Page 64 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
He took a deep breath.
That dress she was wearing made her look delicious, and the fact that he wasn’t the only man in the room who’d noticed made his blood heat even more. He tamped down a hot sweep of possessiveness, even as he glared at a foppish marquis who raised his quizzing glass to his eye and ogled her as she passed him in the doorway.
She was not his. Not yet. He couldn’t make any claim on her until he’d proved who he was, and to do that he had to win that jewel.
He would not fail.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The only experience Ellie had of disreputable gaming hells was from their raucous depictions in the satirical prints displayed in shop windows.
Unlike the elite “gentlemen’s” gaming clubs like White’s and Brooks’s, which catered only to the aristocracy, hells like The Golden Ball in Covent Garden were open to all levels of society.
Ellie couldn’t quite believe she’d agreed to accompany Harry, and she tried not to stare as they ducked into a crowded taproom filled with tables and wooden booths.
The smell of the place was almost overwhelming. The odors of stale beer, hot beef pies, and strong coffee assaulted her nose, along with the dizzying mix of hot, sweaty bodies and unwashed skin unsuccessfully masked by a hundred different perfumes and pomades. It was an assault on the senses, and yet there was a thrilling vibrancy about the place that made her blood sing with excitement.
Or perhaps it was Harry’s presence that had that effect.
The bare wooden floorboards were sticky beneaththe soles of her shoes, and a cacophony of conversation, shouts, and laughter from the men and women crammed into the room made her head spin.
It was nothing like the elegant ballrooms of Mayfair. Boisterous aristocrats who’d tumbled out of the nearby theaters rubbed shoulders with artists and merchants, shopkeepers and pickpockets. The women seemed to be a mixture of tarts and bawdy tradeswomen.
Ellie was glad that the place was so poorly lit. She’d reprised Carlotta’s red curls and gaudy makeup with Daisy’s help, and had opted for a dress in deep purple satin that was only slightly less revealing than the one she’d worn to Willingham’s. Daisy had borrowed it from the costume room at Drury Lane Theatre, and Ellie could quite believe that it was worn by an actress playing a woman of easy virtue.
Harry, for his part, was dressed just as informally. His custom-fitted coats had been replaced by a jacket that had once been expensive but was now showing subtle signs of wear, and his diamond cravat pin had been swapped for a simple gold bar. He looked exactly as he wished to appear: as a member of the gentry or lower aristocracy keen to fritter the night away.
He seemed completely unaffected by the lively chaos, but Ellie’s pulse leapt as he causally draped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer to his side as they pushed through the crowd.
“Beer?” he murmured, then laughed at her expression of disgust. “Maybe not. But I’m not ordering you a bottle of blue ruin. As much as I’d love to see you drunk and disorderly on gin, Miss Law, we need to keep our wits about us tonight.”
She elbowed him in the side and chose to discount the time she, Tess, and Daisy had become utterly inebriatedon stolen brandy when they were younger. “I’ve never been drunk and disorderly in my life.”
“That’s a great pity. I feel sure you’re one of those people who become insatiably amorous when they’re in their cups.”
Ellie snorted. “You think I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you? That I’d lose all restraint and ravish you in an alleyway?”
His eyes flared with mischief as he glanced down at her. “A man can dream.”
Her stomach clenched at the mental image, but she shook her head and looked away.
He ordered a tankard of beer for himself at the bar, then steered them toward the back of the property.
The gaming rooms were only slightly less crowded than the taproom. In one, men sat around a number of wooden tables playing dice and other games of chance. The second room was given over to cards, and men and women crowded round the various games in progress, giving drunken cheers and loud groans of commiseration in reaction to the players’ throws.
Ellie gave a start of surprise and put her lips to Harry’s ear so she could whisper. “Do you see that portly man over there, the one with the voluptuous brunette on his lap?”
Harry nodded.
“That’s Lord Sowerby. He’s a judge, and a friend of my father’s.”
“I’m guessing that charming lady isn’t his wife,” Harry drawled with a grin.
“Definitely not. And that gentleman playing cards in the straw hat is the Earl of Glamorgan.”
At that moment a pretty girl with golden ringlets who was carrying a tray full of pewter tankards stopped atEllie’s elbow and leaned in. “Are you the lady sent by Mr. King?” she murmured.
Ellie nodded, but kept her face turned toward the card tables. “I am. And you must be Kitty. Tess said you’d be able to point out our friend Mr. Blake.”