Giving thanks, she slipped into the building, remaining beneath the notice of the other men milling about the yard. Behind her, the doorway clicked closed.
“Snug? Snug! Please tell me that tiresome woman has finally arri—”
Instinctively, Eliza raised her face toward the woman speaking from the upper landing.
“Oh! It’s you! My apologies!”
The woman slapped the hand she’d been waving over her mouth and interrupted herself with a trill of stifled laughter.
“To be fair, your cloak looks exactly like Snug’s but, well, that’s neither here nor there, is it?” She shook her head. “Clever me! I thought you might have used the mews entrance. That’s why I came down. A word of advice, though. Next time, you must come through the ladies’ entry, just as if you were here for thegaming. I should know. I’ve been using the Den’s upper rooms for—”
A slow, sly smile spread her lips.
“Never you mind how long! Let’s just say I have learned that it’s best to keep your manner of doing things usual-like. No matter how little you believe the mistake, trouble always follows. Come on, silly! Why haven’t you started up the stairs? I should think you’d be excited. Hurry! We haven’t much time.”
Eliza took a deep breath on behalf of the strange woman who did not appear to need one. She glanced over her shoulder at the door before swiveling back. The woman wasn’t clad like a servant. She’d pretty, blonde hair worn shockingly loose about her shoulders. Diamond drop earrings glittered below her ears.
“Hurry!” the woman repeated urgently. “I said I’d do Hermia a favor and keep an eye out for you. But I’d like to get back to my own—” She interrupted herself with a giggle. “Well, I don’t have to explain to you, do I?”
Doubtless, she’d mistaken Eliza for someone else. But every step Eliza took would draw her deeper into the Den and closer to her aim.
What would a man do?
A man would seize the opportunity and bend it to his advantage!
She climbed the stairs, holding her head high.
“As I said,” the woman continued, “I’ve my own, ah, conversation, I must get back to. I understand you are to go in first. If you don’t mind waiting alone, I’d—”
“Perhaps,” Eliza cut in, “you could take me to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon before—” Before what?
“You may rest assured the proprietress has already arranged everything just as you asked.” The woman cast a frown over her shoulder. “Why do you think the Black Widow is so well-trusted? Every detail of every experience is unique to the personwho requested the experience. Or”—she cupped a hand over her mouth and lowered her voice—“so Hermia let slip. Of course, I had always assumed I wasn’t the only one who’d made this sort of arrangement.”
“Yes, of course.” Eliza felt sure she didn’t want to know what kind of arrangement. “However, if you could just take me to meet her—”
“She won’t have time for you now. The Den is positively mobbed tonight. That’s why Hermia isn’t here. She was called downstairs after some sort of incident—heaven knows what, I didn’t dare ask! Not that one ever asks questions in the Lyon’s Den. Besides, I was in such a fright I’d miss you and you’d go wandering off somewhere you shouldn’t!”
They stopped beside a door left slightly ajar.
“Now where did I put that key?” She poked around in a pocket tied at her waist before raising her finger, and then, with a triumphant yelp, fished out the key from her bosom, and then she dropped the key into Eliza’s hand. “Enjoy! Oh, yes! And Hermia said to tell you not to forget to don the blindfold. How exciting! Naughty little thing, aren’t you?” She wiggled her fingers in the air as she turned. “Have a good time!”
She made her way down the corridor before disappearing into another room, with a, “You’re finally awake, I see,” spoken in saucy tones to someone within. A moment later, her high-pitched, happy squeal was interrupted by a low, male murmur.
Well.
Eliza glanced down the corridor, and then back at the door. Should she enter? Or should she go in search of Mrs. Dove-Lyon straightaway?
She pushed the door wide. The damp corridor gave way to hints of warmth within, and the promise of sweet relief, an end to her bone-deep chill. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her and glanced about dubiously.
A bed swathed in brocade curtains the color of rich red wine dominated the room. A darkened corner to her right held two wooden chairs and a washstand. And while the fireplace, bright with flame, had been set into what she judged to be an outer wall, the chamber did not have a single window, dresser, or cupboard.
This was not a space styled for living or for sleeping.
This was a secluded, private area.
Perhaps the Lyon’s Den hadn’t been such a wonderful idea after all. She’d known about the gaming, of course. And she’d known that ladies were welcome, too. But, apparently, not just to gamble.
She should leave.
