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“What is this place?” Faith asked in her always louder-than-average whisper.

“Forbidden Pleasures,” Marcia murmured into her friend’s ear.

The other woman looked upon it with a new interest. “This is that club? I have heard of it and did wonder.” A smile formed on Faith’s narrow lips. “So there is something good to come out of this night, isn’t there?”

“That is one way of—”

“Will you two stop your jabbering until we’re inside?” Mr. Red ordered Mr. Tavish, who’d been driving the carriage, assisted a now conscious Davies along. They made their way down a long alleyway that separated the establishment from the building beside it.

The pit of dread in her belly grew to the size of a boulder as he ushered them around back and through a different entrance to the club.

What if she’d traded one assailant… for another? What if Mr. Red was in fact in cahoots with the man who’d struck she and Faith and…

Marcia fought to restrain the rapid spiraling panic.

Entering through the front door would have made this meeting, whatever this meeting was, less ominous. Because then they’d have been surrounded by lords and ladies in the middle of their wicked game play. As it was, no one knew that she, Faith, and Anwen had been kidnapped. Nay, their families, her husband, all expected they were on their way to the theater, rather than here, about to face certain doom.

Trying to order her rapidly clamoring thoughts, Marcia brought her shoulders back and concentrated on drawing smooth, even breaths, attempting to calm herself.

They reached the kitchens, and a handful of men, assembled around a long wooden table, cups of coffee in their large hands, stopped their conversation and looked over the trio of friends.

“DuMond is not going to be happy,” one of the men drawled.

The pair of men flanking him broke out into laughter.

Mr. Red went even redder in the cheeks. “Wot? Came upon them being ’napped. Couldn’t just leave Waters’s viscountess, Flynn.”

“It is not Mr. Red’s fault,” Anwen insisted. “We insisted on coming.”

Faith shot an elbow into her friend’s side and glared at her. “Because we are each Lady Waters.” She gritted out that reminder in Anwen’s direction.

The other woman widened her eyes as her mistake was pointed out.

Anwen cleared her throat. “Er, yes, because we are all the viscountess. Isn’t that right, Marcia?”

“Yes,” Marcia said, with Faith answering a fraction of a second later.

The five men remained silent and then burst out laughing.

“Get them abovestairs,” Flynn said between his great guffaws of amusement.

Marcia and her friends fell into step once more as they followed their dark-haired captor through narrow, winding hall after narrow, winding hall and up a flight of stairs and down another, until she was certain they were being walked in a circle.

At last, they arrived at a room.

Mr. Red reached past them and pressed the door handle.

Marcia lingered at the entryway, doing a quick sweep of the masculine rooms that were empty.

“Wait in there,” he said, and Marcia jumped, filing in with her friends joining her. “Sit!” he spoke in those brusque, rough tones, and they immediately fell into the folds of a surprisingly luxuriant, leather button sofa. “Wait here, and don’t touch anything,” he muttered and then shut the door behind him.

The moment he’d gone, restless, Marcia stood and wandered around the rooms they’d been escorted to.

Faith sprang to her feet and made a beeline for the desk.

“He said to sit,” Anwen pointed out in a whisper.

“Yes,” Faith said. “As in, Mr. Red… who we think is harmless. But it would do well to be sure we know who we are dealing with.” Faith set to work tugging at drawers. Each one was locked. “Isn’t that right, Marcia?”