Chapter 2

Early May 1878

The secret rooms at the Twin Dragons catered to men and women with certain needs. For the most part, the women needed a benefactor.

The men, as men were wont to do, were in need of a dependable fuck. Not that the purpose of the rooms was advertised as such.

But it was a place where men could openly escort their mistresses about and enjoy various entertainments. Dancing in the ballroom.

Gambling in a nearby parlor. And a few private bedchambers that were let by the hour for couples testing the waters of compatibility

for a lengthier alliance.

Although gents did sometimes regret their decision to bring their paramours here, because it was not unusual for a wanton woman to catch someone else’s eye and decide she wanted to be wanton with him for a while, and thusly let her regular go. Of course, there was the occasional unattached female who had already left her lover and was searching for more virile pastures. And naturally there were the free-roaming gents who were weary of the chase and wanted a bit more permanence when it came to who warmed their bed or engaged in the naughtiness one wouldn’t ask of their wives.

Langdon fell somewhere in between. He’d never had a wife nor a mistress, but the thought of having the latter was beginning

to appeal to him. If he wasn’t continually on the prowl, he would free up time for other pursuits. It just made sense to have

a lady who was there whenever she was needed. And if he was on occasion seen with her, maybe the mamas would leave him in

peace.

“I don’t know why I came,” Jamie Swindler muttered. “I can’t afford to keep a woman on a constable’s salary.”

While Jamie’s family was not of the nobility, his father and Langdon’s had grown up together and were more brothers to each

other than some men who shared the same blood. As a result, Langdon and Jamie considered each other cousins— of the heart rather than the blood , both their mothers were fond of saying.

“But you can look at one and tell me if she appears... shifty. If she might steal from me.”

“None of these are upstanding women, Langdon. I think you can assume they look out for themselves first, above all else.”

“Your occupation is making you a bit of a cynic.”

“Prove me wrong.”

How he wouldn’t half like to. He was considering even making a wager on it, but then he saw her . On Hollingsworth’s arm, gazing around as though walking through her dominion and owning every breath of air within it, doling it out and stealing it where she could.

“Good Lord,” Langdon murmured in awe. “I’d heard Hollingsworth’s woman was the fairest in London, but still I’d not expected

her to be so incredibly breathtaking.”

“And damned well knows it, she does.”

“She’d be a fool not to.” And even from this distance, several feet away from her, the sharpness in her gaze as she scrutinized

her surroundings—the inanimate as well as the animate—indicated she was no fool.

Unlike the low neckline of the gowns of most of the women in the room—a neckline that in some rare instances revealed the

shadow of a nipple—hers offered only the barest shadow of her cleavage. Holding so much of herself secret made her all the

more alluring.

The vibrant red silk, hugging her torso before flaring out with the aid of a bustle, went well with the onyx shade of her

hair. But it was the manner in which her eyes sparkled whenever Hollingsworth spoke to her that made her truly striking.

Then she smiled, and it was the most mesmerizing, intoxicating arrangement of lips, teeth, and features he’d ever seen. It

encompassed the whole of her face, making her cheeks appear fuller, her chin less pointed. Not that any aspect of her needed

rearranging. But it was a revelation to note she could look even more beautiful—not because of her physical aspects, but because

something extraordinary seemed to burst forth from the depths of her soul.

For the past couple of years, young swells with an artistic bent had begun sketching her and, more than once at various clubs, arguments had broken out regarding who had managed to capture her likeness in its truest form. But how could lead, charcoal, watercolors, or oils reveal the experience of her?

A book might show an image of a lioness, but it wasn’t until a person was confronted by the reality of the beast that he could

truly appreciate its magnificence.

“She looks rather attached to Hollingsworth,” Jamie said, “to be enjoying his company. I doubt she’s looking for a new benefactor.”

“No. You have the right of it.” He’d heard no whispers of discontentment on her part or on the earl’s.

The discontentment flourishing was all within himself—that he’d not enticed her into his arms before Hollingsworth had. But

then she didn’t move about within his social circles, and, before tonight, he hadn’t move about outside of them. Hence, he’d

only heard rumors of her after she became entangled with Hollingsworth. As the months went by, so the rumors had grown into

epic proportions.

He was incredibly aware that members of his family were always under scrutiny by the ton . While he was well-liked and considered quite the catch—after all he was heir to an earldom—he knew how easily, quickly,

and irrevocably one’s reputation could become tarnished with one unfortunate decision.

While Hollingsworth was known to escort his paramour to the theater and the occasional symphony or exhibition, he’d never brought her into any noble’s residence. Having seen her at last, Langdon was under the impression that he flaunted her as a means to raise his own self-esteem as the man wasn’t particularly handsome and had yet to take a wife. Hence Hollingsworth having such a confident beauty on his arm was certainly no hardship and could do his reputation little harm. As a matter of fact, it no doubt enhanced it.

“What is it you want in a mistress?” Jamie asked.

Her , he almost said. “Ah, someone entertaining, I think.”

Jamie furrowed his brow. “In what manner?”

The answer should have jumped from his mouth: How do you think? Bed sport.

That’s what mistresses were for and yet... the way she moved, the manner in which she interacted with those approaching

and leaving the couple—confidently, appearing interested, giving the impression she found them far more fascinating than she

expected they’d ever find her—made him realize that even a mistress should be wanted for more than what she could deliver

between the sheets.

“I can’t put it into words, but I’ll know her when I see her.”

The problem was, he suspected he already had, and she wasn’t available.