“I am surprised you are so eager to see Charles wed,” Gray murmurs. “After all, as his first marriage was childless, his title would pass to you and your sons, should you have any. If he marries Lady Inglis, he might still have a son.”
Arthur laughs. “She is nearly forty, and she did not bear her first husband any heirs. I am hardly worried...” He trails off and then says, “I wish to see my brother wed. That is all. If he is fond of Lady Inglis, I see no reason for this mistress nonsense.”
“You mentioned a new girl?—”
Someone clears their throat right beside me, making me stagger back and miss the rest of what Gray says. A severe-looking woman in a dour brown dress stands there with her arms crossed.
“May I help you, miss?” she says.
“Oh!” I clap my hands to my mouth. “Oh!”
“Do not tell me you are one of the serving girls,” she says. “As I am inchargeof the serving girls, I know you are not.”
“N-no,” I fake-stammer. “I am not. I am... I am so sorry, ma’am.” I give an awkward half curtsy. “I... I know I should not be here, but I followed that gentleman in.” I wave toward the viewing port. “The older one, with the light-brown hair,” I say, describing Arthur Simpson.
Her face darkens. “You followed one of our members into his private club?”
“I am so sorry, ma’am. I am ashamed of myself and truly appalled by my boldness, but it comes from desperation. I hoped I might hear someone address him by his name.”
“His name?” The woman looks through the hole and then glowers at me. “If you are looking for a wealthy gentleman to keep you in comfort?—”
“No!” I round my eyes in shock. “No, ma’am. I am a respectable young woman. I am a shop clerk, over on Princes Street. I would never be a kept woman. It is only that... that I made that gentleman’s acquaintance, from my shop, and I...” I bite my lip. “I found him handsome and let him take me rowing, and now I most desperately need to speak to him about...” I let my hands slide to my stomach before pulling them away. “A private matter.”
“You do not even know his name?”
I drop my gaze. “He gave me one, ma’am, but I have learned it is false.”
She glowers again, but this time, it’s aimed at the viewing port. “His name is Arthur Simpson.” She turns that hard look my way. “But you did not hear it from me.”
I bow and scrape and stammer my thanks, and then I let her lead me to the nearest door.
I meet Gray outside the club about twenty minutes later. I don’t tell him I got caught, and I certainly don’t tell him how I got out of it. He might not like Arthur Simpson, but he’d still feel guilty knowing that one of the club’s staff mistakenly believes Arthur knocked up a shop girl. He’d be wrong, of course. By the end of the day,allthe club’s staff will think that, and I personally don’t feel the least bit guilty.
“You managed to get inside, then?” Gray says.
“I did, and I was sorely disappointed by the lack of dancing girls.”
He stops midstride. “Dancing girls?”
“Dancing girls, maybe a few dancing boys... What kind of gentlemen’s club is that?”
He gives me a sidelong look as he resumes walking. “So in your world, a gentlemen’s club has... dancing girls?”
“Strippers.”
“And strippers are dancers who...?”
“Pretty sure it’s right there in the name, Gray.”
He turns the most adorable shade of mahogany.
I continue, “To be honest, though, while they call themselves gentlemen’s clubs, it’s not quite the same thing. In my world, that’s just a fancy name for a place where you can watch naked women sliding on poles.”
He chokes so violently that his eyes water.
“Not sliding on them like that,” I say. “Get your mind out of the gutter. If you want that, you need to go to Amsterdam.”
“Amster...”
