Cutter shook his head numerous times. “This is a place of sanctuary for those who seek to escape from the prejudices of the world. The ladies are not comfortable with men brawling.”
“Trust me.” Daniel cast the custodian an arrogant look. “One word is all it takes for me to bring calm to a situation.” He was aware of Mrs Chambers’ gaze drifting over his face, searching, probing. “You’ll not hear a raised voice or cross word. I promise you that.”
“Then you may proceed upstairs.” Cutter flicked his chubby fingers at the door. “You will find Rosalyn Harrison with the other ladies in the private parlour. It’s the first door on the left in what used to be the Seymour bedchamber. The name is on the plate. Oh, and if anyone questions you, Thorpe, just say I asked you to call, but you’re yet to discover why.”
Daniel nodded and escorted Mrs Chambers to the upstairs floor. They followed the dull tinkling of an out-of-tune pianoforte and the high-pitched screech that occasionally broke into a baritone.
The door to the Seymour room was ajar, and so they slipped inside so as not to cause too much of a distraction.
“Bravo, Miss Melinda. Bravo!” a man cheered from the small row of seats positioned in front of the pianoforte. His greasy hair was parted in the centre, and his hand shook as he held up his monocle to examine the ladies. “You have the voice of a nightingale, so sweet and full of gaiety.”
“Oh, my lord,” the lady replied, though her hook nose, square jaw and the dark shadow gracing her jaw confirmed the silk gown and white wig were merely a means to create a facade. “Were it not for Miss Brown’s excellent playing I fear I would sound rather mediocre.”
“Nonsense,” another gentleman cried from his seat at the card table at the back of the room. “You are an accomplished young lady, Miss Melinda.”
The lady put her hand to her lips and tittered as she batted her lashes and looked to the floor.
“And we have two more come to hear your delightful playing, Miss Brown,” came another masculine voice from somewhere in the audience.
All heads turned in their direction though it was Mrs Chambers who captured their attention. Greedy gazes travelled over her curvaceous form. The lady known as Miss Melinda cast a jealous scowl while Miss Brown stared in awe.
“Please,” Mrs Chambers began, “continue with the delightful show.”
Her voice possessed the soft, soothing quality that stirred the senses. It was a sound that appealed to most men. A sound the other ladies in the room struggled to master.
“Yes, please continue,” Daniel reaffirmed leading Mrs Chambers to the empty sofa before a patron made an illicit proposition and fists flew.
There was an awkward moment of silence. Miss Brown tinkled her keys to distract the gentlemen in the seats from the stunning beauty who had just entered the room. Of course, it wasn’t the feminine form they sought. The lady at his side lacked the tools necessary to satisfy these particular men.
“Why are they staring at me like starving dogs eyeing a juicy slab of beef?” Mrs Chambers said as Miss Melinda’s barely adequate rendition of The Mermaid’s Song drifted through the room.
“The women who frequent this establishment are not women at all,” he replied unable to hide the hint of amusement in his tone. “No doubt the men are mesmerised by your perfect disguise. The ladies only wish they were half as attractive.” He met Mrs Chamber’s gaze, and she swallowed deeply.
“Heavens, Mr Thorpe. I’ve barely heard a word from you in the last few years and yet you have paid me three compliments in the last hour alone. Perhaps you’re keen to unsettle me.”
Damn.
As a man detached from emotion, he often spoke his mind. What need had he to hide the truth? People’s opinions mattered little. So why did he fear telling Daphne Chambers his innermost thoughts? Probably because the more time he spent in her company, the more likely he was to drop to his knees, clutch her hands and beg to know why the hell she refused his suit three years ago.
“It was merely an observation,” he countered. “I state the facts as I see them.”
“A general observation or a personal one?” When he frowned, she added, “Is it your personal opinion of my countenance or how you deem others see me?”
Bloody hell.
Why could she not nod and giggle like the simpering miss murdering Haydn’s masterpiece on the pianoforte?
While Daniel endeavoured to form a reply, his attention was drawn to the insipid lady shuffling past, her gaze rooted to the floor.
“Come.” Daniel stood abruptly and offered his hand to Mrs Chambers. “Our business demands we leave.”
“Wha
t, so soon? But I’ve only just sat down.”
He pulled her to her feet. “Mr Harrison is leaving the room.”
Mrs Chambers turned and stared at the figure attempting to squeeze unnoticed through the narrow gap in the door. “But how do you know that’s—”