Donald was also with his regular lady—on the dance floor, rather than in the private room that Lady Hestia had undoubtedly hired for the night. Isaac and Jerome were at their instruments.
The other brothers, even those who had regulars, were also on the dance floor. It was a Golden Adonis rule. Any escort who was not otherwise engaged had to offer to partner any of the lady clients of the club who wanted to dance.
Thalia, the club manager, was watching Ernest. Her expression was hidden by the mask she wore, but her stance signaled yearning. Allan, half out of sympathy and half for something to do, approached her.
“Good evening, Mistress Thalia,” he said.
She put on her practiced professional smile, all false warmth and watchful eyes. “Lord Apollo. How are you this evening?”
“Well enough, thank you. Did you have a pleasant day off yesterday?”
That prompted a genuine smile. “I did, thank you. I spent it quietly with my mother. Such a gift of a day. She insisted on getting up for dinner—she was even able to eat some of the goose that the cook gave me!”
“It is just you and your mother?” Allan asked, more for something to say than because he was genuinely interested.
“I am the only child of parents who were both only children,” Thalia explained. “My grandparents are gone, so I cannot even ask if they had cousins—or, perhaps, brothers and sisters. As far as I know, Mama and I are all there is.” Her wistful look transformed into another warm smile. “But rare things are all the more special, Lord Apollo.”
“I cannot imagine being without my brothers,” Allan confided.
Thalia laughed. “And I cannot imagine having so many brothers,” she retorted, and then, more wistfully, “or any at all, really.” Her gaze turned back to the dance floor, as if thoughts of brothers had naturally led her to watching Ernest.
She would have nine brothers if she married Ernest. Allan dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. They could not start adding wives to their escape plan, and Ernest could not stay within reach of the marquess.
Nonetheless, he said, “My brother Eros likes you.” Eros was Ernest’s use name at the club, and “like” was a pale word. The pair cooed like turtledoves whenever they were together.
Her gaze returned to him. “Your brother Ernest loves me, and I love him. But do not worry, Lord Apollo. We know it is impossible. Even if I did not have a sick mother to support, even if Ernest was free to pursue me, I am not of his world.”
“I wish…” Allan began, but trailed off. If he said that he wished they could marry and be happy together, she would hear it as a meaningless platitude, even though he meant every word.
“So do I,” said Thalia, sighing. Then a maid tapped her on the arm. “Mistress Thalia, we have new arrivals. Two members and a guest.”
“Thank you, Galanae. Duty calls, Apollo.”
Allan bowed, and she walked off toward the west parlor, where the club members would be waiting with their guest. She would be back soon. Depending on what the three new arrivals wanted, Allan might be needed. He waited and watched.
After several minutes, Thalia entered with three ladies, all masked. He recognized Lady Andromeda’s owl mask, and her identity was confirmed a moment later when Frank approached her, bowed to the other ladies, and went off with Lady Andromeda to the private room she had reserved.
One of the other ladies also had a mask Allan remembered—it represented the face of a lioness. Lady Thisbe, then. She had spent time with Hudson last time she was at the club, and sure enough, Hudson was bowing to her now, and leading her away to join the dancing.
Since those two ladies were members, the other, with her deep blue flower mask, must be the guest. Thalia nodded at Allan, said something to the flower-masked-lady, and led her across the room.
That he was their destination became obvious when Thalia turned away all those who tried to stop her with a raised hand and a shake of the head. In moments, the pair of them were before him.
“Lady Mnema,” said Thalia, “Allow me to present Lord Apollo. He is in charge of the gentlemen who work here.”
“A supervisor, of sorts,” said Lady Mnema, offering her hand. Hers was a full-face mask, so he couldn’t see her smile, but hecould hear the amusement in her voice. “Or an older brother, perhaps.”
Allan bowed and kissed the air above the lady’s hand. “Older brother, by all means, my lady.”
“Lady Mnema would like you to give her a tour of our club, Lord Apollo,” said Thalia. “I will leave you in Lord Apollo’s hands, my lady.”
She walked away. Unusual. Most guests were given their initial tour by Thalia or by Madam Hera herself. However, he had no objection to showing the lady around. “You have seen the visitor’s parlor, my lady. This is the members’ parlor. If you would allow me to escort you, I shall show you the other rooms.”
He offered his elbow, and she tucked her hand around it. “Thank you,” she said.
Something about her voice was familiar, but he could not match it with a person. Perhaps she was a relative of one of the women he’d pretended to court at his father’s insistence. Yes. That was probably it.
Of course, she was here incognito, like most of the guests. Could she be a mother of one of the prospective brides he’d met and managed to discourage? Her hands were timeless, the shape of her body nothing less than delectable, and the neck below the mask did not show the ravages of time. A fair ringlet fell across the expanse of unmarred porcelain skin that showed below her throat, all the way to the upper swells of her delectable breasts.
