Not only did she have to sneak from the house, but she also had to creep down the backstreets of London to the devil’s lair and face the men at the door again. Only then would she face the true monster though it would be no easy feat to get before him in the first place.
“Do you have the notice?” Jane asked.
Emmaline pulled up her skirts and showed the piece of folded paper she had tucked into her garter.
She was no fool to imagine carrying a purse on her person during the night on the streets of London. Even if she was foolish to be a woman walking alone.
This time, Jane gripped Emmaline’s face and gripped her forehead. Kissing her hard, she said, “May God go with you dear sister.”
Emmaline pulled back and raised a brow. Her sister had never been overly religious even if her mother claimed to be.
Jane shrugged and said, “What? It felt appropriate.”
Emmaline gave her sister one final, loving squeeze, holding on for perhaps a moment longer than necessary, in the hopes it might help her find just a smidge more courage.
Then, finally, she picked up her black velvet cloak where she had draped it on the bed and pulled it over her shoulders.
“Be careful not to mess your hair!” Jane instructed as she pulled up the cowl.
Emmaline rolled her eyes. She had far more important worries than the messing of her hair. But Jane was right. When she facedThe Devil Lordeverything about her must be perfect and above reproach. How else could she hope to strike a deal with the most ruthless man in London?
Arriving back at the club, the air around the place was entirely different. Music played from inside and through the open windows, tobacco smoke was blown heavily. Men on the door were like imposing stone gargoyles, glaring out at passersby as if to frighten off any untoward visitors. Or perhaps it was quite the opposite, to invite the untoward and refuse the pleasant folk.
Emmaline was unsure and she was also unsure of how to act, how to gain entrance, how to be the kind of person let intothe devil's lair.It wasn't every day a lady came to a place like this and yet, it was her second visit in one.
She swallowed hard on the lump in her throat as she was helped from her carriage by the coach driver.
As she approached the doorman, one of them turned only an eye upon her. He did not even move his head. Nor did he blink. He simply glowered through the one eye. But it was the other who spoke, “What business have you here, miss?”
He spoke to her as if she were lowly, as if she had absolutely no business being there. In truth, she didn't. At his tone, she decided one thing: she must be a proud and mighty lady, even if inside she was cowering like a frightened little mouse.
Raising her chin high, she looked to the man who had spoken, trying hard to ignore the way the other looked at her, and said, “I am Lady Emmaline Moreau, and I am here to see The Devil Lord. He is expecting me.”
The two men looked at each other with curiosity. She could have sworn she saw amusement. Then they both looked at her and the one who had spoken said, “Niels, pay our lord a visit and see if what she says is true.”
Still silent, the man dipped his head and slipped inside.
“You'll not mind waiting here,My Lady,” the other man said, tipping his hat to her though he continued to look quite suspicious and more than a little annoying.
Emmaline struggled not to hop from one foot to the other. There was a chill on the breeze and a thin drizzle had begun. It was the kind that felt feather light and yet by the time you arrived back indoors it had soaked you through to the bone.
Jane's comment about not messing up her hair repeated over in her mind. If she did not look the part, how would the lord take her seriously?
“Perhaps I might wait, just inside?” Emmaline suggested.
“Leeson, what is the meaning of this?” came a booming voice as a masked man appeared in the open doorway, sweeping back the curtain that prevented prying eyes from seeing within.
“My Lord?” the single guard looked confused.
“How dare you keep The Devil Lord's guest waiting in the rain?” the masked man demanded. He glowered at the guard and growled, “He shall hear of this.”
“I… I did not mean… I was not told of a visitor, My Lord,” the man stammered. How the giant of a man cowered. If the mere mention of The Devil Lord caused such a man to tremble in such a way, what hope did she have when meeting him?
“Lady Moreau, you must accept My Lord’s humble apologies,” the masked man said, bowing low as he came down the steps of the club to meet her at the bottom.
Sucking in a breath, Emmaline took one look at him in his fine clothing and his mask with his golden hair swept back, and his charm seeping from behind his facade, and decided there was only one way she could play this. She had to be her father.
She had to be strict and forward and business-like. Yes, they might laugh at her, but they would surely take her much more seriously than if she were to play the meek and mild lady she was forced to be in ballrooms and at the dinner table.
