“You did as well,” he pointed out. “At one point, I believed you all made a cabal, a society of ladies who might upend society and take over.”
She quirked a brow, “We just might, and frankly, it's about time.”
Laughing, his arm slid around Ariadne’s waist, his stormy eyes taking her in as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. She gazed up at him with smiling eyes.
Emily roused, “Papa?”
“Yes, pumpkin?” He craned his head.
“Stop moving so much,” she grumbled. “I want to sleep.”
“Aye, milady,” he said, and to Ariadne said. “I believe that is our order to go home.”
Two nights later, while Cedric was paging through law books and jotting notes for his speech, Hunt came inside, “It’s happening, sir. Leander is about to move.”
“When?”
“At five in the morning, on a ship calledThe Magdalene,” he said. “It's bound for the western city of New York.”
He was out of his seat and grabbing for his coat. “Get the carriage.”
“It’s waiting for you,” Hunt replied as he handed Cedric his gun. “Godspeed.”
London at night was the antithesis of the city during the day. Almost every time he did venture out through the night, he marveled that it was as if the city had flipped on its head.
The genteel were gone from the streets, lurkers reigned, women of the night lingered at corners and alleyways, and hawkers rolled carts through the streets to feed late-night workers.
He sat back in the squabs and rubbed his face. “God help me with this one.”
Twenty minutes later, the carriage stopped at the carriage gate of the brothel in SoHo. Once the doorman let him inside the Botham House, Cedric could see what all the rumors were about the mistress modeling it after the pleasure houses he had seen in France. It wasn’t a brothel— it was a palace.
The large front hall was decorated lavishly with four doors that led to different parlors, and a wide floating double staircase led to the upper floor. There were paintings of grandmasters on the walls, and chandeliers dangled from the ceiling.
He passed open doors where young women, clad in gossamer shifts pinned to look like Grecian togas, tended to clients seated in loveseats and sofas, drinking champagne, playing cards, laughing, and chatting. Someone was playing piano.
“Where is his room?” he asked the footman.
“This way, Your Grace,” the youth bowed and led him down a corridor.
When he arrived at the door, the last one in the corridor, the footman gave him a key and quickly vanished. Opening the door, Vincent stepped in and instantly saw the two forms on the bed. He passed a table with an open champagne bottle and more spirits before he came to his brother's side.
Leander was smiling in his sleep, and Cedric wondered what the blissful dream was about; perhaps about his new life in the new country.
Cedric wondered how to wake him. Crossing back to the table with the champagne, he grasped the half-empty bottle and upended it over Leander’s head.
His brother came awake with a horrified shout and a gasp as if he was being shoved under water to drown. A curse left his mouth, and as he swept the drink away, Leander looked up. “What the hell are you doing here, Cedric? Lingering in the damn dark like a demon.”
“Dragging you back to your home so you can explain your actions and apologize,” he said stonily.
By this time, his mistress, Lady Delilah, had woken and was clutching the sheets to her person, but Cedric did not care about her. Leander swung his legs out and jammed them into a pair of trousers. “And how do you think you’re going to accomplish that? Lob me over the head and drag me out of her unconscious?”
“If you test me, yes,” Cedric said.
“Good luck with that,” Leander scoffed.
Taking a moment, Cedric said. “What about this, if you come home, explain yourself, apologize, I will damn well drive you to the ship myself.”
That made Leander jerk. “H—How did you know about that?”
