Page 34 of Cocky August Rake

He approved. Anyone would approve.

Then they walked through to what was known as the Upstairs Ladies’ Drawing Room.

Nell Smith sat at the long table near the windows, bent over a list of appointments with one of the newer girls.

Near the fire, Marianne Bell adjusted a spray of winter greenery in a vase while complaining about whoever had arranged it.

And Violet Shaw lounged on the chaise, locked in an argument with Maisy Banks over a length of blue ribbon.

“It is hideous,” Violet declared.

“It is blue.”

“It is aggressively blue.”

Rose’s mouth twitched despite herself.

This was not The Domus as visitors and outsiders knew it.

This was theirs.

The room no patron ever entered.

Here, women compared notes on troublesome gentlemen, discussed the latest fashions, and laughed without first wondering whether it was safe.

Rose glanced sideways at Lord Reginald, who’d stopped just inside the doorway.

His gaze moved over the room with the wary attention of a man assessing unfamiliar territory, and for the briefest moment, something shifted in his face.

Not approval. Certainly not surrender.

But uncertainty.

A crack in the ice?

Perhaps.

“Only the women who work upstairs are permitted in this room,” Rose said.

She paused, meeting his gaze.

“Usually.”

Then she gestured toward the corridor at the far end.

“Our private rooms are through there. Those can be locked from the inside.”

Reginald nodded, apparently understanding that he had been granted an exception. Despite owning all of it.

Rose led him back out through the kitchens, past the large laundry room where linens were washed and pressed each day, and toward a second staircase. At the top, she opened the door onto thick carpeting once more.

Their personal areas were comfortable enough, but the carpet here was different—plusher, meant to impress.

From there, they could look down over the gleaming balustrade into the main lounge below.

Opposite the balustrade, doors to the receiving rooms lined the hall. Or, as the gentlemen preferred to call them, the private parlors.

Rose drew a quiet breath. This was what he needed to see. The rooms holding the strongest evidence that The Domus was not like other brothels.