She went cold at the memory.
Christ. Who was he? How had he teased and tempted and lied his way into her heart? She, who wielded such control over the wide world… how had he come to control her so well?
What is your relationship with Tremley?
What is your relationship with Chase?
Their secrets matched.
Something broke in her… something she had not realized had ever been repaired from when she was a child. Something that was utterly, completely different from when she was a child.
She had not loved Jonathan. She knew that now.
Because she knew, beyond question, that she loved Duncan West. And that such love – powerful beyond reason – would destroy her.
She met the countess’s gaze. “I did this,” she confessed. “I brought you here and put you at risk.” She shook her head. “He —”
A knock sounded at the door and she was saved from finishing the thought aloud. But as she crossed the room, she finished it a dozen times in her head.
He lied to me.
But why?
She turned back to the countess, standing, fists clenched, as though she might have to do battle. “It is the surgeon – nothing else.”
Lady Tremley nodded once, and Georgiana opened the door to find Bruno, serious and sentinel. She tilted her head in question, and his gaze flickered over her shoulder, lingering on the countess behind. “Tremley is here,” he said, quietly.
Georgiana met his gaze, all Chase. “As he is not a member, he is not our concern.”
“He says he knows his wife is here, and he is willing to bring the royal guard with him the next time if we do not let him in now.”
“Tell the others.”
“He wants you.”
She looked over her shoulder to ensure that the countess was far enough away not to overhear, then leaned toward the massive man. “Well, he can’t very well have Chase.”
Bruno shook his head. “You misunderstand. He wants Anna.”
Fear shot through her at the words, strange and unfamiliar. “Anna,” she replied.
“He says that you are the only person to whom he will speak.”
“Well, then me he shall have,” she said.
“You and a security detail,” Bruno said, all protection.
She did not disagree with the plan. She turned back to the lady. “I have been summoned by your husband, it seems.”
Imogen’s eyes went wide. “You cannot face him. He will force you to tell him everything.”
Georgiana smiled, hoping to give the countess hope. “I am not a woman who is easily forced.”
“He is not a man who is easily defeated.”
That much, she knew. But he was a man who understood power and sway. And she was not afraid to use it to do battle with him.
“All will be well,” she assured the other woman, her gaze sliding over cuts and bruises that no woman deserved, anger flaring deep within her. For Imogen. For Duncan.
For the truth.
The words whispered through her on a thread of faith – faith that he had not lied to her. Hope that he was what he seemed, and nothing less.
Was it possible for the man to be all he seemed?
Because he seemed a great deal.
She put the thoughts out of her mind as the surgeon arrived to assist Lady Tremley. Confident that the newest resident of The Fallen Angel was in capable hands, Georgiana navigated her way through a vast network of passageways and corridors to a small room on the men’s side of the club, reserved for its worst offenders.
Among the staff, the room was called Prometheus, a reference to the overlarge oil painting within – Zeus in the form of an eagle, punishing Prometheus with slow, excruciating disembowelment for stealing fire from the gods. The painting was designed to intimidate and to terrify, and she had little doubt that it helped to ensure that when she entered the room, flanked by Bruno and Asriel, to face Lord Tremley, the earl’s heart skipped a beat or two.
He stood at the far end of the windowless room, a wide oak table between them. Georgiana did not hesitate to begin the conversation. “May I help you?”
The earl smiled at her, and it occurred to her that at a different time, as a different woman, she might have found him attractive. He was empirically handsome, with dark hair and deep blue eyes and a line of straight white teeth that made her wonder if perhaps he’d been born with more than the usual amount.
But his eyes did not smile, and she had seen enough evil in the world to know that it lurked in him.
“I am here for my wife.”
Her head tilted to one side with practiced innocence. “There are no women at the club, my lord. It is men only. In fact, I was rather surprised you would ask for me.”
His gaze narrowed. “I hear you speak for Chase.”
She played coy. “You flatter me. No one speaks for Chase.”
He leaned forward, his hands forming fists on the oak table. “Then perhaps you can fetch him for me.”
She met his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord. Chase is unavailable.”
Something flashed in his gaze. “I grow tired of this conversation.”
“I am sorry we have wasted your time.” She smoothed her skirts and made to turn away. “One of these fine gentlemen will be happy to escort you out of the building.”
“I would rather these…” He trailed off, his disdainful gaze flickering over first Asriel and then Bruno. “Well, I’m not about to call a pair of moors gentlemen.” She stiffened at the disgust in his tone. “But why not have them leave altogether, and we can discuss my concerns with this establishment one-on-one.”