Page 77 of Counting on a Countess
He smiled with admiration. “Goddamn, but you’re brave. Go and dress. I’ll meet you in the hallway in a quarter of an hour.”
Once inside her bedchamber, she leaned against the door and pressed her trembling fingers to her mouth. This was going to be a very wicked night, and it would be made all the better because she was going to share it with Kit.
To hell with the consequences.
Experience had taught Tamsyn that appearances couldn’t be trusted. Any smuggler knew this. False fronts were an integral part of the process—a wagon might have a secret compartment to hold casks of brandy, or a woman’s “pregnant” stomach might conceal a bolt of lace.
So it was a surprise and yet not a surprise to see that this infamous Orchid Club appeared to be an affluent home on a city block of other affluent homes. Nothing distinguished the club from its neighbors, save for the occasional masked people going in and out of the front door.
“We don’t have masks,” Tamsyn said to Kit. They sat in the carriage, parked a discreet distance from the entrance to the club.
“That can be remedied.” He poked his head out the window and softly called up to the footman. The servant immediately climbed down from his perch on the carriage.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Tell the manager we’re in need of masks,” Kit instructed the footman.
The servant bowed and went quickly to the club’s front door. He returned a few moments later with two half masks, one blue satin and the other black velvet. With a carefully neutral expression, the footman handed them to Kit, then waited to help them both descend from the carriage.
Tamsyn tied the ribbons of her mask, securing it in place. Kit did the same.
“You look like a highwayman,” she noted with a mix of humor and pleasure.
He grinned waggishly. “A dashing highwayman who steals kisses, not gold.”
“Every lady prays you hold up her coach.” She gave him a smile, but excitement mixed with nervousness made it tremulous.
He reached across the small space of the carriage and wrapped his hand around hers. “Anytime you want to leave, if anything makes you uncomfortable, let me know. We’ll be gone in a trice.”
Tamsyn nodded. She could do this. Shewantedto do this.
Now properly disguised, they exited the carriage. Tamsyn took Kit’s arm and he led her across the street. Her heart pounded with each step closer, but she didn’t balk and she didn’t turn around to flee. Soon, she would know what mysteries lay beyond the entrance to this club.
They reached the front door, and Kit knocked.Tap. Tap tap. Tap.
The door was opened by a masked woman. She had glossy black hair and tawny skin, and her dark eyes were sharp as she assessed Tamsyn and Kit.
“I’ve come for the plums,” Kit said.
“We haven’t any,” the woman answered.
“Peaches will suffice.”
The woman smiled as she opened the door wider. “Welcome, friends.”
Smugglers often used exchanges such as the one Kit and the woman had employed to show that they were allies. It made sense that a secret club would make use of a similar code.
Once Tamsyn and Kit had stepped inside a dimly lit foyer, the woman closed the door and locked it. Before she could speak, Kit showed her the coin with the mask and motto.
“Ah, you are not strangers here,” the woman noted with satisfaction.
“It is the lady’s first time,” Kit explained.
When the woman glanced at her, Tamsyn tipped up her chin. “We are happy to receive you,” the woman said in a hospitable voice. “I am Amina, the manager, and the only one within these walls permitted a name. We have a very strict code of anonymity here. Do not speak of anything that may indicate your true identity.”
“I understand,” Tamsyn answered solemnly.
“Once you cross the threshold,” Amina continued, “you must agree to abide by our policy that you will force no one to do anything they don’t desire. Consent is mandatory. Further,” she added, “nothing about this society leaves the building. Do you agree to obey these strictures?”
