Selena went cold. “If you wish for me to cut ties with the earl, you must at least tell me why.”
“Warrick is my lover.”
His name on this person’s lips, even if just the title, along withlover, caused Selena’s breath to catch. Instant denial welled up within her. “That’s impossible.”
Because I am his lover.
“I assure you, Lady Selena, I very much am.” The woman suddenly laughed. “I see you are quite shocked. Do not tell me you’ve designs on the earl.”
“I have not.”
Liar.
“That is good. I fear your heart would be broken if you did. In any event, those are the conditions. Hand over the betting book. Cut ties with Warrick.” Selena flinched. “You have two days to decide. I will send you a new meeting location soon.”
“Are you the founder of this club?”
A short burst of laughter. “Goodness, no. I am merely the spokespersonshechose.”
Selena clenched her jaw. “Willshebe at the next meeting?”
The cloaked woman paused.
“That ismycondition.” Selena lifted her chin, staring straight at woman. “If I am to cut ties with a family friend and hand over the book, I expect to hand the book over to the person in charge.”
“As you wish. I am certain she won’t have a problem accepting the book personally from your hands. She’s been wanting to get her own hands on it for a while.”
“Why did she not come tonight then?”
“Do you have the book here?”
Selena said nothing to that.
Another grating chuckle. “Until next time, then, Lady Selena.”
Selena stood in the abandoned warehouse, staring at the spot where the woman had disappeared, lost in thought.
Warrick had a lover.
And it wasn’t her.
She was going to throttle him. But only after she decided whether or not to join the club.
*
Warrick crushed thenote in his hand as he surveyed his surroundings. Whitechapel. One of the worst parts of London. Not a place any lady should wander about alone. His jaw ached just thinking how he had once again been left behind.
Selena Savage, justyouwait.
He didn’t have a good feeling about this as he strode up to the warehouse where the meeting was to be. He was late. Bloody drunken riots on one of the streets. Furthermore, it was dark, wet, and smelled like rotting carcasses.
He should have shackled them both to his bed when he’d had the chance. That way, they could have ignored reality for a bit longer. Instead, he was here. Cold. Miserable. Mood as foul as the smell in the air. He caught a glimpse of sandy hair dashing to a carriage ahead.
Oh, no, you don’t.
Warrick quickened his pace, almost to a jog. He didn’t go for stealth, his footsteps echoing through on the cobbles of the street. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Warrick?” Her face went slack at his approach. Good. “What... what are you doing here?”
