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No females except for serving maids ever passed through this doorway.
Did it give the gentlemen a feeling of superiority every time they entered their hallowed halls, free from feminine interference?
Nob-headed nonsense!
Hoarding knowledge for the consumption of only one sex was the greatest folly, and she was going to prove it to Ravenwood, and the other pompous lords, all puffed up with pride and prejudice.
She wasn’t just going to sneak through their precious door... she was going to blast the entire thing off its hinges.
She would prove that females were not inherently inferior to males. That women of vision and power had shaped history and would continue to do so.
Realizing her gait had taken on a militant cadence, she slowed her steps to an indolent amble befitting Mr. Pomeroy, bored dandy and rake-about-Town.
After climbing a semi-circular staircase, the porter led her to the meeting room and seated her in the backmost row of benches that lined the walls. The meeting hadn’t yet begun and a loud hum of conversation reverberated in the spacious room.
She noticed Ravenwood immediately—he was sprawled in a chair at the foot of the central table that must be reserved for titled members.
She had a habit of looking for him in every room she entered as her frame of reference.
If he was in the room it meant a public showdown—hackles raised and witty retorts and barbs at the ready.
Daniel, her fun-loving childhood friend, had become a rogue known for hunting beautiful women in England, and treasures abroad, amassing both amours and antiquities as nothing more than trophies.
Once upon a long-lost summer they’d dreamt of traveling the world together and making important archaeological discoveries.
What a cartload of steaming shite.
He’d betrayed her. And now his methods for hunting antiquities were as wildly unscrupulous as hers were rigidly ethical. She studied ancient cultures, she never stole their accomplishments. She surrendered any artifacts she discovered to the government of the country where she made the discovery for further study and display.
When she brought a small token back to England with her, she purchased it for a fair price through the proper channels and donated it to the British Museum for public display.
As far as she could tell, Ravenwood spent most of his time drowning in drink and lounging about instead of practicing any actual archaeology. He simply purchased whatever treasure he desired from the underworld. And then he kept the priceless antiquities locked away in his private collection. For his eyes only.
Anger swelled, nearly propelling her toward him. Their constant rivalry kept the scandal sheets in business.
Lady Danger versus the Rogue Duke.
A public war of the sexes that usually devolved into cynical laughter on his side and shouted epithets and smashed porcelain on hers.
She did like giving him a sharp and biting piece of her mind every time she saw him.
But not today.
There would be no warfare today.
Stay seated. Keep your blade holstered. Don’t call attention to yourself. Look anywhere else in the room but at Ravenwood.
Study the oil lamps and candles spilling warm light over the books and artifacts arranged along the central table. Peruse the bust of George the Third presiding over the mantel.
Pretend to admire the Tudor tapestry woven in vibrant reds and blues hanging on the wall.
Don’t noticehim.
Don’t notice that his eyes were the same color as the candle flames reflecting in polished oak. Pay no attention to the way the snowfall of his cravat served as a contrast to his tanned skin and the angular lines of his handsome face.
Perish the thought that his athletic frame seemed to have grown even more athletic about the shoulders and arms since she’d seen him last.
What did the infuriating man do, row the length of the Thames every day? His powerfully sculpted physique didn’t fit with his indolent reputation.
