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Although, who knew?

Beatrice signed the fake name and slid the book toward Adam.

With the necessities taken care of, Adam led the way toward one of the private rooms. They slid inside, and Adam locked the door behind him.

He leaned against the door while Beatrice made herself comfortable by removing her hat and taking in the interior of the room.

Adam followed her gaze and, for the first time ever, truly took in the details of the club he’d been visiting since he was a young man.

The room was small, the smallest one they had, but it was of a decent size compared to rooms in the townhouse that Beatrice currently leased. And, he assumed, larger than most of the rooms in Beatrice’s home.

It was also richly decorated, adorned with mahogany paneling that reached halfway up the walls. The ceiling featured intricate moldings, adding a touch of grandeur to the space.

In the center of the room stood a polished mahogany desk with its smooth uncluttered surface, save for a few meticulously placed items—a leather-bound journal, a crystal inkwell, and a quill resting on a silver holder.

A plush leather chair stood behind the desk, and a couple of armchairs were placed a few feet away in front of the hearth. Adjacent to the armchairs, a small table held a tray with cigars, whisky, and a couple of tumblers.

“Shall we?” Adam gestured toward the chairs.

Beatrice nodded, but before sitting down, she carelessly took off the beard.

“What are you doing?” Adam leaped to intervene, but it was too late.

“It itches,” she complained. “And do you want me to burn it with the cigar?”

“It took you forever to put it on correctly.”

“Yes, but now with practice, it shall take me less time,” she insisted and plopped into the seat. She took off her gloves and ran her hands on the leather arms of the chair, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling. “This feels nice. Why are women excluded from this place again?”

Adam settled in the chair across from her. “How about we do what we came here to do and discuss the unfair treatment of the female population some other time?”

He leaned in, took a couple of cigars from the tray, and offered one to her. She looked at it with a grimace but accepted. Then she placed it into her mouth, imitating the smoking gesture.

Adam let out a laugh. “Don’t rush. There is an art to lighting a cigar the proper way.”

“Oh, I am sure there is. Don’t you think I know how to use a tinder box?”

Adam shook his head with a smile. “Lighting a cigar is more complicated than just setting it aflame. It’s like seduction. It takes time. Care.”

Beatrice bit her lower lip. “A seduction, huh?”

“Come here.” Adam beckoned with his fingers.

“No.” She squirmed in her seat. “I want to do it myself.”

“And you shall. But with the dim lighting and your vision as a hindrance, even with your spectacles on, I doubt you can see clearly.” He patted his knee. “Come, and sit here.”

She eyed his knee suspiciously, before getting up and doing as he asked. Her soft bottom carefully settled onto his lap, and he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

He took out his cigar cutter and showed it to Beatrice. “First, we cut the cap of the cigar.”

“The cap,” she murmured, studying her cigar intently.

“Here,” he said gently into her ear and snipped the cap.

She took his cigar cutter, her fingers brushing against his skin, and applied his instructions to her own cigar.

“Next, we need to warm up the foot.” He pulled out the tinder box and struck the flame. “Hold the cigar at a forty-five-degree angle, approximately an inch away from the flame, and rotate it, gently, toasting the foot. Slowly, carefully. Not yet setting it aflame. Not yet touching the cigar to the flame. That comes next.” His voice deepened as he spoke, and Beatrice stilled, listening to him with rapt attention.