For as many years as there had been a Fallen Angel, the coveted public men’s club and casino run by four fallen aristocrats, each richer than the next, there had been a secret, unspoken second club that operated beneath the gentlemen’s noses and utterly beyond their notice. A ladies’ club, with no name and no public face.
It was never discussed.
And she wasn’t about to acknowledge its existence.
West did not seem to care; he took a step closer and the small, dark space became smaller. Darker. More dangerous. “Chase is not the only one who knows things, love.”
The words were low and graveled, and she hesitated, the pleasure of their sound unfamiliar and unsettling. Finally, she remembered herself. “We do not take ladies.”
His lips curved and she was reminded of the lion they’d discussed the previous evening. “Come now, you can lie to the rest of London, but don’t think to lie to me. You will offer the lady membership. She will trade proof of her husband’s deeds for it. And you’ll get me my information.”
She collected herself. “Chase will not be happy.”
He leaned in, whispered low at her ear, sending a thrill through her. “Tell Chase I do not care where his women play.” He pulled back, meeting her eyes. “I want the information the lady provides.”
She resisted him, curious. Why the earl? Why now? “What do you know?”
He leaned in. “I know he steals from the exchequer.”
She met his gaze. “He, and every councilor to every monarch since William the Conqueror.”
“Not to aid the Ottoman Empire in their war.”
Her gaze went wide. She lowered her voice. “Treason?”
“We’ll see.”
“Why do I think you already do see?”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Because I see a great deal.”
And suddenly, it seemed that they were having a different conversation altogether. “Who is to say the lady will offer the proof?”
“She’ll offer,” he said. “He’s a beast of a husband. She’ll want to share what she knows.”
“And you do nothing to help her?”
“This will help her,” he said.
“What makes you think she knows anything?”
He inclined his head. “Therein lies the wager I make.”
“You think luck is on your side?”
He smiled, all wolf. “Luck has been on my side for eleven years; I have no reason to believe it has changed.”
“That is a very specific number.”
A shadow crossed his face, there, then gone. “I shall pay handsomely for his information.”
He, too, had secrets. The thought comforted her. She resisted the urge to ask about them, instead forcing a smile. “How handsomely?” She brazened on. “Tit for tat, Mr. West.”
He watched her for a moment, and the air in the little space seemed to shift. “What would you like, Anna?”
Had she imagined the strange emphasis on the false name?
She ignored it. “It is not me you must pay,” she said, putting on her best flirt, leaning back against the wall of the alcove, pressing her breasts up and looking up at him through her darkened lashes. “You’ve already given me so much. Saving me from Pottle.” She offered her best moue. “What a lucky girl am I.”
His gaze moved to her lips, as expected, and then dropped several inches to the line of her dress. “What is on the chain?”
She did not reach for the silver pendant that lay beneath the edge of the dress, heavy between her breasts, hiding the key that opened the doors to Chase’s rooms and the passage to the upper floors of the club, where Caroline slept. Instead, she smiled. “My secrets.”
One side of his mouth lifted at the words. “Legion, no doubt.”
She reached for him then, letting her fingers trail along his coat sleeve. “How can I thank you, Mr. West? For being such a tremendous champion?”
He leaned in, and she thought of that feather, the one he’d stolen from her hair. She wondered if it was there, in that interior pocket. Wondered what he would do if she reached into his jacket and slid her hand along his warm chest, searching for it.
He interrupted her thoughts. “I met a woman last night.”
Her breath caught, and she sent up a little prayer hoping that he had not noticed. “Should I be jealous?” she teased.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Georgiana Pearson seems quite the innocent. All white silk and fear.”
“Georgiana Pearson?” She feigned surprise at the name, straightening off the wall as he nodded. “I assure you, the girl is not afraid.”
He stepped toward her, pushing her back. Closing her in. “You’re wrong. She’s terrified.”
She forced a laugh. “The girl is sister to a duke with a dowry large enough to purchase a small country. Of what is she afraid?”
“Of everything,” he said, all casualness. “Of Society. Of its judgment. Of her future.”
“She may not care for those things, but she is certainly not afraid of them. You’ve misjudged her.”
“And how do you know anything about her?”
She was caught. He was too nimble with words, with questions. And too distracting with his long, lean form and his beautiful broad shoulders that blocked out the light, making her nervous and eager all at once. “I don’t. Only what I read in the papers.” She paused. “There was a telling cartoon a month or so back.”