Page 38 of A Much Maligned Miss

“It’s a gin palace,” Gervaise explained.

“A what?” She turned her head to look at him.

“A gin palace. We aim to bring the luxury of an exclusive gentleman’s club to the masses.”

“A gentleman’s club?” she echoed.

“With all the fittings and fixtures. No expense spared.”

“And anyone can be admitted through your doors?”

“Any paying customer,” he agreed.

“Men or women?” she persisted. He nodded. “Rich or poor?”

“Precisely.”

Caroline tipped her head. “I’ve never been inside a gentleman’s club,” she observed.

“You don’t say.”

Her smile flashed out. “What are they like?”

“Want to find out?”

She nodded, eyes gleaming. “Yes, please, Gervaise.” Her enthusiasm amused him. Whoever would have thought that Miss Halperston would be so intrigued about such things?

He rapped the roof of the cab. “Set us down here, driver.”

“This place ain’t open yet, guv,” the cabbie protested. “And they ain’t offering room and board from what I’ve heard.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Gervaise responded. “We know the owners.” The cab halted and they clambered out, passing cases and kittens between the two of them until they stood on the pavement outside the lit-up gin palace.

Gervaise knocked vigorously on the door. “Ralph! Are you in there? Let us in.”

A hulking brute appeared in the doorway, in shirtsleeves with his collar open at his thick neck. “Sling your ’ook,” he said contemptuously. “We ain’t open yet.”

He felt Caroline shrink into his side. “Who the hell are you?” Gervaise asked loudly, looking him and down. No doubt one of Ralph’s less reputable acquaintances. He looked like an ugly customer, truth to tell. “Where’s Carstairs?”

The other man paused, his oddly colorless eyes passing over him. “You know the boss?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

“Gervaise?” an excited voice hailed him. “Is that you? At last! Out of the way, Jeb. This is my partner and co-owner, Lord Atherton.”

Jeb fell back at once, hands raised. “No offence intended, I’m sure.”

Gervaise swept past him, towing Caroline, still clutching the cats. “Make yourself useful and fetch our bags in,” he said dismissively. The other man’s eyes narrowed but he stepped outside to fetch their luggage all the same.

“How are you, Ralph?” Gervaise asked as his friend hurried over to catch his hand in his, pumping it enthusiastically up and down. “It’s been months.”

“Indeed, it has,” Ralph agreed. “Too long! You’ll see things have changed a good deal.” His chest swelled with pride, and he flung out an arm in an expansive gesture.

Gervaise spared the large room a sweeping glance and frowned. He had expected it to be smart but not to see luxury on this scale. Everywhere he looked were glazed tiles, etched mirrors, and stained glass. No wonder Ralph had needed to take on an additional investor. He had clearly gone way over budget.

Ralph, he noticed, was now gazing at Caroline with a faint pucker between his brows. Gervaise turned abruptly away from contemplating the interior to introduce her. “This is my companion,” he said smoothly, and then hesitated. “Miss—er—Pomfrey. Caroline, this is my old friend Ralph Carstairs. He and I own The Citadel together.”

Ralph extended a hand and pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Miss Pomfrey,” he said, peering at her. “Pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Gervaise’s and all that.”