Chapter Thirteen
The carriage left them on the corner of the Calle Major in the old town, so they could approach Costa’s exclusive casino by foot and blend in with the throngs of people crowding the narrow street.
Ian examined the guards outside the ornate doors at the rear and side of the building. He noted at least four different ways they could get caught. “Are we planning to leave by the front door?”
“Unless you can come up with another alternative.” Diana flashed a society smile at the servants who collected their cloaks and their forged invitations. “It will cause the least disturbance.”
For the hundredth time since they’d left the Ever Hart, Ian resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and parcel her onto the next ship bound for England. He hesitated only because she was at more risk out of his sight.
When Diana had relayed their scheme to rescue the women, he’d admired the simplicity of it, while knowing that, at best, their odds of success were fifty-fifty.
And even if they rescued the women without incident, Il Corno—and whoever else attended the soiree—would pursue them until Ian made himself their sole target.
They followed the sound of voices and music through a corridor to a small receiving room that was far too cozy for the size of the crowd.
“Goodness,” Diana murmured as she flicked out her fan. “The casino is certainly…popular. Makes one question the meaning of the term ‘exclusive.’”
Well-dressed, middle-aged men crowded the room. The few women who accompanied them wore the bright face paint and low-cut gowns favored by paid courtesans.
“Stop scowling at everyone.” Diana slid her arm through his. “It’s hypocritical for you to be so disapproving of a salty crowd.”
Ian’s discomfort grew as they progressed to the dance floor, and he took in the whirling of the other dancers.
“Let’s dance and we can reconnoiter the layout,” Diana said lightly. “Please tell me you know the bolero. It’s practically all they do here.”
His heart sped up in the same manner it would have if she’d suggested he walk unarmed into a pit of hungry lions.
How many times had he watched her on the dance floor with other men, wanting to be in their place and hating himself for it?
When he’d first come of age, he’d avoided anything to do with ballrooms. But after the thugs attacked them in Mayfair, he refused to leave Diana unguarded.
With Jared away on the Continent, he accepted his brother’s invitations to every party he knew she’d attend and bribed his way into the others.
The prospect of finally holding her closely—in front of so many people—was disarming. Their plans couldn’t afford for him to be so distracted. “Perhaps we should watch.”
“We need to survey the room.” Diana rested her hand on his arm. “You’ll figure out the steps.”
She was baiting him gently. He resented how much he wanted her to continue. The weight of her hand made every one of his muscles stand at attention.
But it was her slow smile that finally prompted him to lead her to the dance floor.
All of those nights watching her must have imprinted the steps onto his brain; they fell into the turns, easily negotiating the narrow space between them. It was not unlike the way they’d moved together to defend themselves at the Swan’s Nest.
Ian couldn’t grow accustomed to it. They needed to complete the operation, and he needed to convince Diana to give up everything related to him and the emeralds.
“I count two guards at the entrance,” Diana murmured.
“Two more at the stage,” he confirmed. “How do we get downstairs?”
“There.” She nodded toward the staircase at the far end of the room. “That must lead to the wine cellar. Our contact will meet us there and take us to the women.”
The music halted, and a burst of applause broke out. As the crowd pushed around them, Diana stumbled into him.
Instinctively, his arms locked tightly around her waist.
A knock sounded from a platform at the front of the room, and a man—short of stature but large on muscles and dark hair—greeted everyone in a mixture of Portuguese and Spanish.
Ian slowly rotated their position so that the shadow of his body obscured Diana’s face.
“Do you recognize him?” she asked, her voice breathy from dancing.
“It must be Costa. See his tiepin, the gold twisted horn? It’s a cornicello. Clementi wore one for luck. Costa’s wearing it now that he’s taken his turf.”
Costa summoned another man to the stage, and Ian tried to decipher the mix of Spanish and Portuguese. “It sounds like they’re going to start the auction. They’re talking about jewels.”
“They must mean the women.” Diana cringed and placed a hand over the necklace.
A man standing nearby was eyeing the emeralds far too carefully, and Ian covered her hand with his own.
Her glance slid to their observer before landing back on Ian.
“Remember the plan.” She leaned into his hand. “The casino has rules against avid displays of affection. We need to pique enough interest to earn an escort out the back entrance.”
Once there, the Stags had bribed the serving staff to lead them to the room where the girls were being held.
Ian hated the plan more now than when Diana had first told him about it.
Except for the part that allowed him to suspend reality so that he could touch her, like she belonged to him.
“This is going to backfire,” he warned, before his fingers languidly traced the front of her necklace where it dipped into her décolletage.
“It won’t if you convince them you can’t keep your hands off me.”
Her hushed voice urged him to forget everything but the point of contact where his bare hand met her warm skin.
Music erupted again, and the tide of people moving about the dance floor forced them toward the edge of the room. As Ian steered them out of the fray, their bodies remained entwined. Diana’s eyes fixed on his mouth.
He forgot everything but the need to taste her lips again.
“Senores.” A young woman wearing a white carnation in her hair stood at Ian’s elbow. She wore a close-fitting dress of scant lace and nearly transparent silk and there were a hundred reasons for Ian to dislike her sudden arrival.
“There is an exclusive wine tasting in the cask cellar,” the woman said. “It would be more intimate for you, I think.”
“I would adore something intimate. And a taste of something special,” Diana said quickly.
The woman didn’t wear the uniform of the casino staff, and Ian didn’t trust where she might lead them. “Are you sure we won’t be missed here, darling?”
“Don’t be silly, my love.” Diana laughed and gave him a little shove, moving him to a different view of the door. One of Birdie’s sparrows stood in the wings, wearing a dress identical to Diana’s.
Ian had to admit she was an effective stand-in for anyone watching out for Diana and the emeralds.
“Shall we?” Diana placed a firm palm on Ian’s cheek.
He pressed her hand to his mouth and gave it a small nip to warn her to remain on guard.
The woman with the flower guided them through the crowd and down a dark set of stairs into the basement. Diana proceeded him while Ian followed behind to ensure no one else trailed them into the room.
When the sturdy door snicked closed behind them, Diana had the woman back against the wall with a blade at her throat. “Where are they keeping the white flowers?”
The woman frantically reached for the carnation pinned to her hair.
“Flora e Blanca, las ninas,” Ian clarified. “The girls.”
“Gracias a Dios.” The woman’s breath shook on a sob. “Papa sent you to get us out?”
“Flora?” Diana eased her knife away. “Where is your sister?”
“Upstairs, the third story.” She swallowed. “Costa separated us so we wouldn’t conspire together to escape. He has some of us walk around the party, pretending we are free, but if anyone tries to lay a hand on us, Costa forces them to bid on us to drive up the money he receives.”
Ian’s stomach churned. Diana kept her expression carefully blank; she’d probably heard countless stories like Flora’s. He wouldn’t let himself think about the ones that were worse. “Where’s the back stairway that leads to where they’re keeping your sister?”
Flora shook her head. “There isn’t one.”
Before Ian could express his vehement disapproval of this development, Diana’s head snapped to the door. She clapped a hand over his mouth and whispered, “Someone’s coming.”
Her knife disappeared into the bowels of her reticule before she pulled Flora into their embrace.
The cellar door flung open. Costa swaggered through the entrance with two burly guards behind him. “What have we here?”
Diana glanced at the men under hooded eyes. “I’m afraid you caught us in a passionate moment, senor.”
Costa clucked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Flora knows better than to offer private tastings without asking.”
The filthy scoundrel’s attention locked onto the emeralds before he perused Diana’s breasts.
The man’s eyes were red-rimmed and drooping; with any luck, the blackguard had over-imbibed, and his defenses would be weak.
Ian calculated that if he went right for Costa’s throat, he had a thirty-second window before the guards retaliated.
Diana squeezed his hand in warning.
“Perhaps, senor,” she drawled, “you would care to join us?”
“I don’t fuck men.”
“Neither do I.” Ian retreated an inch to snag a better view of Costa’s guards, who he was happy to note were swaying on their feet. Nearly as drunk as Costa. “But I enjoy watching.”
Costa barked a rough laugh. “You’d let your woman fuck a stranger, and this whore?”
“Yes,” Ian said in his best of course tone.
The smuggler curled his lip. “You are a bold woman, senora, to walk into my house wearing something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Costa shoved Ian out of the way, which Ian tolerated because it gave Diana the chance to slip him the knife she’d hidden in her skirts. He was grateful he had cold steel to grasp hold of when Costa stroked a long finger down Diana’s neck and pressed his palm on the emeralds.