Age: Two and twenty
Height: 183 centimeters
Weight: Fourteen stones
Features: Blond hair, brown eyes
Vices: Scotch, whiskey
Mistress: None noted
Past: Parents perished in fire. The duke was fourteen at the time. (Approach fire-play with discretion.)
Family: Sister, Charlotte Louis, age eighteen
Camille read the information twice, even when there was no need. The nine lines were burned into her mind like a cattle brand at a glance. She flipped the page over. Empty.
That was all the information Madam’s scouts had gathered?
One of the Ponies had approached him, probably at one of the taverns. Had it been Sensa? Victoria?
All the Ponies were beautiful and skilled, roles ranging from fair and docile to dominating and exotic; whatever a client’s preference, the Pony would provide. Though none of the remaining Ponies were half as successful as Scarlet had been. Madam still grumbled about losing her ‘prized mare.’
For new clients, the Ponies offered a free session. Had Sensa offered her governess fantasy to the duke?
Camille couldn’t grasp why her gut twisted at the thought.
“Brown eyes.”
Vague information as well as minimal. Brown eyes, as if the duke’s sand-swept gaze was so easily categorized.
“No mistress noted.”
The twisting in her gut loosened. Not that she cared if the man slept his way through every ballroom, pleasure house, and brothel in England. She’d met him once for but a few hours; he was a stranger. What did she care for Renard Louis?
“The Duke of Lux,” someone said.
Camille’s head snapped up. Madam stood in the office doorway, her face flushed and blood staining her skirts. Grey must have looked a fright.
“The duke?” Had she spoken out loud?
Madam indicated the stack of blue folders. “Have you been through the duke’s file?”
“I have it here.”
Crossing the room, her heeled shoes clicking against the wood, Madam lifted the sheet—all nine pathetic lines on it—and asked, “Any concerns?”
Camille hesitated—and then hesitated a moment longer for hesitating. Why wouldn’t she want him as a member? He was rumored to be as rich as a king and the girls would enjoy a handsome rider...
“There isn’t much information,” she said.
Madam glanced her way.
Camille’s jaw clenched. She was being ridiculous. They both knew she’d vetted men with less. She picked up the next file from the stack and turned her thoughts to work. “He’s fine.”
Madam replaced the paper and snapped the file closed. “That uncomplicates things.”
Camille frowned as Madam placed the duke’s file in the accepted bin at the edge of the table. “What things?”
