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L ady Alice Masterson stared at the partially filled canvas and evaluated the scene of Bacchus and Ariadne.

The rendering, though incomplete at this moment, was a good one.

Evocative. Colorful. Bacchus at the center, surrounded by a harem of nubile nude beauties, all vying for his attention and affection, and all bestowing their touch and their mouths on various parts of his broadly formed, muscular body.

It was the centerpiece of the main suites rented and inhabited by patrons of the Devil’s Den, who called this gaming establishment home.

This was the hour when noblemen were all slumbering off their drunken revelry from the night and early morn before.

There was no risk of discovery for her here.

These quarters had been closed off and were being newly made over.

It was safe. No one here would discover she was the respectable Marquess of Exmoor’s sister.

Not that discovery was something she’d come to fear for herself.

Her, a polite lady, living in a place such as this was an incongruity that wouldn’t make sense to a gentleman.

They wouldn’t see a lady here because it would never cross their mind that one from a prestigious, respectable family would ever dare be here.

Still, she didn’t worry for herself, but for her brother, sisters, mother, and her niece and nephew.

It was why she’d lobbed off her blonde curls and kept her hair boy-length short.

She could be any street urchin or nameless maid.

Distracted from the artwork before her by worries about her family and any discovery that should be made, she thrust those thoughts aside.

She hadn’t worried about such matters in a long while.

It'd taken years without whispers or mentions or hints of speculation about where she’d gone and what she’d done, before her dread had eased.

It was only when letters arrived from her brother, the latest of which had come yesterday morning, that she began being distracted. It was why she wasn’t working.

God love her big brother, Wynn, the Marquess of Exmoor.

There wasn’t a more loyal, loving brother in all of England.

Even if his sister wasn’t deserving of that devotion, she would do anything for him and their family, which was why she’d left.

She just wished he’d stop writing and trying to get her to come back to the fold of the family.

Alice grimaced.

My God, did he truly think she would return when their sister made her Come Out, or that she would dare risk Elsbeth’s debut?

Because when society saw Alice, they’d be reminded all over again that there’d been another Masterson sister.

Now, they believed she was just a spinster living in the country.

Spinsters were boring. They were uninteresting, and they were forgotten.

The minute Alice was resurrected from the dormant corner of people’s minds, she’d have to start all over again, getting them to forget her.

If Alice rejoined the ton , it would be ruinous for Elsbeth.

As for Alice, she’d been ruined long ago. She’d been selfish enough before, believing herself in love, and she’d made the worst mistake. She was the one paying the price of atonement, and she’d be damned if Elspeth or anyone else did, too.

“You have been looking at that painting for a lifetime. You going to finish it?”

She cast an amused, playful look back at Addien.

Everyone here at the club called the young woman “Snap”, and given the maid’s short fuse, well it was an ideal nickname.

Addien kept everyone at bay. But for some reason, when she’d met Alice, she’d taken a liking to her.

The proud woman seemed to recognize on sight that Alice wished to keep a low profile here at The Devil’s Den.

Not because she thought she was better. Rather because the fewer people who saw her, the better off she was. In that, she and Addien were alike.

Alice looked at the painting as the other woman saw it. “It looks remarkably like all the other ones I’ve done.” A single curl fell over Alice’s right eye, and she blew the strand back.

“Nah.” Addien hitched herself up onto the worktable containing Alice’s art supplies. “This one’s even more vulgar.” Addien flashed a naughty smile. “Dynevor is going to love it.”

The Earl of Dynevor, as in one of Alice’s employers, was a relative of her sister-in-law’s family.

He’d opened his club to Alice as a refuge.

The establishment had faded from its once glory and the young man had set to restoring and rebuilding.

Hence, the work Alice was afforded. He, along with Lachlan Latimer and the Earl of Wakefield, had been supportive of her presence here.

The greatest of the surprises being Lord Wakefield, whom she’d known from back in her polite society days. They both had a secret on one another. No one knew of his ownership in this place. He preferred not to wildly and freely share that information.

Addien interrupted Alice’s wandering thoughts. “The painting is not what’s bothering you.”

Alice nodded, then shook her head. She was a terrible liar. It was another reason she’d left polite society. She didn’t bother hiding things from Addien, and it felt good to have someone to share one’s life with.

“The marquess again.” Addien correctly surmised for a second time.

Alice sighed. “The same.”

Her friend cursed. “Bloody nobs.”

Except her brother wasn’t just any nob. “Wynn isn’t like other noblemen,” Alice said gently. It wasn’t fair to let Addien, who was so mistrustful of peers, believe they were all bad. “He’s a good man, and he’s an even better brother.”

Her friend snorted. “If he was a better brother, he wouldn’t be haranguing you to return to a world you don’t want to belong to.”

Addien spoke with the sureness of a woman who’d been an orphan and raised herself on the streets alone.

Releasing a sound of frustration, Alice reached for her brush, dipped the bristles in crimson paint, and resumed her depiction of the Titian-haired goddess kneeling between the gentleman’s legs.

“It’s not that simple, Addien,” she said tiredly.

“And why not?”

“Because…” I miss my family. Alice wouldn’t say as much to the younger woman.

Addien didn’t have any family. She’d been orphaned as a babe.

Whereas Alice? Alice made the choice to exile herself.

Yes, she’d done so to protect her family.

Still, it had been Alice’s decision to never again see the Masterson’s.

Now, Addien explained the real reason for her presence here. “Wakefield’s got a new assignment for you.”

Ah. “A new patron’s room to paint?”

Addien nodded.

That was another wonderful thing about the young woman’s friendship. She didn’t pry. If Addien asked a question, and it wasn’t answered, she moved on.

“A new member,” Addien mumbled with all the loathing and disdain she carried for the haute ton. “Another fancy lord.”

Alice’s lips twitched. “ All the patrons here are noblemen.”

“Oi, that’d be the one downside of working here,” Addien muttered.

Finishing her stroke, Alice put her brush on the tray and wiped her hands upon her apron. “When does he want me to begin?”

“He said as soon as yer done for the day with this room.”

Alice’s stomach sank. Her shift was supposed to be over. “Bloody Wakefield,” she muttered to herself. “He’s a pain in my arse.”

Alice had an appointment with Laurel.

She wasn’t a fan of Wakefield either and only tolerated him now because the new Countess of Wakefield had been a single-visit patron whom the earl fell in love with and had gone on to marry.

At some point during the new countess’s time here, she and Addien formed some kind of quick friendship—a rarity for the young woman who trusted none. Not even truly Alice.

Addien made to say something more when a resounding, deep, booming voice broke into the quiet. “Snap! There’s a new patron here. Get below stairs before you’re late.”

The Marquess of Thornwick—Mauley, as he was known here—had become second in command guard, after a family scandal. His had been a public one. He recognized Alice from the ton. She recognized him. She didn’t fear he’d divulge her identity. They were both hiding from different things.

People here kept their secrets, especially if one wanted to stay alive in Dynevor’s establishment.

Cursing a whole string of vicious epithets about Thornwick, Addien reluctantly made her way down the hall and accompanied the big, broad-shouldered guard.

Finding herself alone, Alice resumed focus on her latest creation.

If anyone in her family could see the work she did here, they’d certainly have swept in.

And, despite all the protests on Alice’s part, they’d force her away from the Devil’s Den.

But Alice wasn’t a gentile, demure, blushing debutante. She’d fallen. As far as Eve herself.

She knew far more than even most married ladies ought to about lovemaking. As such, her art was just that— art . She took great consolation in the fact her family didn’t really have any idea what she did in this place, and she intended for it to remain that way.

“My God, Alice ?”

That melodic, smooth, familiar baritone hit her with the weight of a thousand stones. Alice spun around, flicking gold flecks and specks of paint all over the walls and into the face of—

Her heart stopped in her chest. Laurence, the Earl of Denbigh—her brother’s best friend. So much for keeping her work here a secret from her family.

Bloody hell.