Page 55 of His Scandalous Viscountess
With a sigh, she clenched the note in her hand tighter and prayed the summons would lead to good news. After all, how often did one receive a note, however tersely worded, from the notorious Frank Lucifer?
I have news of your unwanted suitor.
—Lucifer
With a kernel of hope lodged in her chest, and a healthy dose of dread, she had slipped down the back stairs and out into the night without alerting either Ros or one of their ever-present guards. This time it was Flint. If she weren’t so busy with her own concerns, she would have sworn that those two were falling in love. But she refused to label whatever was occurring between them until she had some unfettered time to observe them more closely. For the moment, she had other things on her mind.
The cab stopped before the well-lit gambling hell, letting her clamber out onto the street and pay her fare.
The driver took the money, tipped his hat, and hesitated. “Ma’am, are ye sure this is a place you ought to be?”
She cast him a soft smile. He might be a rough man, but he clearly had a gentleman’s heart. “Quite sure. I have business inside, and friends who will ensure my safety.”
“Very well.”
He tipped his hat once more and gave a shake of the reins. The cab pulled slowly away, leaving her to walk into Lucifer’s all on her own. It was certainly not the first time she’d done so, though tonight she’d come in slightly more discreet garb. After all, she wasn’t looking to stir up scandal any longer.
Too bad fate and the wagging tongues of London hadn’t quite caught on yet.
Stepping inside the building, she nodded at the big brute who seemed to always lurk near the door. She thought his name was Gordie, but couldn’t be sure. “Excuse me, could you please tell Mr. Lucifer that Lady Wallthorpe is here to see him.”
“Come.”
The staccato, single-word command prompted her to do as directed. She followed him up the stairs and along the open gallery that sat above the frenzied action below. It was a long—rather brisk—walk to the double doors at the far end. Then the giant with the long legs stopped and opened the doors, admitting her to what she assumed was Mr. Lucifer’s inner sanctum.
She took a few steps inside, and then the doors closed behind her, leaving her to face the darkly handsome man who currently lounged behind his desk. A gentleman would have stood as soon as she entered, but she needed to remember that he was no gentleman, even if he could put on airs.
He slowly rose and came around the desk. “Thank you for coming, Lady Wallthorpe.”
“Yes, well, you did have a rather intriguing hook. Though you could have simply sent the information in the missive.”
She eyed him warily. It was obvious he wanted something in exchange for the tidbit he’d offered, but the question was what? Money? Her body? She couldn’t imagine what else he might desire, and so she braced herself for the coming conversation.
He smiled as he bowed over her hand. Then he led her to one of the empty chairs facing his desk. “You are an intelligent woman, Lady Wallthorpe. Surely you can puzzle out why I did not do that.”
“Quite so, Mr. Lucifer. Shall we get down to business then?” She kept her tone formal. She knew the man had found her attractive during her one and only previous visit to his establishment, so she opted to not be overly familiar. The last thing she needed was athirdman who had it in his head to marry her.
“Very well. I have information about your stepson that might be of interest to you.” He paused. “And for the right enticement, I am willing to provide the information to you.”
Julia tamped down the growl that had steadily grown as the man spoke, despite her suspicion the conversation might take this kind of turn. Had she found him charming when she’d previously met him?
“Mr. Lucifer, name your price, and I shall write a draft on my bank before I leave. I’d prefer not to sit here all night, bartering back and forth.”
“Negotiating is half the fun of these transactions, my lady.” He grinned unrepentantly. “What if money is not what I seek in exchange for the information?”
“My body is not for sale. I may not be a prude, but I do not use my desire as currency.” She glared at him, furious that he would ask such a thing…or at least intimate it.
What is wrong with the men of London? Are they so deprived of sexual attention?
“As intriguing as the idea of a night with you in my bed is, that is not what I seek.” He leaned forward. “I would like some information in return for mine.”
Relief and confusion swirled through her. This was not at all what she had expected. “What could I possibly know that would be of value toyou?”
“I wish to know more of Lord Flintshire. If you’d answer a few questions for me, I shall gladly provide you the promised information.”
If she weren’t mistaken, the man looked nervous. While seemingly lounging behind his desk, indifferent to her decision, there was still a tension to his body. A small tick near the back of his jaw was difficult to notice beneath his beard, but it was there. Whatever it was he wished to know was important to him—personally.
“I am only newly acquainted with him, and I doubt I have much to share. But I shall share whatever I know.”
