Nash did meet Lilias’s gaze then, and she looked as surprised as he was.
“What’s the question?” Nash asked.
“The lady, Lady.…?”
“A,” Lilias said. “You can call me Lady A.”
Nash raised his eyebrows and tried to convey with a look that she would need to explain this to him later.
“All right, Lady A,” Beckford said agreeably, closing the door behind them, which effectively left them in a dark, narrow corridor.
Somewhere in the distance, muted conversations were happening and music was being played. The notes of both floated on the air to Nash. Scents assaulted him as before, too. Scents of burning candles and lamps. Of crackling fires and heavy perfumes. Of the tang of excitement and the sweetness of desire. He moved closer to Lilias, pressing his hand to her back, needing to have contact with her to ensure she was safe. He half expected her to pull away from him, but she leaned into his palm, the curve of her lower spine fitting perfectly there. It made him wonder how they would fit together in other instances. Without clothes.
“Damnation,” he muttered, going perfectly hard.
Lilias and Beckford looked at him.
“Stubbed my toe,” he lied.
Beckford looked at him skeptically but asked, “Are all rooms open to Lady A?”
As Beckford wound them down the dark, stuffy hall and passed an oil lamp that had been fashioned into the wall, the momentary pop of light highlighted Lilias’s expression and showed her to be scowling at Beckford’s back. Nash stifled the desire to laugh.
“Why are you asking him?” Lilias asked, sounding incensed. “I am right here, and the question is about me, so you should address it to me.”
“Very well,” the man said. “Do you wish to enter the pleasure rooms or avoid them?”
“She’ll avoid them,” Nash said quickly.
“I most certainly will not,” Lilias objected. “If they are good enough for you to go into and meet your lady bird, then I’ll enter as well.”
“I did not meet my lady bird there,” he ground out.
“So you admit you have one?”
“No,” he snapped. Only Lilias had the power to confound him. “Lady A will not be entering any pleasure rooms. And if Lady A argues about it, Lady A will find herself hoisted over my shoulder, carried out of here, and taken immediately home. Does Lady A understand?”
“You’re a brute,” Lilias said. “But fine. I’ll not enter a pleasure room unless it’s necessary. Now that the matter is settled, what is your favor, Lord Beckford?”
“It’s just Beckford,” he said, coming to the end of the passage and opening the large double door the led into the club.
Sound and light exploded from the room. There was laughter and chatter, the notes of violins, and a pianoforte. There were glittering chandeliers and cheroot smoke swirling in the air. The rattle of dice being cast and the cheers and cries of those who’d just won fortunes and those who’d lost them. It all rushed at them at once on a roll of cool air.
Lilias shivered and pressed closer to Nash, and then she said in a voice full of awe, “This is better than any novel.”
Chapter Nine
She was certain she sounded naive, but she was also certain that she did not care. This moment, here with Nash, seeing this club that Owen would never allow her to enter, was a moment she would never forget. Nor would she forget how protective Nash was being, as if she were a part of him. Wasn’t that what Beckford had said?
The words of the club owner made her remember he hadn’t answered her about the favor he needed. She firmly believed in returning favors, and she suspected he’d only allowed her entrance as a favor to Carrington since Nash and Carrington were personal friends and Carrington was part owner of this club.
No one knew Carrington was an investor, of course. He was a duke, and dukes were not supposed to do things like own gaming clubs, but Guinevere’s husband was his own man, born and raised in Scotland. He hadn’t even known he was part of thetonuntil he was in his twenties; he had thought himself a bastard until then. He had raised himself from poverty, started a successful distillery business in Scotland, and then invested in this club. Guinevere had told her in secret, and her friend’s voice had been full of pride, as well it should be. Carrington made his own choices and did not allow theton, or anyone else, to dictate how he lived his life. A man like that, one who would tolerate her excursions with SLAR, would be much better suited as a husband for her than Owen. She’d always thought Nash was such a man.
She glanced at Beckford, intending to ask him what favor he needed, but the magnificence of the room captured her attention. Three glittering chandeliers cast shards of light from where they hung from an elaborate ceiling high above. The light seemed to slide into spaces in the room, which was somehow large, yet cozy. She supposed it was the thick rugs on the gleaming floors, the crackling dual fireplaces, and the plush red velvet curtains hanging from the windows that gave the room such a welcoming feeling. She wanted to go over to one of the oversized chairs by the fireplaces and order a drink. It was a scandalous and thrilling thought.
Or perhaps she would recline on one of the comfortable-looking red-and-gold settees that were positioned under the windows. Or maybe she would gamble. She could, if she knew how, which she didn’t. After all, there were half a dozen large, circular gaming tables in the room with green baize tablecloths and places for ten men at each table. A man in black livery stood at the head of each table, looking very stoic. She supposed he was in charge of the cards or the dice, depending upon the game.
She scanned the room and counted six doors. She looked at Beckford. “Is this the gaming room?”
