The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(122)
Dell thought of the dark-haired young woman who stubbornly awaited his return in his parlor. If her sister looked like that one, she would likely fetch a hefty price. And if she were a virgin…
Still, Dell doubted this was the Chadwick girl’s fate. Madam Pendragon was an extremely discerning businesswoman, who was unlikely to engage in such a high-risk venture.
He had been to Pendragon’s Pleasure House multiple times. His line of work often required the information only a well-connected madam could provide. Pendragon’s position gave her access to her clients’ most guarded personal secrets. Her brothel was one of the most elite in town and catered to the more specific and deviant tastes of London’s gentlemen.
He considered taking the time to change his appearance.
Pendragon knew him as Robert French, a charming and reckless young man who had gathered information for Nightshade when he had assisted the madam with a very sensitive matter a few years ago. A matter that was difficult to repay by monetary means alone. As such, she could occasionally be persuaded to provide French with helpful information on various investigations, as long as it did not break any of the strict rules of discretion she maintained for her clients.
Pendragon would not be so forthcoming with Mr. Black, whom she had never met, but he could not afford to waste time in changing personas just now.
Dell needed an angle. And fast.
Five
Morley drew the carriage to a stop across the street from the common-enough brick building that housed the elite brothel. Dell looked out the window and saw a group of gentlemen staggering down the street a short distance away. Based on their fancy togs and ribald comments, their intended destination was not difficult to assume.
Perfect.
Dell exited his carriage in a sudden lurch then tripped over his own feet, nearly sprawling into the road. He righted himself just in time to save his face from the pavement. He stumbled and swayed his way to the brothel’s front door. His coat was askew, and his eyes drooped blearily. Bursting through the front door, he collided with Pendragon’s doorman, a beefy fellow who served well as an all-around keeper of the peace.
Slapping a sloppy grin on his face, Dell patted the man’s shoulder as he righted himself.
“’Ello, good sir. I hope I’ve made it to the right place,” he exclaimed jovially.
“That depends on what you seek.”
Dell continued to sway precariously.
“Pleasure. Beauty.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A lovely friend with whom to while away the hours.”
“Have you a sponsor?”
“Sponsor? I’ve got plenty of coin,” Dell replied, patting at his coat pocket, making sure the man heard the jingle of coins inside.
The doorman shook his head. “You must have a sponsor, or you go no farther.”
Dell scrunched his face into an expression of exaggerated distress. “Well, damn me.”
Perfectly timed, the fine-dressed gentlemen from the street pushed in through the door behind Dell, causing a momentary ruckus as they filtered through the foyer and into the drawing room beyond. They were all obviously familiar with the place and must have been known by the doorman as he nodded them through without concern.
As they passed, Dell flicked a quick and assessing glance at each of them, looking for one who would welcome his offer. He knew the one in an instant and acted without hesitation. As the man with ruddy ears and bloodshot eyes stepped past him, Dell gave him a friendly nudge of his shoulder.
“’Ello, my good man. It seems I’m in need of a sponsor. Be a mate, would ya?”
The gentleman was several years older than Dell, but about the same age as Mr. Black. He narrowed his eyes to look at him, though Dell doubted it helped him to see any better, considering he was about as drunk as Dell was pretending to be.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Black, and I’ve got enough gold in my purse to buy us a good bottle of scotch once we get into that room.” He pointed in the direction of the drawing room.
The other man lit up with a wide grin as he threw his arm around Dell’s shoulders. “Well, all right then, consider yourself sponsored, Mr. Black. What shall we toast to?”
The doorman stepped forward. “You do understand the consequences if there is any trouble?” he asked solemnly of Mr. Black’s new best mate.
“Of course I do,” the gentleman replied breezily, waving off the doorman’s concerns. “You’ve never had a problem with anyone else I’ve sponsored.”
After another brief hesitation, the doorman stepped aside. “Of course, Your Grace. Enjoy your evening.”
“Always do,” the apparent duke replied as he propelled them both into the drawing room.
Robert French always asked to speak with Pendragon privately, bypassing the common areas. But Dell didn’t want to speak with the mistress this evening. He needed a chatty girl with just enough information.
Stumbling into the dimly lit room with a goofy grin on his face, Dell glanced about.
Pendragon’s drawing room was done up in Grecian-themed decor. A large, vividly painted mural covered one wall. It was a dreamy scene depicting several woodland nymphs being pleasured by the attentions of a randy satyr. The chandelier hanging from the center of the room was sparsely lit, providing just enough light to cast a golden glow through the multifaceted crystals that comprised its structure. Chaises and sofas filled the space, with privacy curtains placed strategically about to create little arbors for couples to retire to. Girls, dressed in frothy, Grecian-style creations that revealed more flesh than they concealed, wandered about with wine or sat cuddling with gentlemen. A voluptuous woman danced provocatively on a makeshift stage in the center of the room, while another woman stood nearby singing a seductive tune.