The Lady's Scandalous Proposition

Autore

Paulia Belgado

Letto da

18,0K

Capitoli

Autore

Paulia Belgado

Letto da

18,0K

Capitoli

💓 Friends to Lovers

Chapter One

Distillation, the process that turned mashed grain into fine whisky, was said to have been invented in the search for the water of life—aqua vitae—in hope of solving the puzzle that had plagued men for centuries: how to achieve eternal life.

Lady Persephone MacGregor, however, was trying to solve a different kind of puzzle. Not one as grand as cheating death.

No, this particular mystery was in the form of a small black card.

The card was so thick and expensive that despite having spent weeks in her possession, it remained unbent and pristine. On the card there was no name and no title. Instead, on one side, there was a single embossed stamp of a gold disc.

However, this card had led her to this precise moment, sitting in the back of a hackney cab in the middle of the night, on her way to a place no unmarried lady like her should ever be found.

How it had come into her hands was mere chance, through a series of events that began when she left her home in the Scottish Highlands with her eldest brother Cameron, the Earl of Balfour. They had come to London so that Persephone could take part in the Season under the sponsorship of the Dowager Duchess of Mabury.

Sometime after they’d arrived, she’d gone to see Cam in his rooms but instead saw his valet, Murray, hurrying out the door. In his haste, something had fluttered off the silver tray he’d carried and landed right at Persephone’s feet. At first she thought she had imagined it or perhaps her spectacles had failed her. But no, the ebony card had lain stark against the red carpet, the gold stamp glittering in the lamplight as if calling to her.

Whatever had possessed her to pick up the card and put it into her pocket, Persephone did not know; however, since she’d had it, the card had turned into an obsession, an itch she could not scratch. She had to find out what the card meant.

She had spent the last weeks gathering information and reading books in the library, trying to find answers, looking up the different organisations and groups in London and across England, searching through history books and bibles for answers. She even dared to write to well-known scholars to enquire if they had any knowledge of where the black card could have originated.

However, it was not in the library that Persephone discovered her first clue, but during an evening at the ballet, as she was in the crush of the crowds in the lobby at intermission. She was returning to the Dowager’s private box after the interval when she overhead two men ahead of her talking about their plans for afterwards. It was then that she caught the two words that gave her the first real clue.

‘The Underworld.’

Realisation struck Persephone like a bolt of lightning. The gold disc was a coin. The Greeks would bury their dead with a coin in their mouths. It was payment to the ferryman Charon, who helped those who had passed away to cross the River Styx and pass into the land of the dead.

It was then she knew that she would not solve this puzzle by consulting books or academics, but by listening to gossip from the sidelines of various balls and parties and reading gossip columns in the following days and weeks.

‘...the black building located in St James’s Street...’

A certain Mr R has been spotted about town...

‘...can’t get in without a membership or invitation...’

...a man of mythical proportions...

‘...rules it like a kingdom...’

Persephone put all those pieces she gathered from various sources together and landed upon an answer. She knew where the black card came from, and no, it wasn’t the Underworld of Ancient Greek myth, but rather the name of one of the most infamous gaming hells in London.

After days of preparation, Persephone put her plan into action. After her maid helped her to dress for the evening’s activities—another ball at some important lord’s house in Mayfair—she feigned a headache and begged to stay at home. Once everyone had left, she donned a black domino, sneaked out of Mabury Hall while the servants were having their supper and called a hackney cab.

As she sat in the back of the cab, Persephone’s stomach roiled at the thought of what she was about to do, as well as the risk she was taking, not the mention the consequences she could face if she were caught.

The trip to England was their mother’s dying wish, which was to have Persephone take part in the London Season. Their late mother’s friend Miranda, Dowager Duchess of Mabury, offered to be their sponsor, and so Cam took Persephone aside and explained it all.

‘It was the only thing Ma asked of us, Seph,’ Cam said. ‘She’d been planning it since you were born.’

A small ache pricked Persephone’s heart at the thought of her mother. Elaine had passed over seven years ago when she was twelve years old, but the pain returned every now and then. Her father had died not long after, in all likelihood because he couldn’t bear to live without his beloved wife.

While Persephone had loved both her parents dearly and missed them every day, the truth was, had she been born a man, there would have been no need for her to come to England to find a titled husband; she could have stayed in Scotland with her other brothers. After all, by the time she was fifteen years old, she was helping run their family’s business, Glenbaire Whisky Distillery.

So it was that while most young ladies learned to speak French or embroider pillows, Persephone was learning the fine art of making whisky. If she were a man, she could be a legitimate part of the business, not just a responsibility her brothers were burdened with. She could spend her days working in the fields or the granary with Lachlan and Finley or apprentice with Liam to become a master distiller.

Sadly, she’d been born a woman and her path in life was limited. However, it seemed, even with her sparse choices, she still could not find a future for herself, as after all these months in England, she was still without a suitor. While other ladies collected admirers and beaus, Persephone did not even have one gentleman interested in her.

Her nose twitched.

And whose fault was that?

‘No one’s but mine,’ she replied to herself in a morose tone. Which was the truth, because she spent most balls and soirées hiding from eligible gentlemen. As soon as she arrived at any event, she sought out well-placed topiaries and marble statues, hoping that no one of the male sex would spot her.

Why?

Because the one thing they wanted from her was something she couldn’t do.

Dance.

Unfortunately, that particular skill wasn’t required in the distilling process, thus Persephone had never learned it. Well, she did have a lesson before coming to England, but that had been an utter disaster. Perhaps she should have tried harder to learn, but there was nothing she could do about it now. But with the English’s obsession with dancing at balls, and attending such balls being one of the limited ways to meet gentlemen, it seemed she would not be able to find a husband at all.

‘I would never force you to marry anyone you didn’t want to,’ Cam had assured her from the beginning. ‘I will always take care of you.’

When she remembered those words, she made a decision right there and then in the cab: when Cam and his wife, Maddie, returned to England in the summer, she would travel back to Scotland with them. Once there, she would convince them not to send her back. They had all, in a way, fulfilled their dear mother’s dying wish—for Persephone to have a Season in London. It wasn’t her fault no Englishman wanted her. How long was she supposed to wait?

Perhaps she’d live the rest of her life as a spinster, but then again, that would allow her to return home. It would not be so bad, she supposed. If no man would have her, she would always have herself. Her life would be much like it was before coming to England, with her days spent working at the distillery. She’d been fulfilled then, thrilled even, that she was able to use her skills, that she was useful, rather than a burden.

But now something did not quite feel the same.

Despite her resolve, doubt crept into her mind. Fleeting, but it was there: the uncertainty that she could leave England and be able to find contentment in a lonely life. While she had been happy back in Scotland, travelling to England had showed her that there was so much more to life, that there was a bigger world out there. And before she settled into a boring, quiet life, she wanted to experience more.

Excitement. Thrill. Adventure.

And passion.

Persephone was an innocent, but not ignorant in the ways of men and women. Plus, there was talk and gossip, and her own observations. How those married couples exchanged intimate glances; once or twice, she even caught a few of them whispering into each other’s ears. How she longed for that closeness, that excitement. What would it be like to be in a man’s embrace? To have a passionate love affair without consequences?

It was unfair that if she did not marry, her only options were to jump from debutante to spinster. Why could there be nothing in between? To feel that intimacy without having to go through the whole rigmarole of courtship and marriage?

Of course, that seemed impossible. How would she even find a man to have an affair with when she had barely interacted with anyone of the opposite sex?

The sharp tap that came from the roof followed by a gruff, ‘We’re ’ere, miss,’ from the coachman jolted Persephone out of her reverie.

We’re here?

She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d hardly noticed the time. Taking a long, deep breath, she prepared herself. This moment could be the start of her last adventure before she went back to Scotland and settled into a life of spinsterhood.

Reaching for the handle, she stepped out of the cab. However, she misjudged the distance of the step to the pavement, causing her foot to slide forward. Thankfully she caught herself before she completely fell over.

‘Och!’

Her vision blurred as her spectacles slipped down the bridge of her nose. She usually had a footman or her brother helping her down from carriages as she was always tripping over. Composing herself, she pushed her glasses back into place and blinked as she looked up.

Oh, my.

The imposing structure towering over her was entirely black, from the chimney stacks to the pediments over the windows, and even the numerous balustrades decorating the enormous property. And enormous it was, as it must have taken up the entire corner. Persephone could not even see where it ended from where she stood, as the black edifice melted into the dark night and thick fog where the illumination from the street lamps did not reach. There was no signage anywhere to indicate the name of the establishment, but Persephone knew this was it.

The Underworld.

After weeks of searching, she was finally here. A frisson of both excitement and fear shot up her spine. A tiny part of her wanted to turn and run to safety, but she didn’t. After wondering and searching for so long, she had finally found the last piece of the puzzle. She only needed to find the courage to snap it into place.

With a determined intake of breath, Persephone pulled the hood of her cloak lower to cover more of her face, then marched towards the building and up the black marble steps. Raising her arm, she only hesitated for a second before her gloved knuckles rapped on the sturdy wooden door. A slot opened in the middle, the resounding snap of the wood making her jump.

‘Password?’ came the gruff voice from the other side of the door.

‘P-password?’ Persephone pushed herself up onto her tiptoes so that she could see through the slot; it didn’t do much good as the opening was so small she could only see a pair of dark eyes peering out at her.

‘Today’s password,’ the man repeated.

He must be the guard.

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir, I don’t know anything about a password. But I do have a ques—’ The slot snapping shut made her start again. ‘Hello? Sir? May I speak with you for a moment? I only wish to ask a question.’ A few seconds passed, but there was no answer.

Persephone stared at the door, her shoulders slumped. How was she supposed to know the password? The card didn’t have—

The card.

With an excited squeak, she retrieved the black card from her pocket, then knocked again. The slot opened and the menacing eyes locked on Persephone. ‘Can’t let you in without the password.’

‘Wait!’ she shouted before he could shut the window, then held up the card. ‘What about this?’

Unblinking, the guard’s glowering stare fixed on the gold-embossed circle. The slot snapped shut again. Persephone’s heart sank.

Oh, fiddlesticks.

Maybe she’d been wrong about the card and this place. Perhaps—

‘Crivvens!’ she exclaimed as the door swung open and what was possibly the largest man she’d ever seen appeared before her.

He was tall—even taller than Cam, and perhaps twice as wide. His shoulders reminded Persephone of the cliffs back home and his arms were like tree trunks. Most of his face was covered by a thick white beard and bushy eyebrows, and all she could make out of his face was his ominous gaze.

Persephone swallowed hard. ‘I...uhm...’

The giant stepped aside. ‘Enter.’

Afraid to disobey him, she scuttled into the foyer. Directly across from the front door was another entryway, though vastly different. This one was much taller, occupying the space from ceiling to floor. It was made entirely of gold.

‘Is that real?’ she asked the guard. ‘I mean, the go—’

He held up a hand, so she clamped her mouth shut. Then, he put two fingers to his lips, sending out a piercing whistle. Moments later, a tall, lanky boy appeared on her left, seemingly from thin air.

She started, stumbling back. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘Thomas,’ the giant boomed. ‘Take ’er to the office.’

‘This lady here?’ Thomas eyed Persephone suspiciously.

‘Aye.’ Bushy white eyebrows knitted together. ‘Ye know where it is, eh, boy?’

His head bobbed up and down.

‘That’s right. Run along, then.’

Persephone raised a hand. ‘Er, excuse me? Sir?’

The giant’s massive head swung towards her, but he remained silent.

‘Where am I going, exactly?’

He let out a snort, then turned his back to her.

‘Harrumph.’

Why, I never—

‘This way, miss.’ Thomas jerked a thumb behind him, then spun on his heel and placed his palm against the wall. He gave a push and a panel slid away, revealing an entryway.

‘How marvellous!’ Persephone scrambled towards the wall to examine it. ‘How does it work? Is there a—’

‘You must follow me, milady. The master don’t like to be kept waitin’.’

‘The master?’

‘Come on, now,’ he said, gesturing with his hand. ‘Let’s get goin’.’

Shrugging, she answered, ‘All right.’

The boy was quick and light on his feet, yet purposeful for a boy his age, which she guessed was about twelve or thirteen. Persephone didn’t spend much time around children, though she had observed many of them in the village surrounding Kinlaly Castle, her Scottish home. They were often carefree, running and shouting as they played. Thomas, however, had the serious air of a man four times his age as he led her through a maze-like series of hallways and staircases where the unadorned walls were lined with panels of thick, dark wood. The silence inside was deafening, and for a moment, fear gripped Persephone as she wondered if anyone would be able to hear her scream from in here.

‘Oomph!’ She collided with Thomas, not realising he’d stopped. ‘My apologies, I didn’t realise we were here.’

Wherever here was.

‘Right through there, milady.’ He jutted his chin down the hallway.

‘In there?’ She eyed the ominous lone door at the end. What was behind it? With a name like The Underworld, her imagination filled the space with horrific objects like skulls and dead animals, spider-webs and black curtains, perhaps even torture devices and manacles on the wall.

‘Yeah. Master sent ye the invitation, didn’t he?’

‘Invit—?’ The card. ‘Right. I mean, yes. Yes, he did.’

‘Go on then.’

She straightened her shoulders. ‘I will. Thank you, Thomas.’

The boy tipped his hat, then sidestepped around her before scampering off.

Persephone pushed her glasses further up her nose, then planted her hands on her hips. Part of her hesitated—this invitation had not been sent to her personally and so she was not supposed to be here. But then again, she’d come this far. Why turn back now?

Carefully, she approached the door and knocked. There was no answer, so she tried a second time. Supposing that the office was empty, she turned the knob and stepped inside.

Hmm.

The office was, well...an office. In fact it reminded her of Cam’s study back at Kinlaly Castle. Curious, she walked inside for a closer inspection. The furniture was made of heavy polished wood and rich leather; there was a large desk and chair occupying the majority of the space, while a large carpet covered most of the floor. The walls were lined with paintings depicting landscapes and houses, except for one wall that had an enormous window looking out onto the street. Behind the desk was a set of shelves, filled with leather books and various other objects—small figures made of marble and ivory, an ornate clock and a few exotic pieces Persephone could only suppose were Egyptian and Far-Eastern in origin.

No skulls or torture devices.

A giggle bubbled from within her. How silly she was. Of course a business like this had to have an office. There was nothing disconcerting about this place.

‘Tell me who you are and what you’re doing here right now.’

The low, sinister the voice that came from behind her froze the blood in Persephone’s veins. Her body refused to move, even though her mind screamed at her to leave. But how could she? There was only one exit, and she could only suppose that whoever had caught her was blocking it.

Footsteps padded across the floor as the man drew closer. ‘I said, tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.’

Speaking proved difficult; her throat was dry as a bone. However, Persephone had managed to regain control of her body, and she turned around slowly, so that the hood of her cloak did not slip off. Her chest tightened as she peered up at the man who had caught her snooping.

Oh.

Taller than most Englishmen she’d encountered—though not as tall as Cam—the man towered over her, his chiselled jaw set hard. His thick mahogany hair was neatly combed back, save for a stray lock that lay across his forehead. The firm mouth, high cheekbones and straight aquiline nose could have been carved by an Italian master.

But what unsettled and thrilled her the most were those eyes. One green, the other brown. Both glaring down at her with a stare that could rival a thousand suns.

He was the most beautiful and dangerous man Persephone had ever seen.

Ransom could not remember the last time he had had to repeat himself. Whenever he gave anyone a command, they complied without hesitation. However, in this instance, he found himself saying his words a third time to the diminutive trespasser.

‘I said, tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my office.’

Once again the stranger didn’t answer and so with one last step, he closed the distance between them, then pushed back the hood that kept the stranger’s face hidden. From behind gold-rimmed spectacles, a pair of emerald eyes blinked up at him.

Eyes set on a very feminine face.

Very few things unsettled Ransom. As the owner of one of London’s largest gaming hells, he had to be prepared for anything and everything. The heady mixture of money, liquor, and power brought out the worst in people, so control was essential lest chaos and pandemonium overrun The Underworld. In his nearly twenty years in this business, he thought he had seen, heard, and tried everything.

Finding a young woman snooping in his office, however, was certainly something he had yet to encounter. It was unnerving to say the least, and being caught off guard was an experience he did not care for. A man like himself could not afford to give even a hint of being rattled.

Thankfully he regained his composure in no time. ‘Do not make me repeat myself a fourth time.’

‘I... I was invited.’

‘I highly doubt that.’ Crossing his arms, Ransom leaned forward. While he meant to be intimidating, he instead received a whiff of a clean, floral scent, with a touch of citrus and spice. ‘How the devil did you get past Charon?’

‘Charon?’ A bemused grin set upon her plump pink lips. ‘The man at the door’s name is really Charon?’

Actually, it was Toby, but that hardly sounded intimidating for a door guard. It was one of those things about The Underworld that started as a myth and grew out of proportion; Ransom thought it only added to his business’s reputation.

In any case, he would be having a stern word with Toby/Charon before the night was over. But first, he needed to get rid of this woman. ‘A lady like you should not be in a place like this.’

‘A lady? What makes you think I’m a lady? Nay, I’m not even from London.’

Ransom had detected a slight Scottish burr in her accent earlier, but it sounded exaggerated now. ‘Your cloak is made of thick velvet, and from what I can see of your dress—’ he nodded at where the black fabric had parted ‘—your gown’s fine embroidery tells me it’s made by some expensive dressmaker down on Bond Street.’

‘I could have stolen both,’ she replied quickly.

‘These as well?’ He plucked the gold spectacles perched on top her pert little nose. ‘Fine gold, lightweight. Very good craftsmanship.’ When her right hand shot up to retrieve them, he pulled them out of her reach.

‘I need those,’ she stated. ‘Please give them back.’

‘Need them? So these are yours?’

Her nostrils flared, but she gave a sharp nod, then held her hand out.

For a moment, Ransom considered holding on to the spectacles in exchange for information, but saw the flash of anxiety on her face.

She would make a terrible poker player.

Carefully, he placed the glasses into her outstretched palm.

‘Thank you,’ she said as she put them back on. ‘And apologies for the...misunderstanding.’

‘You still haven’t answered my question. How did you get in here?’

‘I—I told you. I was invited.’

‘And I said I did not believe you.’ Ransom knew every single soul who entered The Underworld, who they were, what they were doing, and where they were at all times. Anyone who got through the doors couldn’t so much as breathe without him knowing it.

‘Here.’ She waved something at his face.

The obol.

The card was the only way to get inside The Underworld without a membership. Ransom gave gold-embossed cards to anyone being considered for membership, those he wanted to do business with, or as a favour to certain members who wanted to bring guests. He was certain he hadn’t given one to this woman, as he kept track of every single obol card. He would have to check his records to find out who had not used theirs yet.

‘So this is an invitation?’ Her emerald eyes gleaned hopefully, seemingly encouraged by his stunned silence.

‘Did you steal it?’

Colour bloomed in her cheeks. ‘No.’

‘You lie.’ How unfortunate that she wasn’t being considered for membership. She was a terrible bluffer; The Underworld would make a fortune. ‘Did you steal it from your father? Brother? Husband?’ The last word stuck in his throat like a fishbone.

She shook her head, and the lamplight in the office sent shocks of gold through her fiery hair. He’d been so unnerved by her presence in his private office that he hadn’t noticed her red hair or how the light made her rosy cheeks glow. She wrinkled her nose, which Ransom discovered was smattered with freckles. ‘I did not steal it.’

He raised an eyebrow at her, noting how she emphasised the word steal.

‘I merely...found it.’

‘Then you are aware it was not meant for you.’

‘I didn’t know who it was meant for when I picked it up from the ground,’ she reasoned. ‘If someone were careless enough to lose it, that’s not my fault, is it?’

‘It was not given to you and yet you took it.’

‘Or perhaps I found it, and now it is mine,’ she said smugly. ‘That’s some kind of law, isn’t it?’

‘You mean the old proverb? “He that finds, keeps, and he that loses, seeks.”’

She clapped her hands together. ‘Exactly. We agree to disagree then.’

‘That’s not how this works.’ The urge to rake his hands through his hair was strong, but Ransom refused to show his frustration.

‘In any case, sir,’ she continued. ‘My curiosity has been satisfied. I shall be on my way.’

When she attempted to sidestep him, he blocked her way. ‘I don’t think so.’ Unfortunately for her, Ransom’s curiosity was far from sated and the fastest way for him to find out how the card came into her possession would be from her own lips. Once he discovered who she’d got it from, he would find the scoundrel that dared misplace—or give away—his precious obol, and mete out the corresponding punishment.

‘I beg your pardon?’

He plucked the card from her fingers. ‘The obol has earned you a tour of The Underworld.’ Her eyes widened. ‘That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?’

A myriad of expressions crossed her face, as if she were contemplating his words. She pressed her lips together, then said, ‘I look forward to it.’

And so for the second time that evening, Ransom found himself unsettled. He had fully expected her to demand that he let her leave or worse—start screaming. She had called his bluff, something few people had ever done.

Who was this bold chit?

‘Before we begin, how may I address you, Miss—’

‘C-Cora.’

‘Miss Cora.’ Her answer came far too quickly, but he had already supposed that she would give him a fake name.

‘And you are?’

‘Ransom,’ he replied curtly.

‘Mr Ransom—’

‘Just Ransom,’ he interrupted.

‘Ransom.’ The way her Rs rolled caused a curious, pleasurable tingle in his ears. ‘Where are we going first? The gaming floor? The card rooms?’

There was no way he was going to parade her out in the main gaming floor or to the card rooms where everyone would see her. Though her accent confirmed she was not part of the English aristocracy, she had obviously been brought up in a genteel manner. Perhaps she was the daughter of some wealthy Scottish merchant who had hoped to foist her off on an impoverished titled lord in need of a dowry in exchange for raising their social status? Whoever she was, he could not allow someone like her to be so publicly exposed in one of London’s most notorious gaming hells.

‘No, we’re not going anywhere near the floor.’

‘But this is a gambling den.’

‘Gentleman’s club,’ he corrected. Well, that was what was listed in the business registry’s office anyway. Ransom did what was necessary to keep up appearances. There were full-time kitchen staff to serve meals, a few rooms for members to stay overnight, a fully stocked library, a sporting club with boxing ring in the basement, and of course, ‘gifts’ to the right people in government.

She snorted. ‘That’s not what I heard.’

‘Oh? And what have you heard about us?’

Her mouth snapped shut.

‘In any case, Miss Cora, as this is a gentleman’s club, women are not allowed inside.’ At least, not women like her. ‘The gaming—entertainment areas, card rooms, billiard rooms, smoking rooms, and the sporting club are off-limits.’

‘Then where will you tour me? The bookkeeper’s offices? The kitchens?’ she asked pertly. ‘How exactly are you going to show me your gambling den—’

‘Gentleman’s club.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Gentleman’s club, without showing me where the gentlemen gamble—er, are located?’

She was correct, but there was no bloody way he was going to expose her to the members of The Underworld. However, an idea came upon him. There was one way for her to observe the activities without being seen herself. ‘Come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Do you want a tour or not?’ He walked over to the door and opened it. ‘Shall we be on our way? Or have you changed your mind?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Let us begin then. Just follow me.’

Ransom led her down the hall, away from his office, then down the staircase to the second level. This was the one level inside The Underworld that had a guard standing outside the entrance, and no one except Ransom and the people who worked in there were allowed inside. He nodded at the burly bald man—Norris—who stepped aside. He didn’t meet Ransom’s eye, nor did he react to Miss Cora’s presence.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked in a rather loud voice.

‘Shush. You must keep your voice quiet in here.’ He gestured to the doorway ‘After you.’

Her hands balled at her side, Ransom observed the hesitation on her face. Nonetheless, she appeared to screw up her courage and crossed the threshold. Strangely, he felt a modicum of pride at her bravery.

‘Wh-what’s going on here?’ she whispered as she glanced around, confusion now painting her pretty face. ‘Who are these people? And what are they doing?’

The sizeable room resembled an attic, and in fact when Graham Hale owned the place, it had been used for storage and served as a sound buffer between the main gaming floor and the private rooms above. However, when Ransom bought out Old Man Hale, he found a more effective use for the space. ‘Those are my most valuable employees.’

About a dozen men lay face-down on the floor in neat rows on top of fabric-covered pallets, hands cupped around their temples. None of them lifted their heads or even acknowledged their presence, just as they had been trained. ‘I call them my eyes in the sky.’

‘Eyes in the sky?’ she echoed. ‘What are they looking at?’

‘Why, the gaming floor, of course. From here, they can see everything that’s happening downstairs.’

Her head tilted to the side. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Anyone who walks into The Underworld thinks they can win,’ he began. ‘Some nights they do, which is why they keep coming back, but most often, they don’t. And when they don’t, they might get desperate and resort to other means to win.’

‘You mean cheating.’

‘Clever one, aren’t you?’ Ransom couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from tugging upwards. ‘And my eyes in the sky can spot almost all cheaters.’

‘How do they know if someone’s cheating?’ she asked. ‘Couldn’t someone simply be skilled? Or perhaps lucky?’

‘True, but there are some games that are pure chance and if someone’s on an extraordinary winning streak, then one of my men will spot them.’

‘And the games of skill, like cards?’

‘Some men may try to smuggle in good cards and switch them. Or some men work in teams, trying to signal to each other. However, if someone has the natural ability to win, I don’t begrudge them. Besides, it is not possible to keep winning eternally. A player might get hungry or tired or simply careless. If they keep playing long enough, they eventually lose.’

‘So, the real skill is learning when to stop.’

Ransom narrowed his eyes at her, surprised by her astuteness and insight.

‘How do they learn to spot cheaters? Are they taught?’

‘In a way,’ he said. ‘They used to be cheats themselves. Tossed out of the lower gaming hells. I recruit them myself.’

‘Do you test them yourself too?’ Emerald eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘Do you cheat, Mr Ransom?’

‘Ransom,’ he corrected. ‘And I never cheat.’

‘Truly? But you run a gambling hall.’

‘We do not cheat in The Underworld. Anyone with even the slightest knowledge of numbers and gaming knows that there is only one truth in gambling: the house always wins. I merely...take advantage of weaknesses.’ And for a moment he wondered what her weakness was.

‘Some might say this is cheating.’ She motioned to the men on the floor. ‘You could use your “eyes in the sky” to look at players’ cards, for example, and ensure your dealers always have the better chance of winning.’

‘But how would this information be relayed to the dealers downstairs? By the time they run down to inform them, the hands would have been played.’

‘True.’

Ransom could practically hear her thinking as her brows furrowed together. Before she could go on any further, he said, ‘Would you like to see for yourself?’

‘S-see? You mean, be one of your eyes in the sky?’

‘For a few minutes, at least, until you get bored.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be bored for at least...an hour,’ she guessed. ‘But...aye. I would love to see it for myself.’

Glancing around, he guided her towards an empty pallet. ‘Here you go.’

She looked down. ‘Must I lie down?’

He nodded. ‘That is the only way to look through the ceiling.’

‘I... All right.’ With a determined shrug, she sank down to her knees on the pallet. ‘It’s quite soft.’ She bent down to sniff at the pallet. ‘And the linens are fresh.’

‘Of course. My men often have to stay up here for hours and so they must be comfortable.’

‘Hmm...yes, comfortable indeed.’ Positioning herself, she lay down prone on the pallet. ‘And I look through this?’ She tapped her fingers on the rectangular hole on the floor.

‘Yes.’

She frowned sceptically, but peered forward. ‘Oh...everything looks distorted.’

‘I had spyglasses—similar to opera lenses—installed so everything is magnified. Perhaps your spectacles are in the way.’

‘Oh.’ She lifted her head up. ‘Perhaps so.’

Getting down onto his knees beside her, he extended his hand. ‘May I?’

She nodded, and he plucked the glasses off her nose and placed them into his front coat pocket. Before he could get a good look at her face, however, she once again turned to the spy hole. ‘Oh, I see,’ she squeaked. ‘I see everything. Oh! It’s marvellous. Beautiful. The décor, I mean. The lights...the furniture...the artwork.’

‘Not what you expected?’ he asked wryly.

‘Not in a place called The Underworld.’ He could practically hear her smile. ‘And so many people. Do you really mean to say that not one of them has ever looked up and caught a glimpse of your spies?’

‘We are high up, hence the need for the spyglasses. That, and the ceiling is made of mirror shards,’ he explained. ‘Anyone who looks up and sees a pair of eyes could easily think that it is their own staring back at them. But, no, no one has ever looked up, not when their attention is fixed on the game and money is at stake.’ Gamblers paid attention to little else but the turn of the roulette wheel, the roll of the dice, or the flipping of cards.

‘How many—’ She halted abruptly, then let out a huff.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You said women weren’t allowed on the gaming floor.’ Craning her neck up, she glared at him. ‘There are definitely women there.’

‘Are there now?’

‘Yes.’

When she turned back to the spy hole, he quietly lay down next to her. ‘What do you see?’

‘Women. Several of them.’

‘And?’

Just a little closer, he told himself as he leaned towards her. Just so he could take in another whiff of her clean floral and citrus scent.

‘What are they doing?’

‘Well...one woman, she’s leaning over the roulette wheel and...’

He waited a stretch before saying, ‘And?’ A stray wisp of red hair tickled his cheek as he whispered into her ear. ‘What else?’

‘She’s...bent down so low and her dress...’

‘What about her dress?’

‘It’s...well, I think she should have a word with her modiste. It seems to be missing a few key pieces of fabric.’

Ransom bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing aloud. ‘And? Is she with anyone?’

‘I... The gentleman next to her, I suppose. And...’ She took in a sharp intake of breath.

‘Yes?’

She swallowed audibly. ‘She sat herself on his lap.’

‘And what’s he doing?’

‘He’s touching her.’

He was so close now that he could feel the warmth of her skin. His lips were but a hair’s breadth from her cheek. ‘Where?’

‘I...would rather not say.’ She pulled away from the spy hole and when she turned her head towards him, their lips nearly brushed. ‘I... Oh.’

Quickly, she scrambled up to her knees and pressed a hand to her chest. Even in the dim light, Ransom could see the flush on her cheeks. ‘Those women...’

‘I should have clarified.’ Calmly, Ransom stood up and brushed some imaginary lint from his trousers. ‘Ladies are not allowed on the gaming floor. But women are.’

Most other gaming hells had women at the ready for their patrons, but Ransom had no stomach for the flesh trade. However, he understood that it was a necessary evil in this business, and banning the working women of London from The Underworld would be bad for profits. So, he struck up an agreement of sorts with a few nearby reputable brothels to allow some of their workers to ply their trade here, though Ransom forbade his employees from interacting with the women. It was a rule he himself also observed.

‘Do you understand the difference?’

She nodded, the colour from her face abating, though her eyes remained glazed.

‘Perhaps the excitement has worn out your nerves, Miss Cora.’ He offered her his hand. ‘Shall we continue on?’

She didn’t answer or take his hand, and instead attempted to stand up on her own. In doing so, she must have stepped on her own skirts and tripped forward, her hands landing squarely on Ransom’s chest. Though the impulse to wrap his arms around her was strong, he raised his hands high up away from her to avoid temptation. Nevertheless, she slammed against him. Her fingers gripped the lapel of his coat and she lifted her head up to meet his eyes, her lips parting.

Ransom, being only human, gave in to the urge to stare at those luscious lips and imagine what they might taste like. His mind continued down this dangerous path, picturing himself kissing her freckled nose, smooth skin, and cheeks. When he met her naked emerald gaze straight on, however, the orbs turned dark, and to his consternation, he saw a flare of desire in them—one that mirrored his own. His cock twitched involuntarily as breathless longing filled his body.

This was absolutely unacceptable.

‘Miss Cora?’

‘Yes?’ she breathed, her pupils widening.

‘Would you be so kind as to release me?’

She gasped, then shook her head. ‘I... Of course.’ Swiftly, she let go of his lapel and took a step back, but refused to release her gaze on him.

When he put his arms down, the numbness from holding them up dissipated, only to be replaced by an ache. The twinging pain was welcome, as it distracted him from the other feelings coming from his nether regions. ‘Perhaps it’s best we conclude our tour.’ Without another word, he walked towards the exit. He didn’t hear her reply, but the footsteps behind him told him she was following.

Good.

She had no business being here in the first place, and he had no business being aroused by some slip of a girl.

Yanking the door open, he allowed her to exit first. He closed the door behind him and turned to her. ‘Shall I have someone call you a hackney cab?’

‘Yes. I mean no.’

‘No?’

‘I...that is...’ She fiddled her fingers together, her head shying away from him. ‘I don’t want that.’

‘And you think you have a choice?’

‘No... I mean...there is one more thing I want.’ Slowly, she put her hands to her side, then lifted her head. ‘What I came here for.’

Exasperated, he said, ‘And what, pray tell, is that?’

‘An adventure,’ she stated.

‘An adventure.’ He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the door. ‘Wasn’t tonight enough of an adventure?’

‘No.’ She held his gaze steadily. ‘It was not.’