Chapter Twelve

Later that week, Myfanwy’s plan came to fruition, and as she waded through the unconventional and diverse throng, she felt quite fortunate.

The Lucky Fish was living up to its namesake. If hardly being able to take a step without elbowing someone in their side meant business was good, then this gaming hall must be the most popular in town.

She could even see enjoying herself among the tables and people another time…with other companions.

Myfanwy glanced back at her unfortunate accomplices. How she’d managed to even get them through the door of the infamous establishment, she would never know. “Can you two please try to pretend that you want to be here?” she implored Jennifer and Sir Bramble, who were glued together. “People will begin to stare, and that’s the last thing we need.”

Unfortunately, it was the wrong time for Jennifer to swivel her neck. Just as she looked to her right, a very underdressed and very obvious woman of the night sauntered past her, batting her sultry lashes at the trio. Jennifer’s eyes almost bulged out from under the black veil she wore over her face.

“Just breathe,” Myfanwy said softly, as if she were dealing with a startled kitten. “Relax.” She faced Sir Bramble, who also looked like he was one strong wind away from falling on his pasty face. “I thought you said you’d been here before? That’s why I asked you to bring us in the first place. Why are you so shocked by the environment?”

Sir Bramble’s Adam’s apple bobbed under his collar. He attempted to gain his bearings and lifted his chin in the air. “Indeed, I have.” He flicked a nervous glance toward Jennifer. “But never with…ladies.”

Myfanwy rolled her eyes and turned to the crowd. Now, she really hoped those two never got married. What was expected of them in the bedroom might be too much for their delicate constitutions.

Speaking of bedroom activities…

Myfanwy stood on her tiptoes and scanned the room. If someone had told her that half of London was here, she would have believed them. But where is Samuel…?

It was difficult enough to recognize anyone behind her own dark veil, but the space was filled with a zephyr cloud of smoke from all the cigars. That didn’t stop a smile from forming on her face. Myfanwy was utterly fascinated witnessing the opposite sex in its element. The Lucky Fish was a different country—nay, a different world. And she could be a different person in it.

Despite the establishment’s hedonistic reputation, the atmosphere was much more genteel than she’d expected. Tables were scattered throughout the various rooms of the hall, each with a different game. The interior design was an interesting juxtaposition of the feminine and masculine, with the walls covered in dark wood panels and the windows lined with plush and delicate lace drapes. It gave the rooms a cloistered, intimate feel, almost as if she was visiting a person’s home or, rather, what someone assumed a proper home should look like. The mastermind behind the ambiance must have had great knowledge of gamblers. If the den was cozy enough, there was no reason to ever leave.

“Do you see him?” Jennifer said over her shoulder, her voice still tighter than a grande dame’s corset strings.

“Not yet,” Myfanwy replied through her teeth. “Why don’t you two wait for me in the corner, just over there?” she said, pointing to the farthest area she could spot. “I’ll find you shortly, and then we can go.”

Jennifer grabbed hold of her wrist. “I am not leaving you here to…meander alone with these people.”

Myfanwy chuckled. She was hardly alone, and if Jennifer would take a good look around her, she would realize that “these people” were their people, just without all their saintly wives and disapproving mothers clucking in the corners. The trio had only been in the hall for ten minutes, and Myfanwy had already recognized one bishop and two Parliament members, only because she’d seen them enough times speaking to her father at cricket matches. It seemed that gamblers didn’t have many scruples. They went where the games were—and the Lucky Fish had them in spades.

Jennifer tugged her again. “Just promise me we’ll leave after he sees you. That’s the plan still, right? You just want to surprise Mr. Everett, yes? Make him notice you, and then we’ll run off before he makes a scene?”

Myfanwy frowned as she continued to examine the crowd. “He won’t make a scene.”

“He will!” Jennifer squeaked. “He told you that you couldn’t come here. This isn’t like showing up at his tavern, Myfi. This is different!”

Myfanwy smiled wickedly. “I know.”

“He might throw you in your room and lock the door on you forever.”

“As long as he’s in there with me.”

Jennifer grabbed her shoulder and whipped Myfanwy to face her. The stress was evident on the poor girl’s face, and Myfanwy almost had a change of heart. She was asking too much of Jennifer tonight. Perfidy wasn’t her strong suit. “Just be careful. You think you know Samuel Everett, but you don’t.”

Myfanwy huffed. “I live with the man.”

Jennifer scoffed. “My parents have lived together for twenty-five years, and they’re barely more than acquaintances. Listen to me when I tell you, people act differently in the light of day. I don’t want you to be disappointed by what you find tonight.”

Myfanwy nodded and backed out of Jennifer’s aggressive hold. She didn’t argue. How could she when Jennifer wouldn’t understand? Myfanwy did know Samuel. She’d seen him at his worst, both when the sun was out and when it was not. And it wasn’t the daytime Samuel that she wanted. Now that she’d had a taste of the man in the darkness, that was the only one she craved. She was certain she would find him here tonight. Maybe that would finally convince him that she wasn’t still that little girl with a silly crush on a famous cricketer. Myfanwy was a woman now, and she wanted the man that he was—not some old dream, whether he liked it or not. And she had a feeling that Samuel did like it, even if he didn’t want to.

Encountering him here—in this den of iniquity, of all places—might force his hand, incite Samuel to tear off his kid gloves when dealing with Myfanwy…and hopefully, strip off a lot more.

Myfanwy watched the nervous couple wind its way through the bustle, Sir Bramble shielding Jennifer with his skinny body from the drunken rabble like a knight protecting his lady fair from the marauding Vikings. She would almost think it was harmlessly sweet, if Jennifer wasn’t cuddling him of her own volition. Myfanwy still didn’t understand Jennifer’s true feelings for the baron. It seemed innocent, friendly, and nothing like the low-simmering blaze that always burned when she and Samuel were in the same room.

She forced herself to dismiss them, reminding herself not to worry about Sir Bramble. He wasn’t the one for her friend. It was obvious.

Myfanwy glided through the rooms, maintaining a low profile, keeping an aloof gaze on the participants. Jennifer had talked her into wearing the veil, and Myfanwy could now say she was happy for the intervention. A few times she was positively shocked by the Bacchanalian events surrounding her. It seemed that men’s hands had a different set of rules at the Lucky Fish. They could grab just about any free part of a woman’s body with or without her approval: arms, necks, waists…even backsides. The revelation insisted Myfanwy keep a wider berth in her musings.

A loud cacophony of laughter boomed from down the corridor. Myfanwy was just about to inspect the source of merriment when a large body stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Miss Myfanwy, isn’t it?” the voice said, its tone a lovely melding of smooth molasses and crunchy biscuits. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight. No, not at all.”

Myfanwy raised her eyes away from the massive, wide chest to find Harry Holmes regarding her curiously, biting on a thick cigar. She’d only ever seen the gaming hall owner once before. He’d cornered the viscount at a cricket match while she was across the field with a group of friends. He’d vanished, like a thief in the night, by the time she ventured back to watch the match with her father.

“Mr. Holmes,” she returned, thickening her tone with worldly poise. “I’m surprised you know me, as we’ve never met.”

His gray eyes brightened, and he twisted the cigar slowly in the corner of his mouth. She couldn’t be sure of his age, though she’d heard his name bandied about since she was a child. Harry Holmes could well be in his forties, but he had a generous amount of black hair, which he slicked back away from his face, highlighting his large, patrician nose. A smattering of white hair settled near his temple, oddly making his face appear even more youthful and golden. “I knew your father well. He pointed you out to me whenever we met on the cricket pitch.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And you didn’t ask to be introduced?”

He laughed, a rich and bubbling sound coming from his cauldron-like chest. “The viscount wasn’t a fan of Society’s rules, but there were some that even he thought for the best.”

“Like introducing his daughter to depraved men who take advantage of the weakness of others.”

Holmes’s smile froze, though his cigar kept spinning. The muscles around his eyes twitched. “Take a look around you, Miss Myfanwy,” he said. “Does it look like I’m taking advantage of anyone? Better yet, do you see anyone complaining about their weaknesses?”

Myfanwy didn’t dare break from this battle of wits. And she didn’t need to look around the room to know that everyone was still in the honeymoon stage of the night. It was too early for fortunes to be completely obliterated, for lives and reputations to be ruined. Hopefully, she’d be long gone before then.

“As you say, Mr. Holmes,” she replied. The brackets around his mouth relaxed against the cigar. “Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for—”

Holmes took her arm, guiding Myfanwy away from the corridor, back into the crowded room she’d come from. No bumping elbows this time. Holmes was like Moses—all he had to do was appear and a path opened before him. “You don’t have to worry. He’s not here.”

Myfanwy frowned. “He?”

The gaming hall owner gave her a look that seemed to signify they were partners in crime. It was immediately off-putting and thrilling. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Miss Myfanwy. I understand perfectly. A young, vivacious woman like yourself only wants to have a little fun without the shackles of her guardian clinking behind her. Samuel Everett is a friend. Well”—he cocked his head—“if I had friends, he would be one. Regardless, I will make sure no harm comes to you here. Being a gentle lady can be rather frightening, can’t it?”

How very kind of him,Myfanwy thought drolly. “Thank you so much,” she said with a pinched smile. “But I’m not worried or on the lookout for Mr. Everett. I’m…um…”

Myfanwy wasn’t sure why she lied. Indeed, encountering Samuel was the only reason she’d come tonight; however, allowing this man to know that seemed plain wrong. Even with all the gambling and money being lost and won around them, Holmes was the kind of man who valued secrets as his main currency. Confiding in him—showing vulnerability—felt like a betrayal to her safety.

Holmes’s lips curled up from his cigar. “You’re…what? Meeting someone?”

“What? No!” Myfanwy had been doing so well maintaining a calm fa?ade with the man, but she couldn’t stop herself from flinching at his guess. Fortunately, across the room on a small dais, a woman wearing a blood-red dress broke out into song, and an idea instantly popped into her head. “I’m looking for information regarding a lady who might have come here with my father. Sometime in the past year or so. I know you have”—even with her affect of worldly poise, Myfanwy couldn’t stop her cheeks from burning red—“women who stay here. Live here, I mean.” She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you knew of any that my father…took a forthright interest in.”

The bastard was enjoying every minute of her discomfort. “Forthright interest?”

“Indeed.”

His cigar again went round and round. To Myfanwy, it was the personification of his mind, always turning, always calculating.

“I know everything that happens in these rooms and hallways. I see everything,” he said slowly. He raised his arms to his sides, like their savior on the cross, surrounded by the world and its sins. “And I can say with certainty that your father didn’t come here that often, maybe a few times a month, and was always too busy talking cricket to show much…what did you call it? Forthright interest?”

Her father had managed to break her heart so much since he’d been gone, but that little bit of information worked to glue some of the smaller pieces back together. The man still had a way to go, though. However, Myfanwy couldn’t hide the disappointment at the lack of new leads regarding Annabelle’s mother, and Holmes noticed.

He glanced over her head and snapped his fingers. “Holly, please come here for a moment.”

A pretty girl with hair the color of sunflowers in full bloom sidled up to Holmes’s side. Wearing a thin silk dress that conveyed to anyone with eyes that she was not wearing proper undergarments underneath, she was definitely one of the women who would have made Jennifer’s eyes bulge out of her veil. “Whatcha need, Harry?” she asked, pleasantly enough.

He nodded at Myfanwy. “Miss Myfanwy wants to know if you saw the late Viscount Wright with any of the girls recently—”

“Not so recently,” Myfanwy cut in. “It would have been a few years back.” She shut her eyes, listening to her hopeless comment. Why would anyone remember a woman the viscount spent time with that long ago? He was an old peer, probably just like the others meandering around the tables, grabbing at all the succulent skin they could find.

“Sorry, no,” Holly said. “The viscount didn’t come around a lot, did he?” she said, confirming what Holmes had already said.

Myfanwy could feel a headache coming on. It was the various aromas in the room. She had a strong sense of smell, and there were too many perfumes, too many cigars fighting for pride of place. Although…one scent wasn’t altogether that unpleasant. She opened her eyes to Holly.

“What is that you’re wearing?” she asked.

Taken aback, Holly blushed through the mound of rouge caked on her cavernous cheeks. “You like it? A client—um, eh”—she threw an apologetic look to Holmes—“I mean, a gentleman friend made it for me, or his doctor did anyway, for my muscles. They can get mighty sore…from time to time.”

Myfanwy almost wished she hadn’t brought it up. The poor girl looked like she was going to faint during the windy explanation to save Myfanwy from guessing what she did for a living. Either Myfanwy appeared particularly innocent, or the woman was just being polite. Myfanwy concluded it was the latter.

She touched the woman’s bare arm. “You smell delicious. Like happiness and Christmas all rolled up into one.”

“You think so?” Holly asked, shifting awkwardly, not used to the praise. “I worry that it’s a bit much. Most men like a more feminine smell, don’t you know.”

“I prefer your scent,” Myfanwy replied. “What’s in it?”

Holly’s face brightened. “Oh! A whole host of things: wintergreen, belladonna, wolfsbane… And what’s that last one? It’s an odd word. I can never remember it…” She snapped her fingers. “Oh! Chloroform! That’s it.”

Myfanwy’s nose crinkled. She’d never heard of that before. She had a vague knowledge of the other ingredients, though, and knew they had dubious reputations. Still…they must be safe to use if a doctor made the liniment and Holly was slathering it on her body for aching muscles.

She tightened her grasp around Holly’s arm. “And you say it works? This liniment? For soreness.”

“Are you sore, miss?” Holly asked.

“Not me,” Myfanwy answered. “But a friend of mine suffers horribly. Can hardly walk after a long day.”

Holly nodded confidently. “I completely understand. I don’t know if it will cure her, but I give plenty of the girls this concoction after a hard night—um, ah, I mean a hard day—and it relieves a lot of the pain. Some even call it a miracle oil.”

“I wouldn’t suppose you have any extra that I could buy?” Myfanwy asked. “Or maybe I can speak to your business associate who gave it to you—”

“For Christ’s sake,” Holmes muttered. “You won’t be going anywhere near that degenerate.”

Holly snickered. “You’re in luck. I have some extra bottles. Let me run and get you one before you leave.”

Myfanwy thanked her and watched the girl fly off up the stairs. When she glanced back at Holmes, his head was shaking in his hands. “Don’t you dare tell Samuel where you got that liniment from,” he said through his long fingers.

Myfanwy blanched. “How did you—? I’m not buying it for Sam—Mr. Everett.”

Again, Holmes gave her that co-conspirator’s look. “Like I said, let’s just keep it our little secret. I doubt Samuel would appreciate it.”

“Oh,” a deep voice said behind Myfanwy. “There are a lot of things I’m not appreciating right now.”