“Most ladies of society look at me and see an animal.”
Her golden eyes flashed with anger and he was entranced. “How absurd! I cannot credit you would believe such an odious notion.”
“I’ve had married women, widows, reckless debutantes shamelessly make offers of the scandalous variety, yet at the balls pretend they do not know me. I’ve always been curious about the duality of their nature.”
A hand fluttered to rest above her heart. “You’ve been with married women?”
How odd the disappointment in her voice stung and how damn glad he was that he’d lived by a code. “I normally booted those out.”
She glanced away, but he saw the tiny smile at her lips before she suppressed it.
“It is time for us to enter. Let’s go, Vincent.”
She laughed. “Vincent. I like it.”
Then they descended the carriage and made their way to the large bricked building, while James hoped he wasn’t making a mistake taking such a fine lady into this den of sin and debauchery.
Chapter 6
Inside the Club was decadent. Verity’s pulse skittered alarmingly and she hovered at the entrance almost scared to step into a place of sin and depravity. Fear and a dash of excitement coursed through her veins. Her breath trembled on her lips. The decor was one of luxury, red and green carpets covered the floor, and swaths of red and golden drapes twined themselves around massive white Corinthian columns. Dozens of tables were scattered in an organized sprawl on this lower floor, and many lords she recognized sat at tables playing faro, Macao, whist, and vingt-et-un.
Smoke wafted through the air from the many lit cigars, glasses clinked loudly as it appeared every gentleman had a drink in hand, and the clattering of dice echoed as they rolled on the tables. Verity swore she could hear the fine shuffling of the cards as they were flicked, cut, and shuffled with artistic expertise. Elegantly clad women with filigree masks on their faces, and a fortune in jewelry at their throats and ears reposed on chaise longues chatting and drinking champagne. This could have been a masquerade party held by a lady of the ton, or even one of the risqué parties the king was rumored to host, a nod to his wild and wicked days when he had been the Prince Regent. Yet, there was such an air of wickedness and conquest at this club that she doubted would ever exist at a society ball.
Atop the second-floor railing, stood a man she recognized. Viscount Worsely, a man rumored to be dangerous and unpredictable. The man had a distinctively captivating presence, impeccably dressed in the first stare of fashion, and his dark blond hair shone like burnished gold under the thousands of candles hung suspended from magnificent chandeliers. He surveyed the crowd as if he were king, and the gambling lords and ladies his subjects. There was a rumor in the ton the viscount was part owner of a notorious club, but Verity hadn’t paid any attention to it, for it did not concern her.
She glanced at James who seemed to be assessing her reception to his den of sin. It was as if he expected her to act missish and wail to be returned to her sanctuary. Somehow his air of expectancy inspired her to be spontaneous, naughty…scandalous. She sucked in a harsh breath and pushed away the ridiculous feelings. “So, this is how the sinful half live?” she asked archly.
The air crackled with the intensity of his stare, and she felt the ridiculous urge to remind him she was disguised as a lad. Another surely would not stare at a gentleman in such a disturbingly wicked manner. She glanced away briefly, and upon meeting his gaze, once again his expression was neutral. Had she imagined desire?
Or was it her unpardonable awareness she was foisting on the earl? He was truly irresistible, with those burning dark eyes and endearing smile, and a somewhat crooked nose.
“Follow me and keep close,” he murmured.
They made their way through the tables toward the winding staircase. A few men stopped him, shook his hands, and even discussed James’s support of a motion the Whig party wanted to argue in Parliament at its next session. Those who glanced at her overly long, received an introduction. James’s cousin from the country, in town for a spot of gambling. She kept her head suitably low, her voice deep, and she was deemed as unimportant. They continued up the stairs where they passed Lord Worsely. Looking up as she approached, he quite openly studied her.
A smile curved his lips, and an arched brow was directed at James. Verity’s heart tripped int
o an alarming beat.
“Worsely,” James greeted coolly. “Has the match started?”
The viscount wrested his curious gaze from her. “About now. You made it in time. Will you challenge the winner? The purse is ten thousand pounds.”
Verity almost expired from shock at the fortune named.
“Excellent. My cousin here, Vincent, is quite eager to witness one of your notorious prizefighting matches.”
“Ah, Vincent is it?”
“Yes,” James returned, and there was a throb of warning in his tone.
The viscount nodded, James continued on, and Verity followed, aware of the Viscount’s stare on her back. “He recognized me,” she said.
“No,” James returned. “Not your identity. Simply that you are a lady.”
“And is that cause for worry?”
“It is not. I would not risk your reputation in such a manner. Anonymity is respected and even expected once we enter these walls.”