As you well know, the Donville Masquerade highly encourages open displays of passion. Its members may play together privately or in public in any way that brings pleasure. However, Your Grace, the forcefulness in which you approached your partner last week was not welcome. And though you did eventually acquiesce when she said no, the matter must be resolved with a ban of one year from the establishment without refund of your membership dues. You may reapply once your ban has ended, though your acceptance is not guaranteed.
She shifted. She might not have as much experience as Theo did or apparently as her husband did…she understood this letter wasn’t referring to a usual club. The use ofpassionandpleasurein the note made her think it was something more. A place where members couldplay, which she believed from context must have to do with sin.
She shivered at the idea.
And also felt sick that her husband had maintained such a presence there. Not only could he have slaked needs there that he refused to bring to her, but it sounded like he hadn’t always pursued partners who were willing. She was spinning from that knowledge. Perhaps that was part of why she’d been so open with Theo. She needed whatever steadiness he could provide.
And she also needed to understand the past. If she went to this place, perhaps she could understand more about what her late husband had been doing, as well as determine what the club was at all and if she might, herself, have a place there. Because if Theo didn’t want to be the one to provide escape, pleasure…well, then wouldn’t a place like this Donville Masquerade be as good a place as any to try to find a partner who would?
Perhaps if that were true, it would be an even better outlet for her desires. Because a willing stranger wouldn’t make herfeelso much as Theo did. In the end, it might be much less dangerous. If only she could will herself to do it.
CHAPTER3
The building Bernadette had convinced her driver to take her to at three the next afternoon was not what she expected. It was rather plain, something one could easily drive right past without ever noticing it. And yet when her footman opened the door for her, he appeared worried.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Are you certain—”
“Yes,” she said, a bit sharper than she intended. “I have questions for the proprietor of this establishment and I intend to get answers. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not warranted.”
The servant didn’t look convinced, but he inclined his head regardless and helped her down. As she moved forward, the door opened and a tall, large man stood there. “The club isn’t open until nine,” he said, firmly but not unkindly.
She shifted. Every fiber of her being urged her to turn heel and go home, but wasn’t that what she’d been doing all her life? If she wanted something more for her future, if she wanted a chance for more of what she’d felt with Theo when he’d kissed her, she had no choice but to be brave.
“Ah, I see,” she said. “But…But I am not here to attend the club. I have business with the owner.”
“Mr. Rivers is…indisposed,” the man grunted.
She folded her arms. “Is there no manager? No one a lady could speak to on behalf of a late patron?”
The man’s gaze moved down her body in an appraising manner, though not in a way that made her uncomfortable. Then he let out a long sigh. “Very well. Follow me.”
She could have crowed she was so pleased with herself for not backing down as she usually did. Somehow she merely followed the man inside instead. There was a vestibule just inside the door and beyond it an intricately carved door. The man motioned for her to take a seat just next to where she’d entered.
“I’ll see if Mr. Abbot will take a moment for you. What is your name?”
A cold shiver worked through her. Once she gave her name, there was no going back. “The Duchess of Tunbridge,” she said softly.
His eyebrows lifted. “I see. Please wait.”
He went through the carved door and she pushed to her feet almost immediately. There was a high table near the second entrance with an unlit lamp, a quill pen and closed ink bottle. There was space there for a book or papers, she assumed to check memberships, but there was nothing there to snoop in, much to her chagrin. She had to wonder what kind of people had memberships to this place, if its activities were what she believed they might be. What kind of person did it makeherthat she was so titillated by the idea?
She turned toward the inner door and leaned closer to look at the carvings. When she did, she gasped. They were wooden images, in great detail, of demons and angels in the midst of very erotic behaviors. Two by two, three together, even a pile of bodies, writhing in pleasure.
When the door opened, she yelped and staggered back. She was greeted by a tall, wiry man. He was handsome but had an unreadable expression as he looked at her. “Your Grace?” he queried.
She nodded. “Y-yes. Are you Mr. Abbot?”
“I am. Habor says you came inquiring after your late husband.”
She blinked. “I…how did you know he was dead?”
“He was a public figure, Your Grace.” He smiled slightly. “And my job here is to know everything.”
“Good.” She drew in an unsteady breath. “Then you could perhaps tell me more about his time at this establishment.”
There was a flutter of pity that crossed Mr. Abbot’s face. “I apologize, Your Grace, but I cannot give you any information.”
“You don’t know it or you won’t share it?” she asked.
