Rogue in Red Velvet by Lynne Connolly Page B

Alex bowed over one. Chicken skin covering the skeleton. He straightened and examined his hostess with experienced eyes. Good imitation Brussels lace but since lace was the most expensive part of an ensemble bar the jewelry, he’d forgive her that. A slight edge of crudity was evidenced in her clothes, although they appeared reasonable. Or maybe he would think that of anyone who ran a house like this. No, he shouldn’t blame her. She might be an innocent party in all this.
    Who was he trying to fool? He certainly didn’t fool himself. She must know. Had she a crop of drugged virgins from the country? It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened in the Garden; many men had depraved tastes the people here in these establishments were only too pleased to cater to.
    “My lord, I’m delighted to see you here tonight.”
    “Dankworth assured me of a good seat,” he murmured and she smiled broadly in response, almost cracking her heavy maquillage. “You know who I am?”
    “Who but a lord could dress in such a refined fashion and with such excellent taste?” The woman spoke like a Londoner trying to talk like his people. Too refined, or refained , as she pronounced it, to be real. She enunciated every word carefully, every syllable precise and clipped. In other circumstances, he might have found it amusing but he was so far from being amused tonight that he thought he might never laugh again.
    “Very perceptive, madam. Your name, Dankworth says, is Mrs. Cratchitt?”
    “Just so, sir.”
    “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” The woman, who must have been in her fifties by the look of her, gave Alex a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes and a grin that made him shudder. He’d known good-looking fifty-year-olds, but Cratchitt wasn’t one of them.
    Seeing a creature of Cratchitt’s age simper gave Alex shivers and not the good kind. “I’m not alone in this venture, my lord. I have powerful backers. I hope you will visit us often. We offer the discerning gentleman a measure of something he will not find elsewhere.”
    People in these houses needed considerable outlay to set up in this way. So somebody or several people with money to spare had helped her. Alex filed the information away in case he needed it later.
    “You have girls fresh to the trade upstairs, I heard?” He hadn’t, but it was a reasonable guess.
    “Indeed we do, sir. They are eager to enter their new profession. I have girls fresh from the country.” And other parts of London, most likely. She leered. “Virgins, my lord. The auctioneer knows the value of his charges. We have rooms available to enjoy your purchases any way you wish, equipped with a variety of playthings.”
    The house had previously been a notorious House of Correction, which had moved to larger premises on the other side of the square after public demand led to overcrowding. Mother Dawkins had complained when the screams grew too loud but they’d rubbed along well enough for the most part. Perhaps they’d left some items behind.
    He forced a smile. “It sounds charming. And how do we pay for our purchases?”
    Her crimson-bedaubed mouth turned down at the corners. “We ask for a note of hand for the auction, my lord, or valuables. After that, you may use credit up to a certain value, to be redeemed at the end of the month.”
    “At a good rate of interest, I presume?”
    “Naturally, my lord.”
    He waved his hand negligently. “It’s acceptable.”
    The bully came forward to take him upstairs. Alex couldn’t hope to take these men on his own. He could try but he had a few other tactics to use first. And pockets full of guineas. He’d tried to get into the house earlier in the day in the hope of getting Connie out before the auction, if she was there at all, but it was barred tight and a maid had yelled out of a window for him to come back tonight. He had no choice but to play it Dankworth’s way.
    Up to a point.
    Alex’s heart sank when he entered