business.”
“Love, eh?”
“I suppose so, but that’s one mistake I’ll not be repeating. Be on your way, Barney.”
“Evening, Mr. Sutherland.”
Whitney watched as Drake put his money away and then gave her a tight smile. “Come on, then, Wentworth.” He turned toward the red door, knocked three times, paused and knocked again. The door creaked open, and he stepped into the dark threshold. Turning, he waved her in. “Welcome to the Vagabond Club.”
She started through the door, the smells of cigar smoke, sweat, and liquor hitting her at once. A man who looked more like a tall, skinny tree than a man, put his arm out to bar her way. “Membership is thirty guinea a year.”
Membership?
Whitney gaped. They actually charged membership to this place? Granted she had only taken two steps into the infamous Vagabond Club, but so far the club consisted of a narrow hallway with chipped hardwood floors and walls covered in faded damask wallpaper that was peeling away in several places, and those places reeked. “How do you know I’m not already a member?”
The man leaned down toward her, his long narrow face coming to a stop so near to hers she could see he had moss-colored eyes. “Your face is not one I would forget. And I’m at this door every night from open to close.”
She doubted that. Raising her chin, she held the man’s gaze. “You use the privy right here in this spot, then, do you?”
His face colored deep red and his right eye twitched. “That’s right,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Right here.” He pointed to the floor. “Care to check?”
She swallowed and rummaged through her coat, extracting thirty guineas. “I’ll take your word,” she said and held the money out to him. A triumphant smile curved one corner of his mouth. She had the urge to snatch the coins back, but she wasn’t a fool. This giant would knock her out cold with one hit. Then where would she be? At least if she had to part with her much-needed coin, she had obtained valuable information for it. Now she knew who to question about whether Lillian had ever been here.
Once the man lifted his arm, she hurried to follow Drake as he strode ahead through the ill-lit hallway. His rich brown hair still curled haphazardly at his collar, just the same as the day she had left him. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his curls, but instead she drank in every detail of him. His superbly cut coat barely contained his broad shoulders, and he swaggered as only a man filled with confidence could.
He drummed his fingers against his leg as he walked, a nervous habit she had often observed. Was he impatient to be done with her to start whatever sins he had planned for the night? Jealousy unfurled, but she clenched her teeth together and took a deep breath, reminding herself she had no right to the emotion.
They came to the end of the hallway, and Drake opened the door that stood closed before them. He strode into the room, and she scurried to follow. Shock stopped her in her tracks. “I can’t believe this.”
The room gleamed before her.
“What’s not to believe?”
“This place is magnificent,” she whispered.
His brows furrowed together, but he looked around the room. “I suppose.” His gaze came back to her. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
Afraid she might say something else foolish to give herself away, she shook her head.
Drake pointed across the room. “Our table’s in the very back.” He proceeded across the pristine parquet floor, skirting around a large mahogany hazard table, and stopped in front of an enormous desk, where an obese balding man sat with his coat thrown over his chair and the sleeves of his fine cambric shirt rolled up to his elbows. Drake motioned to the man. “This is Mr. Nicholson, the proprietor of the Vagabond Club. He’s also the man who metes out the loans.”
Mr. Nicholson passed a chip-toothed smile in her direction. “I also collect the money when
“Love, eh?”
“I suppose so, but that’s one mistake I’ll not be repeating. Be on your way, Barney.”
“Evening, Mr. Sutherland.”
Whitney watched as Drake put his money away and then gave her a tight smile. “Come on, then, Wentworth.” He turned toward the red door, knocked three times, paused and knocked again. The door creaked open, and he stepped into the dark threshold. Turning, he waved her in. “Welcome to the Vagabond Club.”
She started through the door, the smells of cigar smoke, sweat, and liquor hitting her at once. A man who looked more like a tall, skinny tree than a man, put his arm out to bar her way. “Membership is thirty guinea a year.”
Membership?
Whitney gaped. They actually charged membership to this place? Granted she had only taken two steps into the infamous Vagabond Club, but so far the club consisted of a narrow hallway with chipped hardwood floors and walls covered in faded damask wallpaper that was peeling away in several places, and those places reeked. “How do you know I’m not already a member?”
The man leaned down toward her, his long narrow face coming to a stop so near to hers she could see he had moss-colored eyes. “Your face is not one I would forget. And I’m at this door every night from open to close.”
She doubted that. Raising her chin, she held the man’s gaze. “You use the privy right here in this spot, then, do you?”
His face colored deep red and his right eye twitched. “That’s right,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Right here.” He pointed to the floor. “Care to check?”
She swallowed and rummaged through her coat, extracting thirty guineas. “I’ll take your word,” she said and held the money out to him. A triumphant smile curved one corner of his mouth. She had the urge to snatch the coins back, but she wasn’t a fool. This giant would knock her out cold with one hit. Then where would she be? At least if she had to part with her much-needed coin, she had obtained valuable information for it. Now she knew who to question about whether Lillian had ever been here.
Once the man lifted his arm, she hurried to follow Drake as he strode ahead through the ill-lit hallway. His rich brown hair still curled haphazardly at his collar, just the same as the day she had left him. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his curls, but instead she drank in every detail of him. His superbly cut coat barely contained his broad shoulders, and he swaggered as only a man filled with confidence could.
He drummed his fingers against his leg as he walked, a nervous habit she had often observed. Was he impatient to be done with her to start whatever sins he had planned for the night? Jealousy unfurled, but she clenched her teeth together and took a deep breath, reminding herself she had no right to the emotion.
They came to the end of the hallway, and Drake opened the door that stood closed before them. He strode into the room, and she scurried to follow. Shock stopped her in her tracks. “I can’t believe this.”
The room gleamed before her.
“What’s not to believe?”
“This place is magnificent,” she whispered.
His brows furrowed together, but he looked around the room. “I suppose.” His gaze came back to her. “You don’t get out much, do you?”
Afraid she might say something else foolish to give herself away, she shook her head.
Drake pointed across the room. “Our table’s in the very back.” He proceeded across the pristine parquet floor, skirting around a large mahogany hazard table, and stopped in front of an enormous desk, where an obese balding man sat with his coat thrown over his chair and the sleeves of his fine cambric shirt rolled up to his elbows. Drake motioned to the man. “This is Mr. Nicholson, the proprietor of the Vagabond Club. He’s also the man who metes out the loans.”
Mr. Nicholson passed a chip-toothed smile in her direction. “I also collect the money when
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