Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

It was true. Certainly she could move about the seedier parts of London as a servant, but the elegant drawing rooms where the gentlemen who bought and sold young girls traveled would be closed to her. The knowledge, however, did nothing to ease the fluttering alarm at playing the role of Dimitri’s wife.

“Even if I agreed to such a ridiculous notion, no one would believe I am a refined lady,” she argued.

“There is no need for modesty. Whatever your father’s occupation, it is obvious you were well educated and tutored in the manners of society.” His thumb absently outlined the unsteady curve of her lower lip. “With the proper clothing there would be no one to question your disguise.”

“Unfortunately I do not possess your acting skills.”

“Very well. You can remain upon the ship if you prefer.” His voice thickened with a wicked promise. “I vow to visit each night to keep the chill away.”

She grasped the lapels of his jacket as her knees threatened to buckle.

“Absolutely not.”

He smiled with insolent satisfaction. “Then let us be on our way, Huntley is waiting for us.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IN THE TRADITION OF MOST gambling halls, the Bacchus Club was a combination of opulence and depravity.

Tucked in a tiny cul-de-sac near Brook Street, the three-storied brick building was hidden behind a high fence guarded by two burly footmen. Inside, the tiny foyer led to a sweep of marble steps opening to a large, cavernous hall that was most notable for the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflected the light of the overhead chandeliers with dazzling zeal. A dozen small tables were scattered across the Italian marble floor, most of them already crowded with gentlemen who possessed the tense, hunted expressions that Dimitri easily recognized.

Addicts.

He had taught his servants to turn away such men. They inevitably caused trouble for his establishments, not to mention their poor families.

The Bacchus Club, on the other hand, was renowned for the debauchery of its clientele. It readily catered whatever sin might be desired.

He hid his grimace as the small steward scurried toward them. Beneath the scent of roast beef and cigar smoke was the unmistakable stench of desperation.

“Your Grace, such an honor,” the man said with a deep bow. “Can I offer you a drink?”

At Dimitri’s side, Stefan, the Duke of Huntley, peered about his surroundings in barely concealed disgust, seemingly unaware of the stir he was creating by his entrance. Of course, Huntley had been creating a stir since leaving the cradle.

It was obscenely unfair that a gentleman who was born into wealth and power should also have been blessed with a tall, magnificent form and the finely chiseled features of his Russian-born mother. Combined with his dark hair and shocking blue eyes, he was a gentleman who commanded attention wherever he went.

Dimitri had become acquainted with the reclusive duke when the nobleman had been chasing his stubborn wife, Leonida, across Russia. It had only been with Dimitri’s assistance that they had captured the villain who had been attempting to blackmail Leonida’s mother.

“Cognac,” the duke murmured.

“At once.” The steward waved a hovering waiter forward and whispered in his ear before returning his avid attention to Stefan. Dimitri could appreciate the poor man’s excitement. Stefan made no secret of his distaste for London society as well as the numerous gentlemen’s clubs that had vied for his membership. If the Bacchus Club could claim him as a patron it would offer them an image of respectability that had been sadly lacking with their current members. “You will discover we offer whatever distraction that might strike your fancy, Your Grace. There is a light supper laid out in the hazard room and billiard tables down the hall. The cock fighting will not begin until later, but if you desire entertainment you are welcome to sample our delightful wares that await your pleasure upstairs.”

Stefan waved a dismissive hand. “That will be all.”

“Of course.”

The servant bent low enough his pointed nose was in danger of brushing the marble floor before backing slowly away. Huntley watched the retreat, then turned to regard Dimitri with a jaundiced gaze.

“I did warn you the establishment was a sordid collection of reprobates,” he muttered.

Dimitri chuckled, not nearly so fastidious as his companion.

“Did you expect a gentleman willing to rape young girls for enjoyment would choose a quiet evening at White’s or Boodles reading the evening paper?”

“True.” Huntley’s expression hardened. He had not hesitated to offer his assistance once he discovered Dimitri’s reason for being in London. “Where do you wish to begin?”

Dimitri glanced toward the curved staircase. “You mingle among the natives, I will return shortly.”

Huntley arched a mocking brow, his gaze deliberately shifting to the buxom blonde who leaned over the wrought-iron railing with a provocative smile.