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Ivy, the daughter of Ian’s housemaid, had been at first hesitant to discuss The Club, its members or their wives. It had taken a vow of utmost secrecy and several drinks to get the information out of the woman. That those wives Ian steered her away from were considered the most adventurous, daring women to have ever married one of the men.
They were habitually tormenting Ian by sneaking into the club, attempting their matchmaking wiles on the single members and generally causing havoc whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was Ivy’s opinion they did so merely to tempt the overly dominant personalities of their husbands.
Those were the women Courtney wanted to talk to. The ones who knew Ian, who were intimate with the Trojans, their lifestyles and the rumors. But first—she moved carefully down the spiral staircase, listening for signs of movement as she stepped into the foyer and headed to the back of the house—she wanted to see The Club itself.
She had noticed the vehicles arriving earlier, parking along the back of the estate near the rear entrance that led to the rooms reserved for The Club’s membership. Ian had left explicit orders that the far wing was off-limits to her, and that she should confine herself to the main portion of the house.
Yes. She would do such a thing, she thought with an inelegant, little snort.
She moved quietly to the back of the foyer, to the door beneath the stairs. Turning the knob, she opened it carefully before stepping inside. The hall was well lit, carpeted with a thick, rich cream carpet that muffled the sound of her steps as she headed along the corridor.
She refused to sneak. She squared her shoulders, raised her head and moved along the hallway with the supreme confidence of someone who knows where she belongs. She belonged here. And if Ian were behind those closed double doors ahead, then she would fight anyone who dared attempt to deter her.
She opened the doors without a care, stepping into the marble foyer that held the entrance to the back of the house. As she closed it behind her, Matthew Harding, who had been introduced at a recent party, stepped from a small office at the side of the room.
His hazel eyes immediately darkened as his dark brows snapped into a frown. He was well over six feet tall, broad, muscular. He was ex-military, she guessed. He held his shoulders back, his body straight and ready to move at a moment’s notice.
“Hello, Matthew. ” She allowed a small, devilish smile to tilt her lips as she moved confidently for the set of doors that she assumed led to The Club’s main rooms.
“Miss Mattlaw. ” He stepped quickly in front of the doors. “Have you lost your way, ma’am?”
She lifted a brow as he blocked the doors, her eyes narrowing enough to allow him a warning that she wouldn’t be barred from the rooms.
“No, I haven’t. ” Ice tipped her voice. “I know exactly where I want to go. ”
He crossed his arms over his chest, frowning deeper.
“These rooms are off-limits to you, ma’am. I think you were already informed that the back of the house is no place for you to be. If you wish to visit, then Mr. Sinclair will have to accompany you. ”
Luck was a mercurial suitor. Some days she had it in spades, others, it eluded her entirely. This evening, it seemed to be on its best behavior. The doors opened wide, causing his attention to fracture and give her the opening she needed to slip into the room.
She glanced behind her, smiling innocently at the irate butler and the more than surprised club member as he stared back at her.
She stepped inside the ornately decorated room, her gaze flickering over the heavy chairs and dark tables. It reminded her quite a bit of her father’s study. Shelves lined the inner wall, stacked with books and erotic statuettes. A fireplace flickered merrily on one end of the room, while banks of windows looked out on a heated pool and Jacuzzi.
Several seating arrangements were scattered about the ballroom-sized room, as well as tables and areas of privacy. The bar graced the far end with a wealth of bottles lined up along the wall.
Ahh, yes. This was where she needed to be. She paused at the mahogany bar, glancing over her shoulder to meet the astounded gazes of the dozen or so men now watching her before turning back to the bartender.
“Club members only. ”
She nearly sighed as the burly, savage-featured bartender watched her with chilling politeness. Men were such aggravating creatures at times.
“Perhaps I’m a guest?” She lifted a brow mockingly.
His lips twitched but of course, the smile did not make its appearance. Ian must be instructing them on how to make her life miserable, she decided.
“It’s a men’s club, Miss Mattlaw,” he said coolly before flickering a suggestive glance at the gentleman sitting two stools down, or perhaps hinting at a fellow conspirator.
She turned to survey the other man. Wicked, wicked blue eyes were filled with laughter, while thick black hair framed an outrageously handsome face.
“Ian is such an old fuddy-duddy. ” She rolled her eyes with practiced charm. “Could I convince you to buy me a drink? It seems he’s already effectively tied my hands where such matters are concerned. ”
A black brow lifted slowly as his gaze flickered to her wrists. “Not yet he hasn’t,” he said before turning to Thom. “Give the lady a drink. ”
Thom grimaced good-naturedly. “Long as it’s your ass rather than mine, Cole. ” He turned back to her then. “Hurry with your order, darlin’. My guess is that Matthew has already called Ian. I’ll give him a flat five more minutes before he arrives. ”
“Jack on the rocks then,” she sighed, propping her chin in her hand as she leaned agai
