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Anwen looked to her, and Marcia nodded. Because, really, what did they know this night other than the fact they’d nearly been abducted, and had instead gone off with… two men and brought to one of the most wicked clubs in London.

Marcia did a sweep for sign of a weapon with which to protect themselves.

Unfastening a haircomb, Faith sent the curls, the jewel heart had been holding in place, tumbling around her shoulders. “I have it.”

“You know how to pick locks?” A wave of giddy relief filled Marcia.

“Of course,” Faith said indignantly, as if she took the greatest offense at having her skills as a thief questioned. “Stand on alert, Anwen.”

The other woman rushed into position, pressing her ear against the door.

As Faith set to work attempting to break into the desk, Marcia did a quick search of the well-appointed room.

Nothing.

Not even a metal poker at the empty hearth.

Fighting her frustration, Marcia went to the red velvet curtains that hung over the window and drew them back to assess the distance to the street below.

Only, she didn’t see the street.

The window overlooked the gaming floor below.

Hope rising in her breast, Marcia pounded on the glass, trying to will the patrons to look up.

Alas, the din of the revelry unfolding upon that floor was so loud it reached the proprietor’s offices, drowning out her attempts at gaining notice.

Nay, the men and handful of ladies present remained fixed on the cards in their hands or the spinning wheels and felt tables.

A wave of hopelessness swept through her, and Marcia stared out at the gaming hell she’d visited not so very long ago when Andrew had escorted her here.

How she wished he were here now. How she wished he’d accompanied her and her friends to the theater, and she hated the tears that threatened, blinking to keep them from falling.

Then she stopped, her gaze on a table of gentlemen playing faro, but it wasn’t the lords whom she fixed on but, rather, the dealer.

The sleight of hand had been so quick that she might have imagined it.

Her own woes forgotten, Marcia tunneled all her attention on the young, scantily clad woman dealing, and Marcia didn’t so much as blink.

There it was again.

She rocked back on her heels.

Why, the proprietor was a cheat.

“Ah-hah!” Faith said, her voice triumphant as she got herself inside the drawer.

Quitting her spot at the door, Anwen rushed to the desk and leaned over. “Have you made any progress?”

“I have,” Faith said, tugging a ledger out. “Do go back to your job as lookout,” she ordered, reading through the book she’d helped herself to. “My goodness,” Faith muttered. “There really are some terrible men in London. The number of gentlemen in debt. Lord Hood. Lord Wingate. Lord Landon. Lord Marlow. Lord…” She paused, and hearing something in her tone, Marcia looked over.

“What?” she asked quietly.

Her friend shook her head and ducked back under the desk.

Marcia headed across the room. “Faith?”

There was a beat of hesitation. “Waters,” her friend said, and then remaining tucked under the desk, she dropped the ledger atop the desk.