“You stay here.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I know my tone was too harsh. Jolene looks like a scolded puppy. I suppose my heart should be moved at the sight, but it’s more set on catching up to Edwina. Forcing my most dazzling smile, I face Jolene. “The north wing isn’t a proper place for you or Miss Danforth. I’ll escort her to sate her curiosity and see to her safe return.”
“I would like to come too.”
I hang my head in an exaggerated motion before meeting her eyes once more. “I can bear to allow Edwina to enter such an unsavory place but not you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Trust me, Miss Vaughn. I will return and we can finally have some time to talk, just the two of us.”
She visibly swoons, rocking back on her heels. “You mean it?”
“I do. Now, stay in the south wing and I’ll return for you.”
“You’ll return for me,” she echoes, voice breathless. She tips her face toward me, her eyes on my lips, her own parted expectantly.
I step back and give a consoling pat on her shoulder before racing after Edwina.
Getting rid of Miss Vaughn wasted far more time than I hoped, so by the time I catch up to Edwina, she has already turned down the hall leading to the north wing.
She turns at the sound of my footsteps, rolling her eyes when she sees me. “I already told you. Your offer as an escort came too late. I’m going with or without you.”
“With me,” I say, “whether you like it or not. At least this way, I’ll be there to drag out your limp and mortified form when you faint.”
“Why would I faint? Oh.” She halts in place and whirls fully to face me. “Are there spiders? Is the north wing an insect habitat?”
The terror on her face has me stifling a laugh. If only I could confirm her fears, then she’d abandon her curiosity at once. Yet, now that we’re alone, I find myself slipping out of my role again. I can’t lie unless I’m deeply immersed in my William the Poet persona. Besides, if my falsehood failed to sway her and she decided to see the north wing anyway, she’d discover my ability to lie. I’d like to keep that a secret from as many as possible.
“There are no spiders,” I finally say.
She sighs with relief and resumes walking. “Spiders are the one creature I cannot suffer to live.”
“Oh? So there’s one creature you despise more than me?”
“Only one,” she says with a solemn nod.
We reach a pair of white doors with gold handles. Two human butlers dressed in all-white suits flank them. Wordlessly, they hand us each a glass vial and open the doors.
“What’s this?” Edwina whispers, shaking the vial.
“I’ll tell you once we’re inside,” I say, tucking my vial into my trouser pocket. We cross the threshold and the butlers shut the doors behind us. Dread settles deep into my bones as we enter a dimly lit hallway, the air thick with the heady scent of incense. Muffled sounds emanate from farther ahead and my muscles clench. I’m already desperate to bolt back the way we came. Memories from the one and only time I’ve been to the north wing surface in my mind, but I try to force them away. This isn’t about me. This is about Edwina. She shouldn’t be here alone. The sooner she sees what this place is all about, the sooner we can leave.
The sounds grow louder and more distinct with every step, and soon the hallway opens to a wide circular room. The walls are set with several large alcoves containing different pieces offurniture—a divan here, a set of chairs there, a swing in another. Naked bodies writhe in each alcove, a living display of art. More furnishings are set throughout the room where guests can create art of their own. Moans and grunts and sighs mingle to produce a rather unsettling orchestra of public pleasure.
Nausea tightens my stomach. It’s not that I find the display repulsive. There’s nothing repulsive about sex. It’s beautiful. Enjoyable. But I have my reasons for disliking this place, and being here again sends memories rising to the surface. Panic. Humiliation. Shame.
“Oh!” Edwina’s shocked voice is a welcome distraction.
I face her, seeking comfort in how she nudges the bridge of her spectacles higher on her nose. I’ve grown used to the gesture, especially after watching her from across the dais during our signing today, and the familiar sight lulls me into a sense of safety. Then a fierce protectiveness as I remember why I’m here.
Her mouth falls open, eyes wide. “Oh, my heavens. Is this an orgy?”
I rub my jaw, resisting the urge to hide my entire face behind my hand. “It’s a voyeurism club.”
“It…it’s…”
“We can go,” I say softly. “We’ll walk back the way we came and pretend this never happened. I can hold your hand if your knees are weak, and I promise not to tease you about it?—”
“It’s incredible!”
I blink at her, caught off guard by her reaction. She strolls over to the nearest alcove, where one human male is seated behind another on a velvet divan. Tapping a finger to her chin, she assesses the couple from different angles.
“That would be Johannes, and that would be Timothy,” she says to me as I reach her side.
