Page 44 of The Good Duke
The grown woman she’d become was bothnothinglike and everything like the girl he used to know, all at the same time. Fearless, bold, and waggish one instant, in the next she looked at him censoriously and with a displeasure and annoyance she’d never reserved for him, but rather the bullying boys she and he had a shared loathing for.
Simon scowled. She now looked at him as if he were somehow a disappointment to her.
Me.
How did she expect heshouldreceive finding her in his household, while he’d been bathing in his bedchamber, at that?
Under him, Dobbin shortened his stride and lifted his head.
Simon forced those frustrating thoughts of Persephone Forsyth aside and stroked the jittery horse’s neck.
“Sorry, old boy,” he murmured.
The always-loyal Dobbin whinnied his forgiveness.
Lightening his hold on the reins, Simon urged his mount to a more moderate, measured pace.
A short while later, just as the sun began to crest, Simon arrived at the formidable gaming hell, Forbidden Pleasures. Two stoic, armed guards—a new addition since Simon had last been here—stood sentry outside, blocking the double doors.
After he’d turned his reins over to the small boy who’d been waiting in the shadows, Simon climbed the limestone steps. One of the darkly clad servants drew a door open, while the other fellow kept his hand on the gun at his waist.
The moment Simon stepped inside, however, he found his path blocked by an unfamiliar scarred and stoney-faced butler.
With the dark-haired fellow’s broad-set shoulders and even bigger arms that challenged the finely cut black jacket he’d crammed them into, the man was better suited to throwing punches in boxing rings than opening doors in clubs.
But then these were not the venerable walls of White’s or Brooks’ or Boodle’s.
As soon as that elaborate panel closed behind Simon, the darkness of the dimly lit club and heavy cheroot smoke hanging over the establishment swallowed the faint vestige of the rising morning sun outside.
The flinty-eyed butler looked Simon over.
“Ye aren’t familiar, Yer Lordship,” he noted in coarse and more than faintly caustic tones.
There’d been a time such a menacing man would have left Simon unsettled—no longer.
Coolly, Simon handed his card over to the impassive servant. “Formerly the Earl of Primly,” he said.
The other man ran a flinty gaze over the name and title emblazoned upon the newly minted cards, and then, giving a nearly imperceptible nod, he stepped aside and granted Simon entrance.
In an instant, another servant, this one as broad but of a stockier build, rushed forward with a greater urgency to take Simon’s things.
Wordlessly, Simon doffed his black top hat and handed it over. Then, shrugging out of his cloak and giving it to the younger man, Simon surveyed the club that was Forbidden Pleasures.
The carpets were still crimson, but brighter and more pristine, indicating at some point the coverings had been changed.
The gaming tables—even at the early hour—were still as crowded, filled with drunken members with bloodshot eyes and thick growth on cheeks in desperate need of a blade. Though a new addition were the female patrons, who mingled with the gentlemen at the gaming tables.
Barely clad beauties, with rouged lips and even more heavily rouged cheeks, wound their way about the club. As they went, they distributed drinks from the silver tray hefted atop their delicate shoulders to each patron they passed. The thick scent of floral fragrances clashed and wafted in the wake of those women.
Simon dismissed those sights and searched instead the faces of those patrons seated at their privately held tables.
His gaze clashed with a darkly clad figure seated in the farthest left-side corner of the club.
Unlike the other patrons, this man was clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and sober.
The gentleman lifted a hand up in a silent, across-the-room acknowledgement, and Simon, notching his chin up in a return greeting, headed over to meet Lord Kit Pruitt, the lone friend he’d made in his life.
Though, that isn’t really true… There’d been Persephone.
