Tony and his brother believed, strongly, that treating their employees with respect fostered loyalty. As a result, the employees of Elysium rarely left their employment and couldn’t be poached by competing establishments. The club and its employees were a family. They took care of their own.
As he walked into the plush interior of Elysium, a rush of pride filled his chest. Technically, Leo was the proprietor of Elysium, but the ton knew Tony was his brother’s partner in the club. Society’s main objection to Tony’s involvement seemed to be centered on Leo’s status as the bastard son of the Duke of Averell. Not that such a thing hurt business. Elysium was packed day and night with patrons, and the waiting list for membership stretched into next year.
Leo handled the day to day operations while Tony often used his cache in the ton to draw patrons from their old haunts to Elysium. At least he had in the beginning. What had started as a way to piss off their father, the duke, had made Tony and Leo incredibly wealthy. When the duke had threatened to cut Tony off without a cent if he didn’t marry, Tony had ignored him. He didn’t need the duke’s money or anything else his father peddled.
Elysium, from top to bottom, was as elegant and luxurious as Tony’s velvet-lined cloak. He’d picked out many of the furnishings himself by raiding the homes of the impoverished nobility. It was amazing the things a titled gentleman would part with when he needed to pay a gambling debt. The club was housed in the former home of a rather eccentric merchant. The merchant, long dead, had built the home at the very edge of one of the most respectable neighborhoods in London, as close as he could get to society without marrying into it, though he’d tried. At the time, the construction of the mansion had caused an uproar. The ton had been outraged a man of such low breeding would live so near their own fine homes or worse, his equally low bred family would be walking their streets or stealing into their gardens.
But the merchant had prevailed. He had been horribly wealthy.
What he’d left behind was a monstrosity. A mansion so large and haphazard many had called for the building to be torn down. Parts of the home had been added at different times, depending on when the previous occupant had been flush with money or between wives; he’d had three. The result was a warren of rooms that led into each other and three floors with more false endings than the maze of the Minotaur.
Tony loved every winding curve. Leo had won the mansion from the man’s son in a card game, but it was Tony who had suggested turning it into Elysium. A place where paradise could be found. At least for a few hours and with enough money. The first floor housed the gaming tables. On the second floor, pleasures were offered which catered to a variety of tastes. The third floor was reserved for Leo and Tony exclusively. Leo lived at Elysium, but Tony only spent some of his nights upstairs, mostly for convenience’s sake.
Taking a turn in the direction of the faro tables, Tony caught the scent of feminine perfume and the rustle of skirts from his left side.
“Lord Welles, how lovely to see you this evening.” Lady Masterson stood in a shimmering gown of sapphire blue, cut so low the tops of her breasts pushed out over the silver thread lining her bodice. The gown would create a stir, as she’d meant it to. Georgina adored thumbing her nose at London society; she had since arriving on England’s shores as a terrified seventeen-year-old girl, destined for marriage to an earl more than twice her age.
“You’re looking stunning,” he said in greeting, taking her hand. “As always.”
She settled herself in the chair next to him and winked, gesturing to the dealer.
“Please tell me you didn’t come unescorted.” It was obvious she had, though she’d been expressly asked not to. Although if anything were to happen to Georgina, it wouldn’t be at Elysium. She was probably safer here than anywhere else in England, even her own home.
“I don’t need an escort.” She smiled brightly. “I do as I please.”
“Think of the talk it will cause for the ton to see the merry widow out and about. You’ll be butchered in the press tomorrow.” He inclined his head. “Especially in that dress. Christ, even