Page 16

Finn sat in a luxuriously upholstered armchair, pretending to read a newspaper with quiet concentration, the mid-day sounds of London unable to penetrate the thick stone walls. The Monarch Club’s sitting room was all hushed voices, faint rustling of pages, and the gentle crackle from a corner fireplace. Thick drapes covered high windows, and lamps cast a warm glow across plush carpeting. He turned a page—albeit more for show than interest—until the door creaked open behind him, interrupting the soft tranquility.

Finn glanced up to see a woman enter, her presence immediately drawing the attention of every occupant in the room. She was striking, likely in her early fifties, with a confident stride that conveyed both elegance and power. A couple of the gentlemen mumbled greetings, but her gaze locked on Finn. Her lips curved into an inviting smile as she approached.

He rose from his seat—emulating the courtesy he’d seen other club members perform, though they rarely did it with such urgency—and set the newspaper aside. She offered a hand in a gesture that spoke of both formality and an obvious flirtation.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said, voice low and self-assured. “I’m Lady Pembroke.”

“Devlin Foster,” Finn responded, using his alias and shaking her hand lightly. “A pleasure, Lady Pembroke.”

She settled gracefully in the armchair next to him, smoothing her skirt. “I’ve heard rumors that The Monarch has a handsome American as its newest applicant.” Her eyes glinted. “I came to see for myself.”

Finn offered an easy laugh, feigning confidence. “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Lady Pembroke’s features were refined, but there was a sultriness in the way she tilted her head, the slow sweep of her gaze. “So far,” she drawled, “I’d say you’re living up to the hype.” Her tone was playful, leaving no doubt she enjoyed flirting.

Finn’s mind flicked to Amelia’s voice in his ear, reminding him to tread carefully, but he gave Lady Pembroke a quick, modest grin. “I’m only sorry I didn’t realize the club wasn’t strictly for gentlemen.” He shrugged in mock confusion. “Not that I’m complaining.”

She let out a soft laugh, producing a delicate wave of her hand. “Normally, it is a gentleman’s club, yes. But upon my dear husband’s untimely passing, I inherited his membership, as per the club’s rules. A pity for the men, don’t you think?”

Finn feigned a thoughtful pause. “I can imagine the effect you must have on them.”

She leaned slightly toward him, and he caught a whiff of heady perfume beneath the sharp tang of her lipstick. “Sometimes I like to make them a little nervous,” she whispered, conspiratorially.

He chuckled. “I can see how that might work.”

Before she could say more, Lady Pembroke beckoned to a passing figure. Finn recognized Theodore Crawford—always hovering about, keen to ensure everything ran smoothly. He approached, offering Lady Pembroke a small bow.

“Yes, my lady?” Theodore asked, eyes flicking briefly to Finn, as though to gauge how he was handling her attention.

“Be a dear, Theodore, and fetch my box of Cuban cigars,” she said. “I want to share one with our new friend.”

Theodore nodded, disappearing toward a side door. Lady Pembroke turned back to Finn, crossing her legs as she examined him with frank curiosity. “Don’t look so surprised,” she teased, “that a woman might smoke a fine cigar.”

Finn cleared his throat. “No offense meant. Just… new to the idea of lighting up indoors. The ban on public smoking and all that.”

Her smile glinted. “At The Monarch, ordinary rules rarely apply.”

Theodore reappeared with a polished wooden humidor, opening the lid to reveal a row of dark-brown cigars. Lady Pembroke selected one with an indulgent purr of satisfaction, then offered the box to Finn.

He hesitated, glancing at the thick smoke curling from the tip of her freshly lit cigar. Focus on the role, he reminded himself. This is how the older, wealthy crowd might bond. He took a cigar, letting Theodore cut and light it for him. The moment he drew the first puff, the rich, earthy flavor nearly made him cough, but he hid it behind a casual swallow.

“Delightful, isn’t it?” Lady Pembroke asked, exhaling a plume of smoke that haloed around her head.

Finn forced a small nod. “Very. A bit stronger than I’m used to.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “I’ll have you converted in no time, Devlin.” Then she flicked ash into a crystal tray, the motion so practiced it seemed second nature.

He studied her elegant posture, the way she radiated confidence among these men. She seemed entirely comfortable, which told him she was indeed used to commanding this domain—even if it was nominally a “gentleman’s” club.

She caught him watching her. “You still look surprised to find me here tonight?”

“Surprised but glad,” Finn said, flashing a partial grin. “I suppose I expected the place to be full of stern older men, no women in sight. But apparently I’m delightfully wrong.”

She leaned back, letting her gaze roam over his face. “Life is more interesting when the unexpected happens, don’t you think?”

He returned a playful grin. “I’ve built a career on the unexpected.”

Another low laugh from her. “I hear you’re settling in the UK. That must be quite the move. My ‘little spies’ said you have big business plans?”

Finn gave a vague shrug. “I have a potential merger with a major London tech firm. Thought I should oversee it personally.” He tried to keep his voice casual, as though used to big deals.

“Which firm, if I may ask?”

“That,” he said, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially, “would be telling. Let me keep a few secrets, Lady Pembroke.”

Her eyes lit with amusement. “I do love an American who holds his cards close to his chest.”

At that, Finn quipped, “I’m partial to a good card game.” The remark felt like fishing for more details about The Monarch’s rumored poker nights, but she simply gave him a knowing smile.

Lady Pembroke stubbed out her cigar in a nearby ashtray, letting out a contented sigh of satisfaction. “You, Devlin, are going to fit right in here… provided you choose the right circles, of course.”

Curiosity piqued, he asked, “What circles are those?”

She smirked mischievously. “The ones that enjoy letting their hair down, if you will. All this quiet sitting and smoking can be so… boring, after a time.”

He nodded, playing along with her flirtatious tone. “So, what do people do for excitement around here? I can’t imagine this is all you do—read, smoke, occasionally chat?”

She slid a sidelong glance at him. “A man after my own heart.” Then, with a teasing purr, she said, “I’m sure many men are after my heart, but fewer catch my interest. Perhaps you might.”

He arched a brow. “I’m honored.”

She smiled, features bright with a hint of wickedness. “If I were ten years younger, I’d eat you up, Devlin Foster.” She rose, smoothing her dress. “For now, I’ll simply offer an invitation: be my guest tonight… after midnight.”

Finn’s heart fluttered at the possibility of an invite to a more private part of the club. “I’d be delighted. It’s been a tad dull since I arrived. Where are we going?”

She leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “Meet me in the library at five to midnight. Bring plenty of money. You’ll need it.”

He forced another grin, feigning casual arrogance. “Money is the one thing I have in abundance. But, the library? I'm not sure reading is my idea of a party.”

She chuckled softly, stepping back. “The library is just the threshold. I must go now—there’s someone else here I need to speak to. But don’t keep me waiting.” Then, with a final, lingering glance, she walked away.

Finn watched her go, feeling that pleasant mix of intrigue and caution. The library door again—the one Rutherford tried to hide. So that’s where the real after-hours might happen. Perfect. He touched a hand to his ear, his hidden earpiece picking up Amelia’s voice as a faint hiss.

“I heard all that,” Amelia whispered. “Don’t flirt too much, Devlin.”

He stifled a laugh. “You know my real flirting skills are reserved for you, Winters.”

Her tone was dry. “Funny. Just make sure you stay safe, Devlin . Also, you have several hours before midnight. You want to meet me and Rob outside? We’re still digging into Wardlow’s gambling.”

He looked around. The sitting room was settling back into subdued quiet, a couple of members eyeing him with distant curiosity. “Sounds good. If I hang around all day, I’ll look too eager. I’ll slip out. See you soon.”

He stood, flicked the remainder of his cigar into the ashtray, and made for the corridor. As he did, James Rutherford appeared, offering a quick hello to Lady Pembroke, then pausing to lock eyes with Finn. The membership secretary's suspicion was palpable. He greeted them both with a civil nod, but his gaze lingered. Then James continued on, disappearing into the lounge.

Finn let out a slow breath of relief. He turned away, guiding Lady Pembroke toward the corridor—where they parted ways—then he meandered alone toward the library. The corridor was quiet, footsteps echoing faintly. His reason for going there was simple: to give Lady Pembroke the impression he was leaving in a normal, unhurried fashion. He peeked again at that ornate door , half remembering Lady Pembroke’s invitation. Five to midnight, he reminded himself, glancing at his watch.

He traced his route through the corridors, eventually reaching the building’s side exit. The doorman tipped his hat but didn’t question his departure. Outside, evening had deepened, the sky blanketed with faint stars, and a chill night breeze fluttered along the club’s steps.

In the street, the traffic’s hum was gentler now, many people having already retreated to homes or late-night gatherings. Finn breathed in the crisp air, a swirl of excitement building. He tapped the earpiece again.

Amelia’s voice crackled softly, “All okay?”

He gave a subtle nod, though she couldn’t see. “Yes, heading out now. See you soon.”

A short walk led him to where a plain sedan waited—Amelia and Rob might be inside or just around the corner. As he stepped into the car, the drizzle picked up, tapping on the roof with renewed urgency. Rob and Amelia sat in the passenger and driver's seat.

“You're doing well, Finn,” Rob said. “But don't let it go to your head.”

Amelia was looking something up on her phone. “Finn, I'm going to go and see Geoffrey Wardlow's widow again to see if we can get a look at some of his financials, considering we think money might be a motivator here. Are you game?”

“Of course,” he said. “But does Rob have to come?”

“You know how to make a man feel welcome,” Rob groaned. “I do have other things to oversee, anyway.”

Rob stepped out of the car and waved his hand, soon another unmarked car stopped to pick him up. Rob patted Finn on the back and said “Keep any eye on that James Rutherford. I've had word he's made some inquiries about you. Theodore Crawford was able to head them off at the past, but if you want to keep your identity a secret, I'd stay out of his way for now.”

Finn nodded and got into the car. Amelia leaned over and tore the fake mustache from his top lip.

“That hurt!” Finn said, holding his lip.

“Oh, please let me do that next time,” Rob said as he got into the other car, which then drove away with Rob grinning at Finn.

Amelia started up the engine. “Don't be a big baby,” she said. And with that, they left to see if Geoffrey Wardlow's widow would let them dig as deep as they wanted into her husband's past.