“…Just the opposite. I didn’t find you dashing. I found you despicable…”
A grin curved his lips.
“Anything out of the ordinary?” DuMond inquired, his mouth didn’t move, but his gaze remained hard at work.
Argyll flattened his mouth.
Yes, me.
The gilded mirrors across the floor revealed DuMond’s queer look; it reminded Argyll to answer.
“There has been no disturbance worth remark.”Yet.
Argyll recommitted himself to attending the floors: London’s finest courtesans in their revealing gowns seduced lords—and ladies—with sultry stares and bold touches. The clink and tinkle of coins striking coins. The clink and eventual wobble of the roly-poly ball as it landed in its home, and the celebratory shoutsof winning players—and groans of the losers. The sights and sounds were predictable.
But they all knew what was coming—not the depraved patrons embroiled in all seven vices, but rather the men who ruled this house of sin.
And Argyll couldn’t keep his thoughts from dragging back to Daria, before she’d gone out—and even earlier. When she’d been sprawled boldly and unabashedly open among bolts of fabric; their sated bodies slick with sweat. That first vision of her, all bright-eyed, desire-flushed, and smiling like he’d taken her to the stars.
Argyll took a breath in slowly through his nose and exhaled through tense lips.
And the latter, as she’d professed her love, her expression fallen.
His jaw rolled, his teeth knocking so hard it was a wonder he didn’t break a damned bone.
“Kilburn’s turned his residence into a fortress,” DuMond announced, his voice hushed. “Per our discussion, he has a guard for every window and two to each door. There’s no way in and no way out, without an entire alarm going up. My wife, your sisters? They are secure.”
Argyll stole another furtive glance at the clock. “I am relieved to know they are in Kilburn’s hands,” he said.
This time, the gaze DuMond bore into Argyll not only judged; it condemned.
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have something to say, DuMond?”
His partner didn’t mince words. “Your wife should be with Kilburn.”
“Do you doubt my ability to—”
They were interrupted mid-exchange.
From the corner of his eye, Argyll spied two patrons get too close.
Argyll pulled his gloves off quick in signal to the house bullies. He and DuMond had hands on their pistols.
Before the first shouts went up, Bendor, one of the house bullies was already descending on the pair.
An all-out argument erupted between two men: one old and greying, the other young and spoiling for a fight. The smartly dressed fellow found a coveted spot that’d opened at a hazard table.
Normal club action.
Argyll relaxed his hold on his weapon.
Is there really anything truly normal in your life anymore?
“Pups in their cups,” DuMond remarked.
“Mmm?” Argyll’s gaze slid back to the chestnut-haired chap in good need of a hair trim and shave.
An efficient Bendor steered the ape-drunk Oxford-age looking chap to a nearby roly-poly table. While the boy made himself comfortable with a drink, Argyll gave the slight nod.Remove if needed.
