Page 11 of The Duke and the Darkness

He walked inside without bothering to knock.

The entry hall was crowded with men and women of all ages and manner of dress and undress, and as usual, it took a moment for him to sort through those who were for purchase and those eager to spend their coin. Madame Pierre’s was one of the few houses in London that catered to men and women alike without discrimination. As long as the patron could pay in advance, that is. A few special gentlemen she serviced herself in the upstairs rooms, each space individually decorated after a European city. Devlin had never partaken here himself, but he’d heard from Lucien Grenier that the gladiator equipment in the Rome Room made for an intriguing evening.

“Dartmoor.” A breathy voice greeted him as Madame Pierre glided down the hallway from the back of the house. The loose flowing satin robe she wore gave proof she’d been enjoying herself tonight, so did the red puffiness of her lips and the slight flush to her cheeks. She was well into her fourth decade, yet she still possessed the unparalleled—if slightly hard-won—beauty of any society lady in her twenties, despite the silver tint of her long hair that fell freely around her shoulders. “What brings a man like you to my humble establishment?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Well, you’vefoundsomeone,” she corrected in a low purr as she trailed her hand down his chest. “I’ve been rather busytonight being a good hostess, but I think I can accommodate you.”

He was certain of it. He grabbed her wrist just as her hand reached his breeches. “Where’s Crewe?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “Aménage à trois? Why, Dartmoor, you surprise me!”

“Where is Crewe?” he repeated sternly, setting her away. He had no patience for games tonight.

She sniffed peevishly as she tightened the belt of her satin dressing gown. Unlike the rest of the women who worked here, who made do in corsets and drawers, she wore a robe and slippers. Not because their undress was particularly alluring, but because being half-naked made it more difficult for the ladies to run away before they’d paid Madame their monthly tallies for room, board, and medical examinations against the pox, by a doctor who often took his fees in the form of a night in the Paris Room.

“You know I never reveal the identities of my guests.” She gestured toward the drawing room, where two middle-aged ladies were admiring a half-naked young man and where a bald gentleman was bouncing a girl on his knee. “But come inside for a drink, and we can discuss—”

Enough.“Crewe!” he bellowed and charged up the stairs. “Crewe, where the hell are you?”

With a furious glare, she raced past him and blocked him from going any further. “If you don’t calm down, I will have no choice but to call for help.” She waved a hand toward the downstairs hall. “The magistrate often enjoys the entertainments here.”

“And I’m a goddamned duke,” he growled. “He can’t touch me.” Pulling rank was the only thing that blasted title was good for. He shoved past her to continue his hunt for Crewe.

“I will call the captain of the night guard!” she threatened weakly as she followed him onto the first-floor landing. “He’s here right now—”

“Good.” He charged down the hallway to begin his search room by room. “Then I’ll introduce myself when I come across him.”

He flung open the first door. The prostitute inside screamed at being startled, and angry shouts came from the man between her legs. He wasn’t Crewe.

“Stop this right now!”

“Then tell me where Grenier is.” Leaving the door open, he stormed across the hall. “I know he’s here somewhere.”

“How do you know he’s—”

He shot her a contemptuous look as if she were daft as a bedlamite, then yanked open a second door to reveal two women being watched by a man while they undressed each other. Only the gentleman seemed surprised that they now had a larger audience.

He moved on, shoving open a third door to find a fat old man being ridden like a horse around the room on his hands and knees by a prostitute perched on his back, completely naked except for a pair of spurs and the riding crop she slapped at his bare buttocks.

Devlin paused, stunned.

When the man looked up and realized Devlin was there, his eyes grew wide, but he was unable to shout around the bit in his mouth.

“Bishop.” Devlin nodded apologetically and closed the door.

He bellowed for Crewe again and headed for the next room.

“Stop this!” Madame slid herself between him and the door, wedging her body into the frame. “You are ruining my business!”

He leaned down, bringing his face even with hers, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his lips. Shetrembled.Good.He’d learned from Titus that cold control could be just as intimidating as physical threats.

“I will keep ruining it,” he said quietly so she had to listen hard to hear him, spreading more fear through her than if he’d yelled, “until you tell me where I can find Crewe.” When she hesitated, he leveled his first true threat. “It won’t stop tonight, either. In the morning, I will go to the borough council and have your business shut down under the Disorderly Houses Act, and you and your employees will be transported to Australia. I’m a duke, remember? They’ll do whatever I ask.”

Her eyes flared with defeat. She nodded toward the stairs and ground out reluctantly, “Crewe is in Venice.”

“Of course, he is,” Devlin muttered, heading toward the stairs and the second floor.