Page 1 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Chapter 1
London
1874
She could make a killing here.
Rose did nothing to reveal her delight at the discovery although she doubted anyone would derive the true meaning behind a beaming smile or eyes glinting with satisfaction. All the ladies in attendance were agog at the magnificent display of opulence and the evidence of sin, avarice, and gentlemanly indulgences. The fairer sex had finally been allowed entry into one of the men’s most notorious and gossiped about inner sanctums, and they were relishing the discoveries of all that had been held in secret and denied them.
The express purpose of tonight’s event—a grand ball, entrance by invitation only—was to entertain current members and introduce potential future ones to all the benefits that the former gentlemen’s club offered. Since her arrival in London a fortnight before, Rose had discovered the Twin Dragons was the talk of the town.
Not surprising as she’d caught sight of its owner half an hour earlier when he’d emerged through a doorway that apparently led to back rooms. With a purpose to his stride, he had caught her attention because she recognized in him a kindred spirit. Not ten minutes later, he’d taken a woman into his arms and kissed her quite thoroughly and entirely inappropriately—right in the center of one of the dance areas. Based on his fervor and the lady’s enthusiasm, Rose eliminated him as someone with the potential to assist in her endeavors. He was obviously spoken for, and unattached men were much less complicated with which to deal.
Ignoring the men scrutinizing her, she familiarized herself with the surroundings that would serve as a second home during the coming weeks. A portion of the room contained tables that dealt with various games of chance. She suspected on the morrow that the remainder of the room would as well, but tonight the area absent of games served as a place for people to visit or dance. Huge crystal gaslit chandeliers provided the lighting. The paper along the walls was neutral in tone, not particularly masculine or feminine.
Rose would have liked to have had the opportunity to view the club before the renovations that sought to strike a balance between what would remain of interest to males and what would not offend females. No doubt it had proven a bit more decadent and far more interesting. But she wasn’t here for the trimmings. Rather it was the building’s heart and soul—those upon whom its very existence depended—calling to her.
Wandering through the crowd, smiling here and there, she knew those to whom she’d given a nod of acknowledgment would be confounded, striving to remember from whence they knew her, some would even swear on the morrow that they had recognized her, were old acquaintances. None would admit they’d never seen her before in their lives. She had mastered the art of appearing as though she belonged, had mastered a great many things.
Walking into the ladies’ salon, which after tonight would be off-limits to gentlemen, Rose knew she wouldn’t make a habit of frequenting this room, but it might provide the occasional opportunity to cement therightrelationships.
“Hello.”
Turning, Rose faced a small woman with mahogany hair and eyes as dark as Satan’s soul—and full of suspicion. Another kindred spirit perhaps.
“Good evening,” Rose said with authority, as though the room were hers to command. Control, imperative to winning the game, had to be kept at all times, at any cost. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Mrs. Rosalind Sharpe.”
“Miss Minerva Dodger.”
Shoving down her surprise, Rose merely arched a brow. “You are rare, my dear. An unmarried woman of means.”
“Why would you draw such conclusions?”
“It was my understanding that only the nobility and those of wealth were invited to this exclusive affair. As you do not appear to be nobility, that leaves wealth.”
The woman smiled slightly. “Yes, invitations were rather limited, but it is my father who has the means. Not to mention that he was the previous owner of the establishment, when it was Dodger’s Drawing Room.”
Ah, yes, Rose should have recognized the name. She’d castigate herself later for failing to do so. A careless slip could cost her dearly, put a crimp in her plans. “I suspect he’s a rather interesting chap. I look forward to meeting him.”
Miss Dodger glanced around casually although there was an alertness to her that Rose didn’t much favor. “Is your husband about?” the younger woman asked.
“I’m a widow.”
Miss Dodger swung her gaze back around, sorrow evident within the depths of her dark eyes as she settled them once more on Rose. “I’m terribly sorry.”
“A tiger attack while we were touring through the jungles of India. But he went as he lived—adventurously. I draw comfort from that. He would have hated dying of old age, infirmed, in bed.”
“I suppose there is something to be said for going as one wishes rather than as one is forced. Are you new to London, then? I don’t mean to pry, but I’m not familiar with your family.”
“No need to apologize, my dear. I’ve been here only a fortnight. It’s my first foray into town.”
“That’s unusual.”
“Before India, I lived in the north, a small town hardly worth mentioning as few have heard of it.” Nowhere that she’d lived was really worth mentioning, especially as it was risky to provide breadcrumbs for anyone who might take an interest in retracing her journey. “I believe my solicitor was instrumental in garnering me an invitation to tonight’s affair.” She was sure of it, in fact. Daniel Beckwith had been bending over backward to accommodate her since she had walked into his office. Widows who were to inherit all their husband’s holdings were rare and greatly appreciated. Based upon what she had told him of the estate, he was well aware that he stood to make a tidy sum by assisting her. He wanted to keep her more than content. “I’m eternally in his debt.”
“Would you like me to show you about?”
“I couldn’t possibly impose to such an extent. Besides, I have a bit of the adventurous in me and prefer exploring on my own.”
