“I’ve not been here a half hour,” he said mildly. “I’ve heard your members become more boisterous after dark.”
I exhaled sharply. “Mr. Ryder, you are determined to think the worst of my club regardless of the truth.”
“On the contrary. I hold the truth in the highest esteem.” Two women emerged from the Tea Room, one walking backwards and gesticulating wildly with her hands. Mr. Ryder took my elbow and guided me out of their path. He stopped me when Iwould have pulled away. “And the truth is The Minerva Club is a degrading institution. It cheapens the women who are members, cheapens London society, and I fear, it cheapens you, as well. I entreat you to do what is right: close your club.”
His hand on my arm burned, or perhaps that was just my conscience.
A woman had died under my roof. In the club that I had created. Was he right that I emboldened bad behavior? Was I responsible for Lady Richford’s death?
I kept my expression even. “Even if what you say is true, there are many clubs in London whose sole purpose is depravity. You know the clubs of which I speak, the one gentlemen go to after their glass of port at White’s. There are also the gambling hells and opium dens. I find it curious that of all the wickedness in London, you spend your time trying to shut the doors of The Minerva Club, a place where women can come to have a bit of harmless fun.”
He tilted his head. “You question my priorities?”
“I question your intent. Do you truly want to better London society, or do you only want to keep women in their place?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I slid my arm from his grasp and stalked to the entrance.
Bernard pulled a coat and hat from the closet and handed them to Mr. Ryder.
The head of the morality committee laid his coat over his arm and turned his hat in his hands thoughtfully. “Perhaps those other sins you speak of, those other clubs, wouldn’t hold such temptation if the women in those men’s lives attended to their families more instead of joining a club like yours.”
Well, that was too much. I nodded to Bernard to open the door. “I have enough of my own sins to worry about. I won’t take responsibility for your sex, as well. If men engage in licentiousness, that is no one’s fault but their own.”
“Sin and licentiousness?” A man stepped through the door, his startling blue eyes twinkling. He was a little under six feet, had the solid build of a dock worker, and thick, steel-grey hair. His eyebrows were dark as a raven’s wing, giving him a devilish look. He wore a Pomona green waistcoat, the only bit of color among his black jacket and trousers. Even his cravat was dyed onyx. A gold lion’s head was pinned through its center. “It appears that I’ve entered this conversation at precisely the right moment.”
Chapter Six
Lady Mary
Mr. Ryder stiffenednoticeably as the new man stepped into the club. He inclined his head. “Cooke.”
The man named Cooke gave his coat to Bernard. “Mr. Ryder. The man trying to save the world with one small pen.”
“I would rather try and fail than give up and succumb to the devil’s temptation.” Ryder nodded to me, his face carefully blank. “I’ll leave you to your guest, Lady Mary. Have a nice day.” And he strode out the door.
“I do hope I didn’t chase him away,” Cooke said sounding anything but sincere.
I examined the newcomer more fully. His face was lined, worn, the deep grooves in his cheeks and forehead speaking to a man who’d lived a hard life. The confident manner in which he held his body said that he’d risen to the challenge. He was handsome, almost devastatingly so, but his looks were not for the faint of heart. A woman would have to have a spine of steel to want to capture this man’s attention.
He gave me and the club brief assessments. He had the air of a man who had no patience for trivialities, and my curiosity spiked wondering what had brought him to my doorstep.
“Mr. Ryder had been leaving in any case.” I nodded reassuringly to Bernard, who was looking decidedly discomposed at having yet another man enter the club. Or perhaps it was this man in particular. “And you are?”
“Edric Cooke.” He hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. “I have some business to discuss with you.”
Bernard had gone still as a mouse when Mr. Cooke had said his name. My curiosity increased. I tapped my finger against my lips. “All right. Come to my office.”
I led him through the club, our path the subject of more curious glances. There had been more men traipsing through The Minerva Club in the past week than there had been in the last six months.
Based on the appraising looks my new guest was receiving, the women didn’t seem to mind.
I entered my office and went behind my desk. The tea service was still on the desk. “Tea? I can order a fresh pot.”
“No, thank you.” He lowered himself into my guest chair.
I sat across from him. “So, Mr. Cooke.” I spread my hands. “The floor is yours.”
He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. “I’ve heard so much about your club, I’m glad to finally see it. It is…charming,” he finally decided upon.
I inclined my head. It was charming, nothing like the tawdry picture painted by Mr. Ryder. Just because Lady Richford happened to get herself killed here didn’t diminish that fact.
