Amanda changed direction. The path of least resistance led her to the front door. Her decision was made. Follow the tall man and report back to Julius. But by the time the footman opened the front door for her, the man was nowhere in sight. Despite the cold air swirling around her, sweat rolled down her back. The wide expanse of London surrounded her, crushing in upon her. And at her back was a room full of strangers eager for an intrigue. Both options daunted her, but only one would help Julius. She didn’t know if it was her fear, the corset, or the London fog, but knowing what she had to do she suddenly found it quite difficult to breathe.
She forced herself to inhale slowly, the bitter air abrading the back of her throat. She inched her slipper towards the first step. Shuddered when her heel hit the next. There were only two stairs. She could make it.
The swirl of a greatcoat disappearing into shadow made it easier to push through her dread. Her quarry was within sight. She couldn’t tell Julius she’d lost him because she’d been too frightened to walk out of doors. She tugged the hood of the cloak over her head. Besides, no one could recognize her.
She scurried up the street, her breaths seeming unnaturally loud in the still night. The cross street a block up was an explosion of carriages and horses, but this side street was a quiet haven. The man strode to a parked coach and waited for the driver to open the door.
Amanda bit her lip in dismay. She was going to lose him. She took in every detail of the coach as it rolled away, its gold coat of arms gleaming under the gas lamps when it hit the main street. She raced after it to the corner, pressing her hand to her side, out of breath. If she could have just—
A shoulder knocked into hers, its owner hustling down the street, not bothering with an apology. As if the contact had knocked off a blindfold, the sights of the rest of the street crashed over Amanda. She lost sight of the gold-crested coach, but twenty other carriages took its place. Pedestrians swirled around her, so fast they made her dizzy. And gas lamps hanging from posts made the street so bright she could have sworn she felt the heat from each flame.
Amanda stepped back, onto someone’s foot, and earned a snarl. She spun to apologize, but the man was already twenty paces away. A shout from the street had her twisting back. Two drivers argued from their high perches, one cracking his whip over the other driver, he in turn yelling with indignation. A horse whinnied, and twenty other drivers hollered at the blockage.
Heart pounding in her throat, Amanda grabbed her ears between her palms. The sounds still bled through. She was surrounded, lost in a crush of people, no clear avenue of escape. Bile crept up her throat, burning. Her body was rooted to the spot even as her mind screamed at her to move.
Almost like she was climbing a step, she lifted one slipper high, forced it forward and down. One step closer to her quiet street. One step closer to Julius. Why had she ever left his club?
The sound of wood ramming into wood broke behind her, but Amanda refused to turn. She lifted her other foot. Sweat beaded her skin, and the feathers of her mask stuck to her cheeks. She focused on the mouth of the side street, her vision tunneling to its dark entrance. Everything would be all right if she could just make it back to that street.
She was close. Just a few steps away. Another pedestrian jostled her as he rushed past, knocking her hood back. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. She could see lights from the front of The Black Rose. They seemed a thousand miles away. She focused on those torches, the rest of the world fading to black. As long as she kept lifting her feet and heading towards those lights, everything would be all right.
A man stepped into her path, making her lights disappear. He smiled, opened his mouth to speak, but it was like watching a pantomime. No sounds reached Amanda’s ears over the rush of blood. She tried to sidestep around him, to catch sight of her beacons again, but he moved with her, a cocky grin on his face.
It didn’t matter. She had nothing left in her. It took all of her energy to merely remain standing. London swirled around her like a cyclone, and she was a fool to think she could withstand the storm.
The man in front of her pointed at her mask, tossing his head back in a soundless laugh. His teeth caught the glow from a gas lamp, and Amanda’s gaze fixed on that slight shimmer. If she could just keep one light in focus, perhaps she could keep the encroaching blackness at bay. The man closed his mouth, and her lodestar blinked out.
The world swept sideways. As she fell, Amanda felt each beat of her heart pounding faster and faster until she thought the organ must explode. And when her head hit the sidewalk, blissfully, she thought no more.
Chapter Eleven
Julius left Sutton to wait for Liverpool’s men. Where they would stow Madame Sable until their investigation into the blackmail ring concluded, he could only guess. But a trial wasn’t in the woman’s immediate future. If ever.
Standing at the bottom stair, he looked around the main room at all the members. How many of them were secretly being blackmailed? For how many had this sanctity been turned into a hunting ground? The Black Rose was a refuge for those who couldn’t find their tastes met elsewhere. It would be a shame if it closed.
Sutton had said he knew someone who could manage the club while their investigation continued. The proprietress would leave a letter to her attorney explaining the need for her hurried departure and that she’d asked her friend to run the business in her absence.
Julius eyed the constant stream of drinks delivered to the patrons, the skillfully trained lady-birds flirting with the men, the orderly management of the back rooms. Madame Sable’s faults notwithstanding, the woman was a brilliant businesswoman. He didn’t see how Sutton’s replacement could compare.
He straightened his cravat. Not his problem. His problem, his investigation, was now one step closer to being solved since Madame Sable had agreed to cooperate. He was free to take Amanda home, relax, and put off until tomorrow the bother of his duty.
He drummed his fingers against his thigh. The only flaw with that plan was that Amanda was no longer sitting on the settee he’d placed her upon.
With a frown, he searched the room. She wasn’t there. Would she have gone into another back room? He knew she was curious but thought her insecurities would have kept her seated. He eyed the long row of closed doors that lined the back hall. Impatient, he grabbed the elbow of a passing serving girl.
“The woman I was with. Did you see her go into any of the rooms?” he asked.
The chit shook her head but raised a finger and brought the footman over. Julius repeated his question.
“Not into one of the rooms, m’lord.” The man jerked his chin towards the front. “She left. I held the door open for her.”
“You what?” Julius’s voice was a low growl. There was no bloody way Amanda would leave on her own accord.
The footman fell back a step. “Yes …” He cleared his throat. “I believe she was trying to catch up with Mr. Smith. She left right after him.”
A Mr. Smith? The Black Rose was fucking littered with Mr. Smiths. “What did this Mr. Smith look like?”
“He’s very tall. Well over six feet.” The footman scratched his jaw. “And he could stand to eat a few more meals, if you take my meaning.”
