Page 21 of Cocky August Rake

He shrugged. “A very fine room. I’ll admit that.”

“It is meant to be.”

His eyes returned to hers.

“This is what people expect to see,” she went on. “Silk. Candles. Beautiful women. A little mystery.” She glanced toward the lounge. “It is a stage.”

“It is a brothel,” he said yet again. “I understand that much.”

Apparently, he did not.

“The Domus is different,” she said.

He scoffed. “Right.”

“You see one room. You see what is offered here—women who have learned how to make gentlemen comfortable with what they want.” Her fingers tightened together. “But you do not see the work that goes into it. You do not see the rules. You do not see the frightened girls before they learned how to hold their heads up. Girls who only knew how to look at the ground.”

No one below them moved.

“You do not see Mr. Huxley making certain every woman is paid what she is owed. You do not see how the kitchens, always clean, provide hot meals without fail. The rooms upstairs, designed for pleasure, yes, but also comfort and—most essentially—for safety. You do not see the infirmary.” Her breath caught, but she went on. “You do not see the women who come here with nothing and learn they still have a few choices.”

His face had gone still, almost as though he was finally listening.

Rose could feel her plea now, rushing through her veins. She could not let him close them down.

“This place is not like any other,” she said. “Your brother made sure of that. I beg of you,” she continued. “Don’t judge this place before you know it. Before you know… us.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, “What would you have me do?”

For one moment, Rose could not answer.

An hour-long tour would not be enough. He needed to understand it.

And suddenly, she remembered the garden. The way he had lost control when desire caught him unaware.

He was not practiced. Not in this.

He didn’t know that pleasure need not come with shame. That a person could want—and be wanted—without being made lesser for it.

There were, indeed, things The Domus offered that he did not understand.

And if they were to stand any chance at changing his mind, Lord Reginald needed to understand all of it.

“Keep The Domus open as it is for now. Let us show you what you mean to close,” she said. “Speak with Nell about the operations. Look over the accounts with Mr. Huxley. Explore upstairs. Know all of it before you decide what becomes of us.”

“And how long could that possibly take?”

“Thirty days.” Rose threw out the first timeline that made sense.

A murmur moved through the lounge below, but Rose forced herself not to look away.

He looked down at the room once more.

At Nell. At Mr. Huxley. At the women who had gone so quiet they scarcely seemed to breathe.

If Rose had not been watching him, she might have missed the faint shift of his mouth.