Page 13 of When He Was Wicked
“No.”
An amused smile curved her generous lips. “You had no notion of my question.”
“You wanted to know if we should descend and walk.”
“Impressive,” she said teasingly, before sobering.
“I want you to understand my rules before we enter. You are a lady, disguised as a young gent. Keep your head down. Do not speak unless absolutely necessary. And stay by my side at all times. If you must talk, deepen your voice, and speak low. To play the part you will also be required to nurse a drink. Whisky. Do not drink it. Simply…hold it, and sip occasionally. Is that understood, Lady Verity.”
She nodded and he almost smiled at the shimmer of excitement in her golden eyes.
“Now take the time to compose yourself.”
She tested that the short dark wig was firmly in place, tugged at her cravat, and even fiddled with her hat.
The carriage lurched ahead slowly, and he relaxed against the squabs. She licked her lips, and he wished by all that was holy he could disguise those too. They were so lush, carnal, and kissable. Only a damn fool would think that wicked mouth belonged to a young man.
“I believe our first lesson should be on dancing,” she said unexpectedly.
“If you think that is best.”
A winsome smile curved her lips and drove the air from his lungs. “For God’s sakes,” he muttered, tugging at his cravat. “Under no circumstances must you smile tonight.None.”
She made no reply to his request, but said, “Dancing is the first step in courtship. I believe it was understandable that Lady Susanna felt…slighted that you have never asked her to dance or observed any of the proper courtship rituals. Your proposal felt like a business transaction. So yes, we shall start with the elegant and beautiful art of dancing.”
He nodded his agreement, thinking that maybe he had really approached courting of the lady in the wrong manner. Dancing, poetry, and flowers. Simple but clearly particularly important. And he thought about what they communicated and drew a blank. If every suitor asked for dances, recited poetry, and delivered flowers, how in God’s name was any of it special?
Lady Verity cleared her throat. “Is Lady Susanna the only lady you believed would make you a fine countess.”
“She was the first lady to look at me,” he said gruffly. The lady had flirted shamelessly with him at one of her father’s political dinners. It had been an encouragement of sorts, except he had clearly ignored all the rules of courtship and had made an offer after a few more stilted meetings.
“What do you mean?”
“Most ladies of society look at me and see an animal.”
Her golden eyes flashed with anger and he was entranced. “How absurd! I cannot credit you would believe such an odious notion.”
“I’ve had married women, widows, reckless debutantes shamelessly make offers of the scandalous variety, yet at theballs pretend they do not know me. I’ve always been curious about the duality of their nature.”
A hand fluttered to rest above her heart. “You’ve been with married women?”
How odd the disappointment in her voice stung and how damn glad he was that he’d lived by a code. “I normally booted those out.”
She glanced away, but he saw the tiny smile at her lips before she suppressed it.
“It is time for us to enter. Let’s go, Vincent.”
She laughed. “Vincent. I like it.”
Then they descended the carriage and made their way to the large bricked building, while James hoped he wasn’t making a mistake taking such a fine lady into this den of sin and debauchery.
CHAPTER SIX
Inside the Club was decadent. Verity’s pulse skittered alarmingly and she hovered at the entrance almost scared to step into a place of sin and depravity. Fear and a dash of excitement coursed through her veins. Her breath trembled on her lips. The decor was one of luxury, red and green carpets covered the floor, and swaths of red and golden drapes twined themselves around massive white Corinthian columns. Dozens of tables were scattered in an organized sprawl on this lower floor, and many lords she recognized sat at tables playing faro, Macao, whist, andvingt-et-un.
Smoke wafted through the air from the many lit cigars, glasses clinked loudly as it appeared every gentleman had a drink in hand, and the clattering of dice echoed as they rolled on the tables. Verity swore she could hear the fine shuffling of the cards as they were flicked, cut, and shuffled with artistic expertise. Elegantly clad women with filigree masks on their faces, and a fortune in jewelry at their throats and ears reposed on chaise longues chatting and drinking champagne. This could have been a masquerade party held by a lady of theton, or even one of the risqué parties the king was rumored to host, a nod to his wild and wicked days when he had been the Prince Regent.Yet, there was such an air of wickedness and conquest at this club that she doubted would ever exist at a society ball.
Atop the second-floor railing, stood a gentleman she recognized. Viscount Worsley, a man rumored to be dangerous and unpredictable. The man had a distinctively captivating presence, impeccably dressed in the first stare of fashion, and his dark blond hair shone like burnished gold under the thousands of candles hung suspended from magnificent chandeliers. He surveyed the crowd as if he were king, and the gambling lords and ladies his subjects. There was a rumor in thetonthe viscount was part owner of a notorious club, but Verity hadn’t paid any attention to it, for it did not concern her.
