shuffled to the front of the line, the twins were paying the astronomical entry fee for the six of us.
I offered to repay them the cost of mine, but they refused as we entered the building.
When we passed through the first velvet-draped arch into the main room of the establishment, excitement filled my blood.
I was instantly assaulted by the smell of cheroot smoke, heavy perfume, and hard liquor. Voices hummed around us, punctuated by high-pitched feminine laughter and deeper chuckles. The lighting was low, and the place was akin to a rabbit’s warren, with a dozen hallways branching off to other rooms.
If we weren’t careful, we would get lost in the maze.
After being mesmerized by the lush décor of a grand receiving room, I stared at a beautiful woman who seemed to be dressed in only peacock feathers and carried a tray balanced on one hand, admiring her confidence and graceful agility as she weaved through the crowd.
Men gaped, but no one did anything untoward.
I suspected that had to do with the enormous bodyguard following in her wake, who looked like he could break bones with his littlest finger.
“Will, what do you want to do first?” I said, and turned, only to see that Will and the others had disappeared.
A fox-faced man with a thin mustache sneered down at me instead, and I hurriedly mumbled an apology before scurrying away.
I didn’t like the avaricious look in his eyes.
These kinds of clubs attracted swindlers who preyed on unsuspecting youth visiting from the nearby colleges—pigeons as I’d read somewhere they were called.
Not that I intended to be fleeced, but I was definitely out of my depth.
Gracious, where are my friends?
My gut knotted in alarm at their absence, but they had to be around here somewhere.
Following the crowd, I roamed toward the back of the room, where it seemed less congested.
To my right, there seemed to be a large dining room with widely spaced tables, and to my left, there was a smoking room filled with plush armchairs and comfortable seating.
Neither of them stimulated my interest, so I pressed past them toward a staircase at the end.
Perhaps I’d be able to spot Will if I could see from a higher vantage point.
Upstairs, there were more chambers, including a cramped billiards room and several smaller nooks with gentlemen playing backgammon and hazard.
Strolling along the plush new carpets, I admired the paintings on the walls—the art was nothing compared with what I was used to in Mayfair—but the portraits were captivating.
I turned into the nearest doorway and found myself in a card room.
Various games like faro and commerce were being played on baize-and-leather-covered tables while gentlemen lounged indolently, sipping on drinks supplied by smartly dressed waiters.
Now, this was a little more my style. I weaved between the tables. I enjoyed a game of whist from time to time, and while I knew the basics of card games like vingt-et-un, I’d never seen a setting quite like this, with men betting considerable sums. It was rather exhilarating!
I was contemplating sitting and looking for the least crowded table, when a familiar, handsome face caught my eye a handful of tables over.
No…
I blinked, convinced I’d imagined him there or perhaps it was only someone who resembled him, but there he was, my nemesis and the coldhearted gent I’d never expect to see in a place like this or doing anything remotely fun.
What on God’s green earth was Tarik St. Clair doing here?