Thad pointed at the door to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private sanctuary. “Blonde, lovely, stepped out, looked around, went back inside.”
“Wise woman. Would you want to wander among these fools?”
“But what is she doing here?”
“Obviously meeting with the Lyon. No one goes in that room unless she’s there.”
Thad felt like punching his friend. “Butwhy?”
“What does she look like? Besides blonde and beautiful.”
“An angel.”
“Specifics would be nice.”
“A perfect angel. Glorious, perfectly coiffed, golden hair. Taller than most, I think. Dark eyes, probably brown. Flawless skin. Curves, dear God. Round in a way to make a man yearn to take her—”
“As if you would know.”
“Rotter. Just because I do not bed every woman who wanders by like you do.”
“You don’t bedanyof them. Tell me more.”
Thad grinned. “She was wearing this green day gown with a spencer, nice frills around the hem. Sweet little fascinator with matching ribbons and lace.”
George tilted his head to one side, studying Thad. “When did you become a modiste? Are you sure you enjoy the company of women?”
Thad coughed a laugh. “Bastard. I have sisters and a mother who is too busy with my brother, the heir, to escort them. I go. I listen. It can be rather entertaining.”
“She was alone?”
Thad paused, grimacing. “No. There was a man. Also blond. Huge. Like a boulder. Think he could be her husband?”
“Doubtful. Men don’t usually bring their wives to meet with the Lyon. I’d guess a brother.” George took a steadying breath and reached for the first pint again. “Maybe one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s marital traps. Better watch your back. How much do you owe her now?”
“The Lyon? Around two thousand pounds.”
“And the others?”
Thad shrugged, unwilling to admit exactly how much he owed others. “Another three. Maybe four. Various places.”
“Any that might want to collect in some currency other than blunt?”
Thad did not want to be reminded of that possibility either. “I have heard mumblings.”
George gave a low whistle. “Does your father know?”
“Think I would be standing here if he did. He has already threatened to indenture me to some ship owner going to America.”
George’s brows furrowed in concentration as he balanced the first two steins. The gamblers around them grew, watching George closely. “Isn’t six and twenty a bit old for indenture? And a complete waste of that fancy education?”
“Hardly the point. He has a cousin there making blunt enough for a king. Dear father thinks I should learn a trade.”
“Horrifying.”
“My mother thinks so. Fortunately. Of course, Father would not want me to do that here where his friends could be witness to my lack of success. I mentioned trying for a position at Oxford, but that sent him into apoplexy.”
George reached for the third pint. “Thus the move to America. You really should let me pay off the Lyon.”
