Page 89 of Dare to Love a Duke
When he moved deeper into the club, half-empty rooms met him. Just over a score of guests milled uneasily. No one abandoned themselves to sex, instead drifting agitatedly from here to there. Without the many energetic bodies, the air held a slight chill, and the music was overloud.
There was no sign of Lucia in the main chambers. He went quickly into the corridor, and nearly collided with her as she carried a bottle of wine. Tom clasped her upper arms, needing the feel of her.
“I can’t fathom it.” Her mask couldn’t hide her bewildered expression. “We turned guests away the night of the performances. Ever after, we hosted capacity crowds. Now...”
Her words died away as she looked up into his face. Without speaking, she handed him the wine. He drank directly from the bottle before handing it back. Her gaze pinned to his, she also pulled from the bottle.
Taking her hand, he led her into an unused small parlor. Light seeped in beneath the closed door, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to see her—tonight more than ever. He stalked to a candle and lit it. Only then did he see how disordered the room was, serving as a storage for cracked knickknacks and worn furniture.
He pulled off his mask, then started to remove hers.
She stayed his hand. “Business hours.”
“We won’t leave this room unmasked.” His words verging on desperate, he asked, “May I see your face?”
After a moment, she undid the ribbons, revealing herself to him. Ah, hell, but looking at her was a pleasure. His hands clenched and unclenched.
“The Duke of Brookhurst played his hand.” Tom snarled. “Everyone knows—about the fact that I own the club. About us, our affair.”
What a flimsy word,affair. It spoke of furtive caresses and sly looks. Nothing at all what he felt for her.
Her eyes went wide. “Dio ci aiuti.”
His gaze ricocheted around the snug chamber but found no solace in the jumble of furniture and chipped china figurines. His fingers itched to grab one of the little statues and throw it against the wall.
“Society now dines upon the feast that is a duke’s ownership of a clandestine sex establishment.” His mouth was dry. “And that the woman who operates it is my lover.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Thus I lose half my clientele. No one wants to be implicated in the scandal.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Half our revenue, gone. Which means... we can’t afford to stay in business.” Opening her eyes, she frowned deeply. “There’s only one thing to do.”
“No,” he said hotly.
Yet she nodded, her expression bleak. Voice hard, she said, “Close our doors. Permanently.”
“No.” He could only repeat the word over and over until somehow he could push back the tide of disaster.
“Your reputation’s in pieces,” she said flatly. “The Orchid Club closes, and perhaps some of those injuries can heal.”
“The home for girls,” he said. Simply. As one drops an incendiary device.
“With no income for me, it can’t happen.”
He reached for her. “Lucia—”
She slipped away from him, her expression shifting from despair to anger. “I knew,” she said on a whisper. Louder, “Iknew.” Her gaze turned to him, and it burned with fury. “I kept away from you for a reason. Said to myself, ‘Lucia, don’t be a fool. Don’t open yourself to him, to how he makes you feel.’”
“Stop,” he ground out. Each word she spoke was an agony.
“I should never have involved myself with you,” she said, voice hard with anger and recrimination—for herself and for him. “But I was anidiota,and it cost me everything.”
Mortal wounds didn’t always come from bullets and bayonets. He saw that now. He rasped, “I’ll find a way to fix it.”
She stared at him, her features a brittle veneer. “There’s nothing to be done. It’s over.Finito.” As quickly as it had come, the anger burned itself out, leaving behind a burned husk that resembled Lucia. When she spoke, her words were hardly above a whisper. “You and I—”
His pulse roared in his ears, threatening to drown out all sound. He’d laid waste to her world. He had anticipated what Brookhurst might do to him, to Maeve, but never considered the duke would hurt Lucia. How fucking naïve.
Tom swung away from her, as though putting distance between them might somehow keep the truth away.
“Go,” she said simply. “We’ll not see each other again.”
