Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

W hen Rosalyn woke, every inch of her body ached from sleeping on the hard floor. Her shoulders popped and cracked as she stretched. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, slowly sitting up. Fabric slithered off her shoulders to puddle in her lap. Her robe. Patrick must have come in while she was sleeping and covered her. He hadn't even woken her.

She looked around quickly to be sure he wasn't still there. He wasn't, but something else caught her eye. A book sat on the table beside the chair. Perhaps an instruction manual on how to be a better whore? Of course not. It might be exactly what she deserved, but he would never do anything so unkind. On top of that, she didn't feel like she was his whore, even if she had behaved as one.

Shaking the memories aside, she pushed herself to her feet. She wrapped the robe around her and walked to the table. A Christmas Carol. It was in pristine condition. She ran her hand over the leather spine. Clearly, it hadn't been as well loved as her copy. Patrick knew she'd never see hers again, though, so he'd given her his own. She'd done nothing to earn his kindness, and yet he gave it anyway.

A knock sounded and she dropped the book like it had burned her. As much as she dreaded it, she was going to have to deal with the consequences of her behavior. Now was as good a time as any for her to face the music. The only question was, would it be Patrick or Finch?

"Come," she called, her heart galloping inside her chest. The door opened, Patrick's form nearly filling the entire frame. He carried a tray and had some sort of green fabric draped over his arm. But most surprising was his smile.

"Good morning!" he said jovially, the warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. What was this? He strode into the room and placed the tray on the table. "I've brought you some tea," he said, as if that explained the whole situation.

"Thank you?" It would seem Patrick wanted to simply pretend like the events of the previous night never happened. As ridiculous as it seemed, Rosalyn would gladly go along with it for now. Perhaps she wouldn't have to face the music just yet, after all.

"It's my night off from the club tonight, so I thought we might spend the day out." She felt the beginning of a smile tip the corners of her mouth. "You will need to wear this." He held up the green fabric. It turned out to be a heavy cloak with an oversized hood.

Lost for words appropriate to the situation, Rosalyn simply nodded.

"Good," he said, draping it across the bed. "I will await you in my study." He bowed deeply and then stepped into the hall, pulling the heavy door closed behind him. What had just happened?

Rosalyn shrugged to herself. If Patrick could ignore what happened between them, she could too. At least for now.

Dressed and wearing the cloak over her gown just as Patrick had instructed, Rosalyn made her way toward his study. He sat behind his desk but looked up at her with a radiant smile when she approached.

"Ready?" His eyes held the promise of an adventure.

"Yes," she said with a sincere smile growing on her lips. Patrick's eyes lit even more.

A carriage was waiting for them when they got down to the street. An enormous man sat perched in the driver's seat and barely glanced in their direction as Patrick helped her to climb inside.

"Is that—" She stopped before completing the question. Perhaps immediately interrogating him was a bad way to start.

"Today, I want you to ask me every question that pops into your head." He gave her an encouraging smile. "I promise to answer every single one of them."

Rosalyn wasn't so sure. Questions had always led to awkwardness, and today was promising to be so pleasant.

"Is that…" Patrick prompted.

"Well," She paused a moment before continuing. "I've seen a man outside the shop. Is he the driver?"

"Yes," Patrick answered with a nod.

"But if he's driving us, who will be guarding the shop from being robbed again?"

"Actually," Patrick said, seeming to mull over his answer a bit. "He isn't there to guard the shop, he's there to guard you."

Rosalyn drew back a bit.

"No!" Patrick said, hastily. "Not like a prison guard, I swear." He held his hands up entreatingly.

"He's not there to keep you in, but to keep you safe."

"Safe from what, exactly?"

"Well, unfortunately, this latest robbery at the Nest wasn't the first, or even the fifth, for that matter." Patrick shrugged and let out a sigh. "This isn't the safest part of London for anyone, and when you're the owner of a gaming hell, you tend to accrue people who think you owe them something."

Rosalyn nodded. It made sense. Countless times she'd heard her father ranting about how he'd been cheated out of his money and someone or other was going to get what they had coming.

"Where are we going?" she asked, forcing her mind away from everything else.

"I really wanted it to be a surprise."

Rosalyn smiled understandingly. "Fair enough."

"We'll be there soon." His wide eyes made it impossible not to share his anticipation.

A moment later, the carriage rolled to a stop. "For this part, you'll have to put your hood up and keep your head down."

"How am I supposed to see where I'm going?"

"Just take my hand, and I promise not to lead you into a wall." Patrick winked, and her stomach fluttered as if in response to a command.

She pulled the voluminous hood from behind her and accepted Patrick's hand as she alighted. They had stopped at the entrance to a dark alleyway.

"Head down," Patrick said quietly.

It was difficult not to disregard him and throw the hood back. A cacophony of commotion and shouts echoed in the distance, daring her to do that very thing. Patrick wanted whatever this was, to be a surprise, and for some reason, she longed to indulge him, so she obeyed him and stared down at the cobblestones beneath their feet as they moved forward and around the corner of a building. Patrick stopped suddenly, and she walked straight into him.

"I thought you weren't going to lead me into any walls?" He didn't respond, not even his usual chuckle, but there was the unmistakable sound of a key scraping in a lock. He was taking her into The Raven's Den. She looked up at him, a smile stretching her lips.

"Head down." His tone was a bit more urgent this time.

"I'm afraid you've rather tipped me off. There can't be very many places where you have your own key." Finally, it was her turn to wink. "I hardly think the hood—" The rest of her sentence was cut off when he pulled the hood down over her face. Swinging the door open, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and bundled her quickly inside. The door closed with a heavy thud behind them followed by the lock, once more. Finally, he lifted her hood.

"Was that truly necessary?" She looked up at him, annoyed.

"Yes." He playfully tapped the end of her nose. "The hood wasn't to protect my secret. It was to preserve your anonymity."

"But why?" Rosalyn still didn't understand, and the look that Patrick gave her was, frankly, a bit condescending. She folded her arms across her chest.

"This isn't the sort of place frequented by respectable women, I'm afraid."

Rosalyn burst out laughing and looked around her. "I don't see any women here who need to be concerned about their reputations."

Patrick shook his head with a sigh and placed his hands on her shoulders. "The gossip rags have people keeping a close eye on the comings and goings here, and I'd rather they didn't see you. Now, would you like to keep questioning me in the back hallway, or would you like to see a bit more of my club?"

"Oh, you patronizing… grr." Rosie scowled at him.

Patrick blinked twice and then roared with laughter. "Did you just growl at me?"

"Perhaps." Rosalyn stuck her tongue out at him, and he just laughed all the more.

"Come on, imp." He nodded forward, and she started walking. At the end of the hall he held aside a black velvet curtain as she moved through.

Rosalyn's jaw dropped. Whatever she had expected The Raven's Den to look like, this was not it. Light poured in from the skylights in the ceiling two stories up, illuminating the cavernous space. Of course, it wouldn't have been illuminated the same way at night, but it still in no way resembled the dark, dingy, closed in space she'd imagined a gaming hell to be. Nearly everything in the room was plush and luxurious. Even the carpets were soft and welcoming as they moved further into the room.

Rosalyn ran her hand over the back of one of the velvet chairs surrounding a large oval table made of rich mahogany.

"That's our table," Patrick said with a nod.

Rosalyn gave him a sideways glance. "I thought they were all your tables."

"They are, but this is the one where the three of us hold our weekly meetings." He patted the tabletop.

"Why this one?" she asked, looking around at the countless other tables.

"It isn't a gaming table." He shrugged. "I mean, it sees its fair share of poker, but it isn't designated as such."

"Do people come in for things other than gaming?" Rosalyn didn't realize the implication in those words until they were out of her mouth. Was it possible there were other entertainments to be had at The Raven's Den? Perhaps of the female variety? It certainly didn't feel anything like Maison Rouge, but she was hardly an expert on the subject.

Patrick shrugged. "Sometimes men just want to discuss business or have a drink in luxurious surroundings."

"Mm-hmm." Rosie waited for more details of what a man might do here.

"And this one is the most comfortable." He said, instead, and pulled out one of the chairs for her to sit in. The chair welcomed her into its arms with its plush softness.

"Why don't you bring this home to sleep in?" She smiled up at Patrick.

"Don't think I haven't considered it."

The next table they came to was a large rectangle. The corners were rounded and the playing surface marked with a host of numbers and symbols, was recessed a ways from the mahogany, outer edge.

"What's this one?"

"This is for a dice game, called craps. Most of the time, there will be a crowd of men gathered around this table, whooping and hollering, and sometimes even praying, for the dice to land just the right way."

"Do you play?"

"No." He shook his head for emphasis. "Although it's entertaining to watch. Especially when it doesn't go their way and the whole crowd groans in unison."

"I suppose that means you win, right?"

He chuckled. "Yes, it usually does."

They walked around the rest of the club, Patrick explaining each of the tables in turn. They were all different sizes and shapes, but most of them sported either a padded black leather or mahogany edge, around a green baize playing surface. Each one was marked with different numbers, grids, and symbols, but they all had at least one raven emblazoned upon them. Some of the tables were meant to be played while standing, but the others were surrounded by red velvet upholstered chairs or stools.

Rosalyn was in awe. She'd never seen anything like it. Turning slowly in a circle, she tried to take it all in, imagining what it must be like at night. Countless lamps adorned the walls, so even then, there was sure to be a flood of light bathing everything and everyone in the room. She envisioned crowds of men, laughing and drinking and playing games.

Why did men get to have all the fun? On the few occasions Rosalyn had attended gatherings with women, it was no more than tea and gossip. Perhaps a titter or two was permitted, but certainly no jovial laughter or raucous cheering.

"What do you think?" Patrick asked, but the proud smile he wore proved he already knew the answer to that question.

Rosalyn shrugged. "You should open one for ladies." Patrick actually choked, before sputtering into laughter. At least she'd managed to surprise him out of that smug grin.

"Would you like to see where the business side of things takes place?"

"You mean other than at that table?"

Patrick shook his head. "No one ever visits the inner sanctum." He shrugged. "But if you're not interested."

Rosalyn felt another growl coming on. If banter had a winner, it was always him. They climbed an unassuming staircase behind an unassuming door. It didn't feel much like the entrance to a secret lair, but perhaps that was the point. As they climbed, however, excitement blossomed in her chest. He was showing her something few people had seen.

At the top, Patrick unlocked another door. It was dark within, but he flipped a switch, and bright light instantly flooded the space. A massive office. Three matching mahogany desks, arranged in a U, sat comfortably in the center.

"You each need your own desk?"

"We couldn't agree on which drawers should be used for what." Patrick shrugged. "It was the simplest solution."

"But not exactly the most frugal one." Rosalyn shook her head. She'd never seen such extravagance.

"Yes, well, frugality has never really been something we've strived for, I suppose."

"Which one is yours?" He patted the top of the one on the left. Rosalyn seated herself in the oversized chair behind it. "Now I see why you have your meetings downstairs."

Patrick nodded. "If these chairs were as cozy as those ones, I'm afraid we'd never get any work done."

Along the wall at the bottom of the U, were three enormous safes. "You each have your own safe, as well?"

Patrick laughed richly. "Not exactly. That's for security purposes," he explained. "None of us knows the combination to all three safes."

That was something Rosalyn would probably never have considered. It was undoubtedly a good precaution, but they would only need such precautions in case they were robbed and forced to open the safes. For some reason, she didn't like the idea of Patrick being in that kind of danger.

"How many times have you been robbed?" she asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

"None, so far," he said confidently, "but you can never be too careful. We take security very seriously. The man you've seen is just one of many, with his size and skills, that we employ."

Rosalyn was relieved to hear it, but that didn't make any sense. "Then why has the shop been burgled so many times?"

"Well," Patrick shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not that concerned if someone steals the items in the shop."

That still didn't make sense. "But aren't they valuable?"

"Some of it, yes." Patrick tilted his head to the side as if considering his next words. "But I didn't really pay for most of it, so it's not a lot of skin off my nose if it disappears." He shrugged matter-of-factly. "The worst part about it is replacing broken windows, but I make enough money in sales to cover that and to pay people good wages to run the shop."

Rosalyn felt as if she'd walked on the stage of a play of which she didn't know the plot. This nonchalance about money made her question her whole view of the world.

Patrick walked around behind the desks, running a hand along the top of the safes. "What these contain, on the other hand, is definitely worth protecting." He came to stand beside her as she pushed his chair back in. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his extraordinary eyes sparkling like amber in the lamplight. "And you are worth protecting."

Rosalyn's throat went dry, the tenderness of his gaze setting her off balance. Why? Why was she worth protecting? And why did he have this effect on her? A picture of her riding his leg with utter abandon flashed into her mind. She blinked, forcing her mind away from the path it wanted to go down.

"What do you keep in the safes?" she asked, instead.

Seeming to pull his own mind back to the present, he dropped his hand and turned back to the safes. "Cash, mostly. We have to be able to fund large loans, and sometimes winnings, at any given time."

Rosalyn couldn't even imagine the amount of money he must be talking about.

"And we also keep plenty of chips in there." Patrick opened the left-hand drawer of his desk and pulled out a small round object. "This one is worth five shillings," he said as he handed it to her. "Well, it's worth five shillings in here. It isn't worth anything outside of this building."

It was heavy for its size. Red and black surrounded a white interior. In the center sat the ever-present raven over the top of a red 5.

"What is it?" she asked. "How is it worth five shillings?"

"For some of the games, this is what we use for currency. You'll remember the roulette tables, for instance?" Rosalyn nodded "Because of the small grid and specific placement of bets, this is much easier to keep track of than random banknotes or coins."

"That makes sense." She held the chip out in her palm.

"You keep it." He wrapped her fingers around it. "There's one more thing I think you'll like to see," he said, before she could even argue about the chip.

He led her out of the room and locked the door behind them. They walked past the top of the stairs to another door she hadn't noticed before. This one wasn't locked. He pushed the door open and ushered Rosalyn inside. Her eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the loss of light since leaving the office, and she wasn't exactly sure what this room was. A figure moved at the far end, and she jumped, her back colliding with Patrick's front.

"I do apologize," came a low, velvet edged voice, as the man stepped toward them. "I didn't intend to startle you." He wore a charming smile, but still, his presence was unsettling. Everything about him was dark: black hair, black clothes, and even his eyes looked black in the dim light. He gave a deep bow, his cane swinging beside him. "You must be Rosie."

"Rosie, this is Ash." Patrick gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "He isn't nearly as evil as he appears."

Rosalyn wasn't so sure, but allowed Ash to take her hand, his lips whispering across her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rosie, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to." He gave another bow and then he turned his gaze on Patrick. His smile vanished and in its place was a look of warning, or perhaps a silent reprimand. Was he upset that Patrick had brought her here?

Rosalyn looked to Patrick, then back to the door, and back to Patrick once more. "He's the original raven, isn't he?"

Patrick's smile deepened into laughter. "Well, he was certainly the impetus behind everything."

"He didn't look very happy. Is he upset that you brought me here?"

"No, of course not."

"Is Ash a nickname?" It had to be, didn't it? What kind of name was Ash?

"I can see the question generator starting in your brain. Allow me to show you this last thing, and once we're back in the carriage, you can ask all the questions you can come up with." He took her hand and led her to a ledge. This room was a balcony that overlooked the entire gaming floor below.

"This is amazing! You can see everything from here."

"It's even more amazing than you realize," he raised his eyebrows. "See how all of the lamps are positioned lower than where we're standing?" He pointed around to the lamps.

Rosalyn nodded. She didn't understand what that meant, though.

"Well, at night, when there's no light coming in from above, you can't see past the lamps from down there, so this entire balcony is invisible."

A soft gasp escaped her. "Really? So you can watch everyone and no one knows you're here?"

He dipped his head slightly. "I thought you'd like it." His smile was as intimate as a kiss, and it drew her irresistibly. Rosalyn raised herself on her toes and pressed her lips to his. She hadn't meant to do it, and she certainly hadn't meant to set off the cascade of desire that rushed through her body. She wrapped her hand around his neck pulling him down to her and brazenly plundered his mouth with her tongue.

Patrick groaned appreciatively, but then pulled away. "Not here."