My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(63)

“You are not in Gin Lane!” Lady Evangeline shoots a hoarse whisper your way like a huntress would an arrow. “Gin Lane is one street over. You are in Harlot’s Row.”

Your eyes widen. To call the street down-at-the-heels would be an insult to heels everywhere. A strong breath exhorted in pleasure could knock over most of the ramshackle structures, which makes it all the more wondrous that the symphony of sin being conducted all around you in houses of ill repute (and doorways of ill repute, and street corners of ill repute, and, from what you can tell, at least one lamppost of ill repute) does not topple the whole of Harlot’s Row.

But on the corner of this street of sin stands a structure as grand and handsome as any you have ever seen in the better addresses of London. It drips with gold filigree that, you are shocked to notice, has not been chipped off and traded by the lowlier denizens of the street.

“It is the prize of Harlot’s Row,” Lady Evangeline whispers, as if in answer to your silent thoughts. “It is sought after by the profanely refined, honored by the downtrodden and vice-working, and thoroughly reviled by the members of high society—”

“—when they aren’t in attendance?” you finish for her.





Lady Evangeline smiles in reply. “Welcome to the Rose & the Smoke,” she says, before turning her attention to her driver. “Hugo, do tell Madam Crosby that I am here.”

“Hugo does not need to,” says a voice smooth as blue silk.

Forgetting your sense of decorum, even on Harlot’s Row, you take in the owner of the voice: a woman so timelessly handsome and disarmingly calm that she looks as though she is standing in front of Buckingham Palace instead of a house of wantonness. “News of your carriage travels well before you, Lady Evangeline,” the silken voice continues.

“Madam Crosby!” Lady Evangeline beams.

“It has been too long, Evangeline,” Madam Crosby says, smiling in kind.

You shiver. The night has a strange quality, one that you are no longer entirely certain of. Still, you like it. You think.

Lady Evangeline links her arm in yours. Together, you ascend the staircase into the den of sin.





Off you go to this page.





You are unsure how to broach this subject without looking like a fool…but broach it you must.

“L-Lady Evangeline,” you stammer, “I think something might be wrong. I can’t exactly say why, I just have a bad feeling.”

She nods sagely. “Quite right. Always trust your instincts. Doing so has saved my skin on several occasions.”

With that Lady Evangeline places a foot on the desk and swings up her skirts, revealing a shapely leg with a most well-turned ankle and…a small gold pistol tucked in her garter. She pulls out the pistol, straightens her skirts, and beckons you to follow her out of the room. You creep behind as quietly as possible.

The eerie silence persists as you make your way down the corridor. At the doorway to the main hall, she pauses, puts a finger over her mouth, and strides into the room with pistol aimed.

“Oh, hello, gentlemen,” you hear her say to the sound of desperate scrambling. “I do hope I haven’t disturbed you. Farouk, is it?”

Your eyes widen, your heart races, yet somehow you find yourself walking through the doorway as if in a trance.

There, in the great hall, Farouk and three other heavyset men you don’t recognize are backing out the main entrance, their own weapons pointed at Lady Evangeline.

“To some, yes,” snarls Farouk, his scarf now pulled back to reveal a face as beautiful and harshly unforgiving as the Sahara. “But my true name is Fabien. Fabien de Mangepoussey.”

Lady Evangeline scoffs. “And what exactly are you playing at, Fabien?”

He smiles mirthlessly. “The imbécile was too preoccupied with his foolish antiques to notice I have been working for another this whole time.”

To your horror, you see Kamal slumped lifelessly on the floor.

After what feels like a time period that could have spanned the Middle Kingdom, the ruffians leave. Lady Evangeline rushes to the door as you run to aid poor Kamal.

“Please don’t be dead, oh please don’t be dead,” you whisper under your breath as you lift his bleeding head onto your lap.

To your intense relief, Kamal’s soulful brown eyes flicker open.

“An angel…am I dead?” he says dreamily. You blush.

“Oh Kamal, I do commend you for managing to be charming even after being knocked unconscious,” Lady Evangeline quips. “But we still need to get you medical assistance immediately. Are there any servants here who are not secretly nefarious villains?”

“My lady, I am so sorry, I had no idea he was…,” Kamal’s voice trails off.

Lady Evangeline wipes his face with a handkerchief retrieved from her heaving bosom. “This is Delphine’s work again. She must be stopped!”

“Oh no, my lady!” gasps Kamal from your lap. “Delphine St. Croix is dangerous, and the road to her is fraught with peril!”

“Exactly. My favorite type of road.” Evangeline smirks. “Still, I would have been content to leave the foolish woman in peace had she not come after my friends.” At that her spine straightens, and a beam from a nearby window, as if sent from heaven, suddenly illuminates her fierce golden beauty. Your jaw drops in desire and admiration.