The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(29)

When she gave the driver the address, a notorious gentlemen’s domain of King’s Place, St. James, she noted an instantaneous shift in the driver’s manner from respectful to familiarity bordering insolence. Refusing to acknowledge his lascivious leer, she closed the door in his face and directed her gaze out the opposite window. When the coach lurched forward, Diana suspected he meted out his vengeance by aiming for every pothole in the road.

When they finally arrived, she noted his hesitation to assist her down. He offered a black-toothed grin that made her skin crawl. “O’ course, ye can always keep ‘yer tuppence in exchange for a tup.”

Careful to avoid his face, she retrieved the proper fare from her purse and dropped it wordlessly into his hand.

“Suit yerself,” he grumbled, adding, “Uppity whore,” at her departing back.

Already shaken, Diana was unsure what would greet her behind the massive portal of the infamous brothel, but the liveried footman who answered maintained the same wooden countenance as in any well-heeled establishment.

Her second surprise came upon entering the vestibule. She had expected cheap and tawdry, but what greeted her was plush opulence—marble floors, soaring ceilings, elaborate artworks adorning the walls, and expensive furnishings—an effect worthy of royalty. Compared to her surroundings and what she had seen of the exotic Salime, she felt gauche and self-conscious in her drab and inconspicuous clothing.

“Have you an appointment, madam?” the footman asked.

“I do not, but I wish to speak with one of your...er...residents. Her name is Salime.”

“Your name, madam?” he asked.

“I wish to remain anonymous, but you may convey that I am an acquaintance of Lord DeVere. I believe he is a frequent patron here.”

“He is a most honored guest at this establishment,” the footman acknowledged. “If you will be pleased to follow me, I will inquire of the proprietress, Mrs. Hayes, whether Madam Salime is receiving.” He led Diana into a small sitting room done in gilt and soft blue pastel. “Do you care for refreshment?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” she replied nervously, clutching her handkerchief.

“Very well.” He departed with a stiff bow.

After only a few minutes, Diana turned toward the swishing sound of silk. A painted and patched woman of middling years made her entrance with the confident hauteur of a duchess. “I am Mrs. Hayes, the proprietress of this establishment.” She smiled, the white paint on her face accentuating the yellow of her teeth. “I understand you are an acquaintance of my Lord DeVere?”

“Yes,” Diana replied.

“I am, of course, honored to receive any friend of my lord. Is there something special you seek? I have several strapping fellows in my employ who are both well-equipped and eager to satisfy the poor, neglected women of the Ton.”

“My business is with Madam Salime,” Diana said.

Mrs. Hayes gaze narrowed with speculation. “So you are the one.”

“Pardon me?”

“Our Jewel of the East had said there was one who had the potential to capture the elusive viscount. I wonder now what is hidden behind that veil of yours.”

“You may wonder all you like, but my identity is not your concern.”

“Ah, but you seek something from me, do you not? This is a house of both business and pleasure, you understand. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?”

“You wish me to pay you just to speak to her?”

“One hundred guineas per hour for Salime,” the bawd said with an avaricious gleam in her eye.

“But I only need a moment,” Diana protested.

“Salime’s time is exceedingly valuable.”

“So she said,” Diana replied wryly, wondering if she even had enough coin to procure the brief interview she sought. “I have but ten guineas.” She opened her purse.

“That will buy you precisely seven minutes, my dear.”

“Seven minutes?” Diana sighed. “So be it then.” She gave the madam the ten gold coins, and Mrs. Hayes promptly beckoned to the footman. “Jenkins, take her to Salime.”

***

The footman opened the door to a large and exotic room much like DeVere’s private apartments, only in this case, a scantily clad woman reclined on the divan, the stem of a hookah between her teeth. She took a slow pull before casting a lazy gaze toward Diana.

“So you come at last.” Her lip curled with insolence.

“Yes. I have come regarding your proposal,” Diana said stiffly.

“Come.” Salime gestured her to the divan. “You will smoke with me.”

“I don’t smoke,” Diana said. “What is it?”

“Opium,” Salime replied. “It relaxes the body and opens the mind.” She offered Diana the pipe. “You are sadly in need of both.”

Diana scowled.

“You will smoke if you wish to speak with me,” Salime insisted.

“Very well,” Diana snapped, taking in a brisk and choking puff that made her lungs burn and her eyes sting. She threw down the pipe with a glower.

Salime gave her a glassy-eyed smirk. “You must learn patience and to wait for instruction.” She offered the stem to Diana once more. “Slowly, gently, draw it into your lungs as if you inhale the fragrance of a delicate flower.”