“He damn well should,” Thornecliff said, the force of his words making Lucy jump.
When he finally looked at her, his eyes were blazing with some strong emotion she couldn’t put a name to.
“Whether he says it or not, he missed you.Your familymissed youwhen you were gone.”Some of the light died out of his gaze, and he looked away once more as he muttered, “Your family wasn’t whole without you here.You deserve to hear it said aloud.”
Arrested, Lucy sank back against the velvet squabs and stared at the strong, masculine beauty of his profile.It almost sounded as if he knew something about what it was like to return home after an absence, only to find that no one seemed to have noticed it.
Could this have something to do with the mysterious falling out with an uncle that Fitz had mentioned?But before she could delve more deeply into it, the carriage pulled into the heart of Covent Garden, where instead of townhouses and mansions, the streets were lined with theaters, coffeehouses, gentlemen’s clubs, and the most dangerous den of iniquity in London: Sharpe’s.
“Before we go inside,” Thorne said as the carriage rolled to a stop before an imposingly grand building, “there is one rule I should like you to be aware of.”
Lucy didn’t like the sound of that.“I don’t do well with rules.”
“Nor do I,” he agreed, “but here, they come in handy.No respectable woman would be seen at Sharpe’s.So, when the other patrons see you, they will naturally assume…”
“That I am not respectable,” Lucy finished for him.She shrugged, unconcerned.“That’s all right, I’m a woman of independent means.I needn’t care about my reputation.”
He inclined his head.“That is your prerogative, but what you must have a care for tonight is your safety.Gentlemen who see you at Sharpe’s will assume you are a woman whose time, shall we say, may be purchased.”
“In this dress, at least they’re likely to assume I’m expensive,” she said with a grin.
“This isn’t a game.No one will dare approach you while you are on my arm.But I must insist that you remain at my side at all times.I could not guarantee your safety if you were to wander off.”
Lucy had to shove down an atavistic curl of pleasure at Thornecliff’s promise of protection.If she remained at his side for the entire evening, that would make it difficult to pursue her investigation into The Gentle Rogue’s identity.
Rather than outright lying, she temporized with, “I shall do my utmost to have every care for my own personal safety.Having managed to travel unscathed all across the Continent, I think I can be trusted to handle one English gambling den.”
He only stared at her, unmoving, for long moments while Lucy fought not to fidget.
Unable to bear it, she finally cocked a brow at him and said, “Having second thoughts?You can wait in the carriage, if you’d prefer, but I’m going in.”
She moved from her seat and reached for the door handle, and his hand shot out to manacle her wrist.
“Not without me, you’re not.”
ChapterEight
Thorne hoped he hadn’t overplayed his hand in the carriage.
He wasn’t a fool.He knew that forbidding Lucy from doing something was the surest way to get her to do it.
And, as it happened, his plans for the evening very much hinged on her wandering off at some point.
But for now, he kept his hand clamped firmly over hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow as they glided past the formidable bruiser of a majordomo and into the belly of the beast.
Lucy’s grip tightened when they passed through the entryway and she got her first glimpse of the card room.
Calling it a card room hardly did it justice, Thorne mused as he glanced around, seeing the familiar space as if for the first time through Lucy’s eyes.
Tables covered in Morocco leather and green baize dotted the room, each one surrounded by gentlemen either playing cards, or calling out encouragement or derision as they watched the fast-moving play.House wenches strolled between the games, refilling wine and whisky glasses, offering brandy and cigars whose pungent smoke wreathed the air.
Swags of emerald-green velvet draped the walls, the light from multiple candle sconces and crystal chandeliers casting everything in a blazing glow.The very air pulsed with the excitement of fortunes won and lost as men wagered on everything from the next hand of whist to the color of a passing bawd’s private hair.
Above it all, a soaring domed ceiling arched overhead, painted like the frescoes in a cathedral—except instead of cherubim and seraphim, the subject matter was gods and goddesses of ancient Greece.Scantily clad nymphs cavorted with suggestively leering fauns; a heavily muscled Hades glowered at the coquettish Persephone swooning in his arms.
Lucy gasped audibly, and Thorne allowed himself a smile of satisfaction.“It’s not Paris,” he murmured, “but we like it.”
At the far side of the cavernous room, on a gilded balcony carved with clusters of grapes, stood the man who owned it all.
