Felicity focused on the plump bird that had remained at her feet.She used to spend hours watching the birds in the garden at home hopping between the rows of vegetables, immune to the scarecrow her mother made. “How do you do it? How do you let them touch you so...?”
Lucia reached across the space between them and took her hand. “I like pleasure, and I like money. The Den is safer than most places. I know no one can hurt me here. Safety is key when it comes to sharing your body.”
Felicity shivered. Cold seeped through her dress like she wore nothing at all. Emotions she’d long buried clawed up her throat.
“I can’t . . .”
“You’re not alone, dove. Many of us here came from bad places, bad things. It wasn’t your fault, and there is nothing wrong with you. Some men are just rotten to their core. Monsters.”
Was she that transparent? Felicity had to look away, her eyes burning as she gazed out over the crowded street.
Lucia squeezed her hand. “But there are also men who are kind and gentle. Men who want you to feel good. More than good.”
Felicity huffed out a laugh.
“Don’t let one experience, one man, ruin what will become the rest of your life.”
“I have to marry,” Felicity said. “How do I know which man will want to make me feel good?”
“You’ll know. The right man will show you how. I have to go.” Lucia stood, her pitying gaze heavy on Felicity.
She thought back to her time working with Dr. Sloan in Lord Alston’s home. Lord Alston was a good man. If any men fit the standard Lucia set, it would be him, Lady Amelia’s husband, Mr. Blakewood, and certainly Mr. Chase.
She would know, wouldn’t she? She had three men who’d made an excellent example. Not all men were likeChadwick. Just his name was enough to sour her stomach. He’d masked his vileness so well.She hadn’t loved him. She was only going to marry him because that was what her father wanted and he wasn’t old. Marriageable prospects in her little village were scarce. At her advanced age of twenty-four, Chadwick had seemed like a blessing. He was a successful merchant, well respected. But all along he hid something evil inside. He wanted her inheritance, and he showed her he’d do anything to get it. And it was an inheritance she would never see if she didn’t marry. Not as long as her father held control of it.
She’d risked everything to escape a marriage to Chadwick, leaving even her sisters behind, who might very well suffer the same fate. Though at fifteen and twelve, they were too young to marry, thank God. Nor did they have the lure of a sizeable inheritance. Felicity never understood why Aunt Caroline had left her so much money and nothing for her sisters, but she knew her age played a part in it—Aunt Caroline thought she’d never marry. Felicity was grateful, but that inheritance had become her curse. Her father had control of it, and against Aunt Caroline’s wishes, he deemed she would only receive itwhenshe married. He considered it an incentive to fulfill her duty as a wife and mother, not become an eccentric spinster like Aunt Caroline.
The door clicked closed, and Felicity realized she hadn’t responded to Lucia. She shook her head, trying to shake loose the grip of fear on her heart. Tonight, she was supposed to enter the main floor of the gaming club. Women weren’t allowed there, but she would be an exception.
The thought of being surrounded by all those men, the boisterous laughter, the ribald language, and lascivious stares terrified her. She’d seen it from a distance, but now she would be in it. With Mr. Chase to guard her.
Mr. Chase. Tristan.
Felicity stood and brushed the breadcrumbs from her skirt. He was trying to distance himself from her. She could feel it. Did he resent having to spend so much of his time with her? Was there somethingelse he’d rather be doing? A woman he preferred to be with?
Did he see what Lucia had so easily seen?
Her cheeks flushed. Felicity opened the terrace door and stepped inside the dim, perfumed hall of the upper quarters where the ladies of the evening, the courtesans of the Lyon’s Den, entertained the gentlemen. But the house was quiet for the moment. The lull before a storm of debauchery that Felicity suspected Lucia enjoyed. The ladies were happy, flirtatious, and well cared for.
Did women truly enjoy the attention of a man? Felicity couldn’t fathom it. Chadwick had shown her only pain. And every evening, in a steady rotation—no, she couldn’t think of it. She couldn’t even imagine what happened in these rooms. Felicity pushed past the rows of doors and took the back stairs to the private residence. In her room, she found an evening gown laid out on her bed, and she covered her mouth. The deep-green silk drew all the light to it, the fabric shimmering like waves of gold moved through it. She couldn’t wear such a daring thing. Resting above it was a mask of gold. Felicity picked it up, her hands trembling. She’d never held something so expensive. The knock on her door startled her, and she dropped it on the bed.
“Who is it?”
“Milly, Miss Smith.”
Felicity blinked. She wished she could just be Miss Smith. A simple nurse. A resident of the Den. A spinster. Someone who could stay hidden. This dress, this mask—this whole plan was too much. She didn’t want to be this person. When she imagined her life, she never dreamed of fancy clothes and jewels. She was a simple girl who loved to bake and sew.
“Miss?” Milly called in concern.
“Come in,” Felicity answered.
Milly entered with a pitcher of steaming water and satchel.
“What is all that?”
“A fresh basin of water and curling tongs. I’m to do your hair forthe evening and help you dress.”
“It’s...” Felicity turned to the small clock on her nightstand. “Four thirty?”
