Page 98 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

Floyd crossed his.

“Philip!” I called out.

Floyd swore under his breath. “If Father finds out, I won’t take the blame.”

“He won’t find out.”

I smiled at a rather confused looking Philip as he held the front door open for us.

We caught a cab to a very respectable looking townhouse with a very disreputable looking man guarding the door. He could best be described as a bull crossed with a rat, all thin lips and sharp nose with a bulging forehead and muscles where his neck should be. He greeted Floyd and didn’t bat an eyelid at me. He probably assumed I was Floyd’s mistress.

A footman took our coats in the vestibule and directed us to the drawing room. Even if he hadn’t pointed the way, I would have found it by following the smoky haze.

The drawing room was the size of the Mayfair’s smaller sitting room with three card tables set up in the middle. Mismatched sofas and armchairs were arranged around the perimeter. No two were alike. Some were upholstered in pastels and made in the delicate Queen Anne style, whereas others were modern and upholstered in dark fabrics. The curtains were dark too and the carpet thick, deadening our footfalls. No paintings hung on the walls, and the only items on the occasional tables were glasses and ash trays. Discreet footmen wove between the tables, refilling empty glasses.

Floyd gripped my elbow. “Don’t make eye contact and don’t speak. Understand? Not a word to anyone.”

I had no intention of striking up a conversation. Most of the men were too interested in the card games to notice a newcomer anyway. Those seated on the sofas or armchairs had a woman on their lap or draped over their shoulder. Considering the bodice of my evening gown was considerably higher than theirs, I doubted I would garner much interest from that quarter.

Floyd swore under his breath. “What’s he doing here again?”

I followed his gaze to Jonathon, standing behind a seated man at one of the tables. Then the seated man looked up and my stomach lurched.

I’d half expected Harry to be here, but even so, seeing him quickened my blood. I wasn’t sure why. I knew a lecture would be forthcoming.

He finished his game and rose, scooping up several tokens and pocketing them. He and Jonathon strode towards us. Jonathon looked shocked to see me.

Harry looked as welcoming as an ice-cold bath. “Why did you bring her?” he growled at Floyd.

“Good evening to you too, Harry,” I said. “Don’t blame Floyd. I insisted, and you know how I am when I insist.”

Harry’s jaw firmed. “Whatever she threatened to do if you didn’t bring her, she won’t follow through with it. Trust me. Take her home now, or I will.”

I expected Floyd to take offence at being ordered by a man he considered his inferior, but he simply sighed so heavily I thought he’d deflate altogether.

Jonathon conformed to type, however. “Don’t tell him what to do, Armitage. You’re only here because Floyd got you in. He can get you thrown out just as easily. As can I.”

Harry ignored him, but I couldn’t let such rudeness slide without comment. “He’s only here to help Floyd.”

“Some help he’s been so far.”

A slim man dressed in a dove-gray tailcoat over a crimson silk waistcoat clapped Floyd on the shoulder. A skull ring with rubies for eyes flashed in the low light. The man’s eyes were the palest blue and focused on me. “She’s a cut above your usual, Bainbridge.”

“She’s my cousin,” Floyd said, defensively.

The man looked me up and down. “Introduce us.”

“Cleopatra Fox, this is Dutch.”

I suppressed my shiver as he took my hand and kissed it.

Despite his slight build and eccentric dress sense, there was something sinister about him. It could be that he had ice for eyes or it could be that his reputation preceded him. I couldn’t withdraw my hand fast enough.

He smiled at that. It was slick and humorless.

“Come, gentlemen. Play!” He indicated empty seats at one of the tables with a flourish of his hand.

“I’ll sit this one out,” Floyd said.