A Regency Lady's Scandal. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ tried not to reveal her irritation with the man who stood at the back of the salon glowering at her, either by her expression or in her voice, as she brought her first performance of the evening to an end by slowly standing up to move gracefully to the edge of the stage as she sang the last huskily appealing notes.

      It did not prevent her from being completely aware of that pale and disapproving gaze or of the man that gaze belonged to.

      He was so extremely tall that even standing at the back of the salon he towered several inches over the other men in the room, his black superfine tailored to widely muscled shoulders, his white linen impeccable and edged with Brussels lace at his throat and wrist. His fashionably styled hair was the colour of a raven’s wing, so black it almost seemed to have a blue sheen. His eyes, those piercingly critical eyes, were the pale colour of a grey silky mist, and appeared almost silver in their intensity. He had a strong, aristocratic face: high cheekbones, a straight slash of a nose, firm sculptured lips, and a square and arrogantly determined jaw. It was a hard and uncompromising face, made more so by the scar that ran down its left side, from just beneath his eye to that stubbornly set jaw.

      His pale grey eyes were currently staring at Caro with an intensity of dislike that she had never encountered before in all of her twenty years. So unnerved was she by his obvious disdain that she barely managed to maintain her smile as she took her bows to the thunderous round of applause. Applause she knew from experience would last for several minutes after she had returned to her dressing-room at the back of the club.

      It was impossible not to take one last glance in the scowling man’s direction before she disappeared from the stage, slightly alarmed as she saw that he was now in earnest conversation with the manager of the club, Drew Butler.

      ‘What is the meaning of this, Drew?’ Dominic asked icily under cover of the applause for the beauty still taking her bows upon the stage.

      The grey-haired man looked unperturbed; as the manager of Nick’s for the past twenty years, the cynicism in his tired blue eyes stated that he had already seen and done most things in his fifty years, and was no longer disturbed by any of them, least of all by the disapproving tone of the man who had become his employer only a month ago. ‘The patrons love her.’

      ‘The patrons have neither drunk nor gambled since that woman began to sing some quarter of an hour ago,’ Dominic pointed out.

      ‘Watch them now,’ Drew said softly.

      Dominic did watch, his brows rising as the champagne began to flow copiously and the patrons placed ridiculously high bets at the tables, the level of conversation rising exponentially as the attributes of the young woman were loudly discussed, along with more bets being placed as to the chances of any of them being privileged enough to see behind the jewelled mask.

      ‘You see.’ Drew gave an unconcerned shrug as he turned back to Dominic. ‘She’s really good for business.’

      Dominic shook his head impatiently. ‘Did I not make it clear when I was here last month that this is to be a gambling club only in future, and not a damned brothel?’

      ‘You did.’ Again Drew remained completely unruffled. ‘And as per your instructions the bedchambers upstairs have remained locked and unavailable to all.’

      A gentleman, an earl no less, owning a London gambling club of Nick’s reputation was hardly acceptable to society. But it had been a matter of honour to Dominic, when Nicholas Brown had challenged him to a game of cards the previous month for ownership of Midnight Moon, the prize stallion kept at Dominic’s stud at his estate in Kent. In return, Dominic had demanded that Nicholas put up Nick’s as his own side of the wager and obviously Dominic had won.

      Owning a gambling club was one thing, but the half-a-dozen bedchambers on the first floor, until recently available to any man who had wished for some privacy with … whomever, were totally unacceptable; Dominic drew the line at being considered a pimp! As such, he had ordered a ban on women—all women—inside the club, and the bedrooms upstairs to be immediately closed off. With the exception of the mysterious young woman, who had so recently held the club’s patrons enthralled—and not just with her singing!—those instructions appeared to have been carried out.

      Dominic’s mouth compressed. ‘I believe my instructions were to dispense with the services of all the … ladies working here?’

      ‘Caro ain’t—is not, a whore.’ Drew visibly bristled, his shoulders stiffening defensively.

      Dominic frowned darkly. ‘Then what, pray, is she?’

      ‘Exactly as you saw,’ Drew said. ‘Twice a night she simply lays on the chaise and sings. And the punters drink and gamble more than ever once she leaves the stage.’

      ‘Does she bring a maid or companion with her?’ The older man looked amused. ‘What do you think?’ ‘What do I think?’ Dominic’s eyes had narrowed to icy slits. ‘I think she is a disaster in the making.’ He scowled. ‘Which gentleman has the privilege of escorting her home at the end of the evening?’

      ‘I does.’ The doorman, Ben Jackson, announced proudly as he passed them on his way back to his vigil at the entrance to the club, his round face looking no less cherubic for all that his nose had obviously been broken more than once. His ham-sized fists did not come amiss in a brawl, either.

      Dominic raised sceptical brows. ‘You do?’

      Ben beamed contentedly, showing several broken teeth for his trouble. ‘Miss Caro insists on it.’

      Oh, she did, did she?

      Ben Jackson could make grown men quake in their boots just by looking at them, and Drew Butler was a cynic through and through, and yet Miss Caro appeared to have them both eating out of her delicate little hand!

      ‘Perhaps we should continue this discussion in your office, Drew?’ Dominic turned away, expecting rather than waiting to see if the older man followed him, his impatience barely held in check. Nevertheless, he still managed to greet and smile at several acquaintances as he moved purposefully towards the back of the smoke-filled club to where Drew’s office was situated.

      He barely noticed the opulence of that office as Drew followed him into the room before closing the door behind him and effectively shutting out the noise from the gaming rooms. Although Dominic did spot a decanter of what he knew to be a first-class brandy, and he swiftly poured himself a glass and took an appreciative sip before offering to pour one for the manager, too.

      The older man shook his head. ‘I never drink during working hours.’

      Dominic made himself comfortable as he leant back against the front of the huge mahogany desk. ‘Well, who is she, Drew? And where is she from?’

      The manager shrugged. ‘Do you want my take on her or what she told me when she came to the back door asking for work?’

      Dominic’s gaze narrowed. ‘Both.’ He took another sip of his brandy, giving every appearance of studying the toe of one highly polished boot as the other man began to relate the young woman’s tale of woe.

      Caro Morton claimed to be an orphan who had lived with a maiden aunt in the country until three weeks ago, the death of the elderly lady leaving her homeless. Consequently she had arrived in London two weeks earlier with very little money and no maid or companion, but with a determination to make her own way in the world. Her intention, apparently, had been to offer herself as companion or governess in a respectable СКАЧАТЬ