Margaret lifted her chin. What difference did it make if these two men knew who she was or why she was here? She doubted Elysium would still be in business if the employees were less than discreet.
“Margaret to see Lord Welles.”
“Margaret?”
“Just Margaret. I’m here for Lord Welles.”
The brute holding her arm cursed softly. “I’ll let Johnson know.”
The man at the door shrugged and put down the ledger. “Inside with you then, miss.” He took her arm and led her through the doorway.
Margaret swallowed. “Would it be possible to wait outside for him?” The cloak slipped revealing her naked collarbone and she pulled it tighter around her.
He shook his head. “No. You wait inside.”
Her escort barely took notice of the fact she was half-dressed under the cloak. She supposed in his line of work he’d seen things much more interesting than the exposed collarbone of a plain-faced spinster.
Taking her by the elbow, he opened the door. A gangly youth leaned against the wall just inside, reading a book of all things. Her escort motioned for the young man to go outside. “I’ve got a package for Lord Welles I need to deal with.”
The youth took one look at Margaret and then went outside.
“Is Lord Welles here?” Belatedly it had occurred to her that he might not be here tonight. Margaret rarely made rash decisions, but in her panic about Winthrop and the horribly revealing discussion she’d had with her aunt, she’d chosen to come to Elysium without a second thought. She should have sent him word she was coming.
“He’s here,” the guard assured her before opening the door to a small parlor. A fire burned in the hearth; shivering, Margaret immediately went to stand before the flames to warm herself. She turned to ask another question but saw only the door closing behind him.
Margaret circled the room, taking in her surroundings. The furnishings were understated and elegant, the rug expensive and plush beneath her feet. A silver tray on a sideboard held a collection of crystal decanters, each filled with amber liquid. Walter Lainscott had liked scotch and Irish whisky, and the parlor at her home in Yorkshire had been filled with the stuff. Eyeing one decanter, she lifted the crystal stopper and sniffed.
Scotch. Margaret smiled to herself.
If there was ever a moment for her to have scotch, it was tonight when she desperately needed a bit of courage. Margaret picked up a glass and poured herself two fingers. She took a cautious sip and immediately started to cough and sputter.
The burn down her throat left her gasping for breath but once her eyes stopped watering, a pleasant warmth spread across her chest. After a moment, she took another swallow and didn’t cough once.
The door to the parlor opened and Margaret swung around, expecting to see Welles.
The man who’d escorted her to the room, the guard, had returned.
Margaret’s heart sank. Welles was here but didn’t want to see her. She cursed softly. How utterly humiliating. She would now have to go down to the street and call a hack.
He looked at the almost empty glass of scotch in her hand. “This way, miss. You can pour a bit more and take it with you.” His tone and manner were much more deferential now that he’d returned. “Lord Welles has asked me to escort you upstairs.”
Relief filled her. He was here and would see her. Margaret poured another finger of scotch into her glass. “Shall we?”
“I’m Peckam,” he said, introducing himself as he led her up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor where a door opened into a narrow hall. Loud conversation, cursing, laughter, and the sound of a piano met her ears as they approached a wide landing. Margaret stopped to look over the side. The entire gaming floor of Elysium was spread out before her. Gentlemen milled around the tables in groups, occasionally escorting a well-dressed lady. Other women, clearly courtesans, fluttered about the tables, recognizable by their scandalous gowns and flirtatious manner. A tall, dark-haired man strolled nonchalantly about the tables, stopping here and there to speak to someone. She leaned over the rail to get a better look, certain it was Welles below her. Her eyes widened, taking in his waistcoat which was a dizzying swirl of crimson and green with an exorbitant amount of gold thread. She’d never seen him wear something so…outlandish.