For the baby.
Otherwise, no inducement, be it riches or reason, would tempt her to enter this place.
Imagining that poor baby, perhaps feverish or in pain, caused her heart to skip a beat. She twisted around in the chair where she’d been left waiting.
What was taking so long?
Because the infant was not the only one at risk. The longer Melanie lingered in the brothel’s foyer, the more perilous her presence became.
Although she had only ever attended a handful of Society events, she had, while doing so, endured a barrage of introductions before withdrawing altogether. Which meant the possibility of being remembered wasn’t entirely out of the question.
“This way, my lady.” The same man who’d been guarding the entrance, a giant of a fellow, gestured for Melanie to follow him upstairs.
Leading the way, his stride covered the distance of at least three of hers, so she sprang from her seat and hurried behind, doing her best not to stare at the gold trim on the balustrade, the lavish furnishings, or the immense chandelier glittering overhead.
Beneath her feet, the carpet felt thick and soft, and although the clean fresh scent of lemon hung heavy in the air, it didn’t completely hide the aroma of leftover cigar smoke and perfume, a reminder, lest she forget, that she was in a house of ill-repute.
At the top of the stairs, Melanie glanced to her right, her gaze catching on one of several evenly spaced doors left slightly ajar. An unexpected shiver shot down her spine as she took in the room beyond—a small, tidy space, more tastefully decorated than she’d imagined.
It was clean, almost elegant, but the satin-covered bed at its center made her breath catch, her cheeks warming as unease settled in her stomach.
She counted twelve doors in all.
Melanie’s heart pounded erratically as she forced herself to look left, though she barely registered the gaming tables below. Her mind spun as she struggled not to imagine what went on in those rooms when the doors were closed.
Men, many so-called gentlemen of theton, took their pleasure on those satin-covered beds, pleasure from women who were employed by the man she’d come to see.
The duke’s hard features came to mind, and her throat tightened, because he too would have spent time in one or more of those rooms.
It went without saying, didn’t it?
An abandoned baby on his doorstep was more than proof of that.
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, and Melanie had to remind herself, again and again, of the urgent reason for her visit.
Finally, her escort stopped at a massive door at the far end.
“You may go in now, my lady.”
Her chest tightened as she braced herself, not quite knowing what to expect. Having come this far, however, she tamped down her nerves and forced herself to cross the threshold of what might as well be a lion’s den.
What was she thinking? This was theDomusEmporium, for goodness' sake. She had no business being here.
But she did, actually. Because she’d made the well-being of that baby her business.
Inside, the Duke of Malum sat behind a massive desk, exuding an air of quiet power that should have been intimidating. He looked every inch the master of his domain—cold sterling eyes fixed on her, his jaw clean-shaven, and his hair perfectly combed back. The black of his finely tailored jacket and waistcoat contrasted starkly with the crisp white of his shirt, and every detail of his attire seemed as meticulously polished as the man himself.
And yet, she couldn’t reconcile this image with the man she’d glimpsed through the window the night before—pacing the nursery with a wailing baby in his arms, his movements anything but polished.
She should have been frightened, or at least uneasy, but instead, her thoughts snagged on a ridiculous detail. Were his shoes tucked neatly beneath that imposing desk, or had he slipped them off for comfort like he had when he’d opened his door the day before?
The absurdity of the question nearly made her smile. But the memory of the baby’s cries kept her focus sharp, and when the door clicked shut behind her, she lifted her chin and faced him.
“Lady Melanie.” His voice broke the silence—not unkind, but not welcoming either, as if he were deciding, even now, how he would deal with her.
“Yes,” she answered.
Should she curtsey? Neither of them had bothered with any formalities when he’d discovered her—and the baby—on his doorstep.
