Chapter 2
“H-how dare you speak to me that way,” Sir Peter stuttered out. “I am a respected peer, and you are a nobody. I am unwed because it is my wish to b-be so.”
“Oh dear, have I upset you?” Tilly cooed. “I assure you that was not my aim. After all, who wishes to deliberately insult and upset someone with no justifiable reason.”
The woman was devilishly sharp-witted. There was no getting around that fact.
“Wilson is an odd man, and clearly it has filtered down to his only child. Poor fellow. He’ll be saddled with you forever,” Hardacre mocked her.
“Yes, and clearly he has let her read too much, which is a fatal mistake, as no man wishes a wife who can—”
“Read? Hold an intelligent conversation?” Tilly cut in. “Appear more educated than her fool of a husband?”
Sir Peter then leaned into her space before Ambrose could stop him and said, “Perhaps a gentleman’s mistress is the best you can hope—”
“Enough!” Ambrose snapped. Stepping between the men, he moved to stand before Tilly.
“One more insult from either of you, and it will result in my fist in your face. Now leave, both of you, and never speak to Miss Wilson, or any of the women who frequent the building behind her, in such an insulting way again!”
Raising his voice had not been a wise move because the throbbing in his head intensified, which increased his anger.
“How dare you—”
“Hardacre, I’m not in the best of moods,” Ambrose warned. “If you stay, I will stop talking and start punching, and I care little about who sees or hears of the encounter, unlike either of you, who care a great deal about what society thinks of them.”
“We could take you,” Hardacre said, but Ambrose didn’t miss the nervous glance he threw up and down the road.
“For the love of God,” Ambrose muttered. “Leave now.” He took a step toward him, which had both men scurrying backward. They then fled, leaving him alone with Tilly—and more anger than he’d felt in a long time.
“That went well,” Tilly said, further inflaming his rage as he turned back to look at her.
He jabbed a finger at her. “You were reckless to goad those men. This is not a game you will win. There are many who will not hesitate to come after you for what you are doing because they see this club as an insult because of its location. I believe I told you to find somewhere else. You are upsetting the order of things.”
“The order of things needs to change,” she spat, cutting off his words. “And as a woman governed by rules created by men—rules that are archaic and unfair—I will not simply stand silent and allow the bias to continue.”
“You will end up thrown in a jail cell, or worse, if you don’t heed my words, and you’re dragging my sisters into your silly plans.”
His words, far from inspiring her to heed them, made her face tighten with anger instead. “Your sisters are old enough to make their own decisions, as you do, my lord. Perhaps you should allow them to do so.”
“They need my guidance,” he said, sounding pompous, and instantly regretting his words, especially as he’d just told Hardacre and Crabtree that he didn’t control his sisters. “What I meant to say is—”
“No need to clarify,” she said, raising a hand. “I completely understand, my lord. Men who attend a male-only club are bastions of good sense and camaraderie. However, women doing the same are reckless and foolhardy—should I add brainless to that?” The words came out coated in ice.
“That is not what I meant at all,” Ambrose gritted out.
“Then please do explain.” She smiled sweetly at him, but it did not reach her eyes.
Anger radiated from Miss Wilson, and sparks shot from her pretty eyes that would have reduced him to ashes were she capable of the act.
He didn’t know how to explain that his actions were only to protect his sisters and not infer they were brainless. That a woman’s reputation was a delicate thing, and he had no wish for those he loved to be hurt in any way by a scandal.
“I do not make up the rules,” he said. “Society is, ah—”
“Run by idiots who are all men, and they have placed all women in a small, restrictive box that allows them none of the freedoms they have?” she said.
Ambrose was good with words. He could talk in any situation and was known as something of a charmer with women. Right then, it was like he’d only learned to speak that morning.
“All I’m trying to say is—”
“I have no wish to listen to anything else you have to say. I’m fully aware of your opinion of me, but I believed you were more forward-thinking than some men. It appears in that I was wrong, so thank you, and good day, Lord Talbot.”
“No.” He grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. “You’re going to listen to me.”
Because she was on the step above him, their eyes were level, and it would only take him leaning in to touch his lips to hers. He instantly backed up a step, releasing her.
“I don’t want to listen to a man who has every right in this world to do as he wishes,” she snapped back. “A man who could, with a handful of words, destroy my reputation and likely have me thrown in jail!”
One thing he’d always noted about this woman was that she was never without words—unfortunately.
“You can educate yourself,” she hissed. “You can vote and walk about the place alone. You can have affairs with whomever you wish, yet we must stay pure until we marry.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose as she continued to lecture him on women’s rights, like he hadn’t had this exact speech multiple times from his sisters. He then counted slowly to see if that calmed him.
“I think a few women in positions of authority would help the plight of many, but because we are the more intelligent sex, you men are terrified that we will put you to shame.”
He couldn’t help but admire the fire in her eyes. Color rode the ridges of both cheeks, increasing her beauty. No, she was absolutely not beautiful. Infuriating, more like.
“Tilly—”
“That’s Miss Wilson to you, seeing as I don’t call you Ambrose or Rosie,” she added with a mocking smile. “After all, you are a lord, and I am—”
“Shut up,” he said in a hard voice, cutting off her words.
Ambrose and his sisters had nicknames for each other. When he was ten, he hadn’t minded the one they’d given him, but he found he disliked it more as an adult.
“Just be quiet,” Ambrose said again, this time with a tired sigh.
When she opened her mouth again anyway, he put a gloved hand over it. She wrenched free, but instead of speaking, she just looked at him. Her eyes ran over his face.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded.
She leaned closer and he drew in a breath that filled his senses with her scent. Lemons and vanilla?
“What?”
“You have smudges under your eyes, my lord, and that’s not attractive on anyone, even you—”
“Even me?”
She waved his words away. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“Other than the fact that I’m standing here in the rain and cold, debating with a deranged woman, do you mean?”
She had the audacity to nod.
“I have a headache,” he muttered. Why he’d given her that ammunition against him, he had no idea.
And just like that, the glare fell from her face. “Oh dear, aren’t they beastly? I used to get them all the time before I got my spectacles. I find I cannot do without them for reading now.”
He frowned at her. “I do not need spectacles.”
“Of course you don’t,” she scoffed. “Heaven forbid you, a powerful peer, a man, would have what you perceive as a weakness.”
God, this woman was exhausting. “Are my sisters inside that place?” he gritted out, changing the subject before she could continue with the lecture.
“Not yet.”
“Never if I have any say,” he muttered.
“That’s up to them,” she countered. “And this place has a name. I would appreciate you using it, my lord.” She pointed to the small sign above the door which read The Iris Club. “Iris means—”
“Faith, courage, valor, hope and wisdom.” This time it was he who interrupted her, and he was grateful for the nanny he’d had as a child who had a love of all things flora and fauna.
“You do surprise me, my lord.”
Ambrose loathed anyone mocking him. “I’m educated,” he snapped, “and I also read a great deal.” Excellent—now he sounded defensive. Would his humiliation at this woman’s hands never stop?
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Ambrose felt the urge to grab her and kiss that mouth into silence, which he would absolutely not be doing.
“Surely someone on your staff has headache powders?”
And they were back to his headache now.
“I had one earlier, but it’s worn off already,” he muttered.
She then opened the small bag she was carrying and thrust a twist of paper at him. “Here, this may help. Good day, Lord Talbot.”
“I thought your club was opening today?” he said, taking what she offered with no idea what it held. It could be a poisonous insect for all he knew.
“We just told people that because we didn’t want more idiots turning up to disrupt the event. We opened it yesterday.”
Ambrose guessed he was classed as one of those idiots.
His eyes went to the white facade behind her.
While his club was three stories with elegant arched windows and an entrance that rivalled the grandest of London town houses, this building had once been an exclusive gentleman’s lodging house.
The facade was not as grand, but it was solid.
It had sat unoccupied for two years, so he had no idea what the inside was like when she had taken over the lease.
“This will not go easy for you, Miss Wilson.”
Her lips twitched at the use of her formal name. “Nothing in my life to date has gone easy, Lord Talbot,” she said, and something passed across her eyes and then was gone. “I am, after all, a woman, and we both know that society does not accept a woman who does not conform to its expectations.”
Those words were uncomfortably true.
“Thankfully, the money I was given from the Nightingale family allowed me to create The Iris Club for women who are in need of a place to go where they can be themselves and not who men wish them to be.”
They were part of the group of people, along with the Nightingale family, who had recovered the Pavlov fortune a few years ago.
It was a vast amount of wealth that had been hidden for many years.
They distributed some of it among themselves, but there was a great deal left, and with that, the group was doing what they could to help people who needed it.
“Now you must excuse me. There is still much to do to get the club running smoothly because, as you know, we are mere women and therefore without intelligence.”
“I did not say…” His words fell away as she turned her back on him and headed toward the building.
She took a step, then tripped and went down hard. Before he could reach her, Tilly had regained her feet and fled inside, slamming the door behind her.
He cursed silently. He was, as always, wrong-footed by that woman. Was she unhurt?
He wanted to follow and check, but it would take someone knocking him unconscious to get him inside those walls.
At a loss to what his next move should be, he opened the twist of paper in his palm and stared down at the sweets. Sherbet lemons were his favorite. He put one in his mouth and sucked, enjoying the hit of sweet and tart on his tongue.
Why had Tilly given him these? The gesture touched him, and he had no wish to be touched by anything that woman did.
“Dare I ask why you are standing outside the women-only club, staring at the facade while sucking loudly?”
He hadn’t heard the footsteps, but he knew to whom the voice belonged. Turning, he looked into the eyes of his brother-in-law.
“I found Miss Wilson being harassed by Peter and Hardacre,” Ambrose said. “Are you going to our club?”
“Seeing as you made me join and then dragged my cousins along with me, I guess we must,” Charles said. “Why were they harassing Tilly?”
It vexed him that Charles could call Tilly by her first name and Ambrose himself couldn’t, but as that was petty, he ignored the thought.
His brother-in-law was a good man and one Ambrose had come to call friend after he’d made himself worthy of marrying his sister.
Tall, easygoing unless provoked, the man had given Violet something no one else had been able to after the death of her fiancé—happiness.
For that Ambrose would be forever grateful.
“You’re not serious, Charles?”
The man looked confused.
“She has started a women’s club next to a men’s one.”
“Of course. I forget how different we are from the rest of society sometimes,” Charles said with a small smile.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means we are more forward-thinking, for obvious reasons,” Charles said with a patience that made Ambrose want to punch him.
“Being a clairvoyant does not make you more patient.” He sounded testy now, but then, considering the day he was having, it was justified.
“My cousins were shunned and tossed out of society and had to rebuild their lives, which has changed them almost beyond recognition from who they once were. The Nightingale family is now open-minded and fair, Ambrose, and that is something I aspire to be also. Of course, there is also your sister, who constantly reminds me of that.” He smiled when he mentioned Violet.
“My family also does not discriminate based on whether you are a man or woman.”
The words actually shocked Ambrose enough to make his mouth fall open. Was he someone who would discriminate due to gender? Had he been doing so?
“I say, is that a lemon sherbet?” Charles said, leaning closer. “Do you have any more?”
Ambrose snapped his jaw shut and held out his hand because he was too stunned to do anything else. He, Ambrose, Lord Talbot, was a bigot. Surely not?