Page 61 of From Duke Till Dawn
From its exterior, the three-story house in Bloomsbury looked to Alex like any other affluent home, with its tidy plantings and neat, columned portico. Heavy curtains shielded all the windows from prying eyes—like his own—and as he stood with Cassandra on the curb outside, he could very faintly hear a pianoforte and violin above the night’s quiet.
“Doesn’t look like a place where people go to roger each other,” Cassandra murmured, echoing his thoughts.
“The value of concealment should be well-known to you,” he answered.
She ran a finger over the beaded edge of her violet silk mask. It matched her cloak and gown, which he’d ordered from a dressmaker that morning. He’d paid a goodly sum to ensure the disguise’s timely delivery, despite Cassandra’s vehement protests over the expense. She’d only calmed herself when he had assured her the cost wouldn’t go to the already-substantial tally she owed him.
“But it’s new to you,” she noted, lightly tugging on the cord that affixed his own mask in place. Alex’s tailor had readily provided the gray silk mask, most likely happy to attend the needs of one of his best customers. The dark evening clothes Alex sported had already been in his closet—though his valet had looked slightly bemused by Alex’s request for an anonymous-looking ensemble.
“This is unknown territory for both of us.” He nodded toward the building, where, supposedly inside, people indulged in their every sexual desire.
He’d fallen into an upside-down world, where nothing was as it seemed. Alex barely recognized his own razor or the shape of his face as he’d shaved in preparation for the night’s excursion. He was doing things he’d never done before, journeying off the map. The most shocking thing of all was that he enjoyed it.
Helikednot knowing where he was heading from one moment to the next. He reveled in living in the shadows, rather than the harsh light of day. Respectable noblemen didn’t don masks and venture to secret erotic societies. Yet he was doing precisely that, and it gave him a giddy sense of freedom. He could be anyone, do anything.
It was intoxicating.
“Martin used to say that the best way to try something new was to brazen it out,” she said wryly. “Pretend that you know what you’re doing, and everyone will believe you’re an expert.”
He exhaled. “Not unlike the first time I stepped into the House of Lords.”
Her smile flashed before disappearing quickly. “That’s the first time you’ve equated yourself with someone like me. What new wonder is next? Maybe the capital of England will relocate to Siam.”
Every moment in her company, he grew less and less certain of his fundamental beliefs. He’d known himself so thoroughly until he met Cassandra. Or so he had believed. Yet each step forward revealed aspects of himself he’d never realized.
“It’s nearly midnight,” he noted, checking his pocket watch. “Surely if Hughes was here, he’d be inside by now.”
“Time to breach the den of iniquity.” She straightened her shoulders. “Lead on, Macduff. And no,” she added, her eyes glinting behind her mask, “I haven’t readMacbeth. Or any Shakespeare.”
“You know the lines.”
“Seen the plays performed by strolling companies,” she said pragmatically. “Didn’t care for them, but I know your kind can’t get enough of Billy W’s flowery words.”
The audacity of this woman. Shaking his head at her name for Shakespeare, he led them through the gate and up the front steps. His pulse was a steady, hard throb. He knew logically what was behind the door of this Bloomsbury house, but that didn’t take away his trepidation and excitement about seeing it in the flesh.
Recalling Langdon’s and Ellingsworth’s instructions, he knocked on the door.Tap. Tap tap. Tap.
A moment later, a woman in a ruby-red mask opened the door. She wore her dark hair loose, and her black eyes were guarded but curious as she surveyed him and Cassandra.
“I’ve come for the plums,” he said.
The masked woman answered, “We haven’t any.”
“Peaches will suffice,” he replied.
She smiled in welcome and held the door open wider, permitting them to enter. They walked into an elegant, dimly lit foyer. “Welcome, friends. Is this your first time joining us?”
“It is,” Cassandra answered.
The woman’s smile widened. “You are most heartily received here. As my gift to you, your first time at the Orchid Club costs nothing. A fee is required for each additional visit. But for now, please accept my compliments along with your admission.”
Alex bowed and Cassandra executed a flawless curtsy. He’d almost forgotten that she easily moved within elite social circles, but seeing her so politely thank the masked woman, he recalled how effortlessly she could inhabit the role of Society widow.
“I am Amina,” the woman continued.
Intriguing. This was the woman who ran the club—and who had captured Langdon’s interest. Her age was impossible to tell, but she was slim and richly dressed. The slightly darker hue of her skin evinced that somewhere in the mysterious Amina’s history, there had been a mixed union. She had a sleek, regal appearance and held herself with elegant reserve.
How unlike Langdon’s usual tastes for lushly curved, bold actresses and dancers who made no secret of their interest in a man.
