The Notorious Scoundrel - By Alexandra Benedict Page 0,2
He even considered turning away from the doors and leaving the sentry flummoxed, for it inspired more amusement in his reflections than the thought of a “den o’ sin.” However, he shrugged off the lethargy and allowed the gatekeeper to part the double doors with a measure of fanfare.
The room teemed with cigar smoke and masculine energy, instrumental music and exotic incense. There were tables scattered everywhere, filled with jolly patrons, and the pretty serving girls kept the spirits flowing. Layer upon layer of brilliant silk fabrics swooped from the ceiling and cascaded along the walls and onto the thick-carpeted floor. The room was peppered with palms and other tropical flowers. Satin cushions purled with gold thread bedecked the seats and divans and even the floor. The decor smacked of a desert harem from a storybook. The only odd feature in the vast space was the stage at the front of the room, cloaked with sensuous red velvet drapes.
“Good evening…sir.”
A woman paused and looked him over with a critical eye, clearly convinced the gatekeeper was being remiss in his duty to keep out the riffraff.
“Mr. Hawkins,” he returned stiffly.
Her beautiful, dark brown eyes mellowed and she even offered him a smile. “I am your hostess, Madame Rafaramanjaka.”
She was about five-and-thirty years of age, with a relatively smooth complexion and fine features. She had darker skin, and her accent placed her from a far-away part of the world. Her name might be an elaborate pseudonym…or perhaps it was her real name, for she radiated with pride, and he suspected she took great pleasure in her noble appellation, even if it was unfamiliar to his ear.
“Welcome to the Pleasure Palace.”
He almost rolled his eyes at the tawdry epithet.
“I’ll have one of my serving girls take your order.” She slipped her hand through his arm and gently guided him deeper into the establishment. “We have the finest selection of spirits in Town.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. It was an amorous smile. She wasn’t out to seduce him; he sensed that intuitively. She was out to caress and lull his better judgment, though, with her artful ministrations, to make him more pliable to her desire: the surrender of his blunt.
“I hope to see you here often, Mr. Hawkins.” She stroked his elbow. “Enjoy the entertainment. We aim to please our guests.”
A piquant perfume rested heavily in the air as she departed from him, her flowing skirts swishing seductively with each measured step.
It was the feeling of squander that made Edmund’s nose pucker, though: the squander of time, money, and even good sense. Yet what else was there for a wealthy gentleman to do with his time? He stood inside the familiar void and resigned himself to a few hours of squander.
“Have you come looking for salvation?”
Edmund slowly turned around and spotted the stranger seated amid the shadows in the corner of the room. There was a low-burning candle on the table; it illuminated his cheeks and brow, leaving only the recesses of his eyes in darkness.
Edmund frowned at the cryptic question.
The stranger expounded with “From your tired life?” A cloud of smoke hovered above his head as he sucked on a cigar. He gestured to an empty chair.
Edmund settled into the padded seat. “What makes you think I’m seeking salvation?”
“You’ve not come into the club with the same jovial step as the other young bucks; your eyes are empty.”
Edmund wasn’t bothered by the gloomy observation. He ordered a glass of gin from a passing serving girl before he returned his attention to his mysterious companion.
The stranger was about forty years of age. He sported soft brown hair smattered with slim silver streaks. He was dressed in swanky attire, top-quality fabrics, and polished brass buttons, but he had unfastened his cuff links and relaxed his cravat, telling Edmund he didn’t give a jot about his public appearance.
There was only one part of him that remained in secret: his eyes. Edmund could not see his eyes, even from his new vantage point at the round table, for the shadows masked the deep-set pools. He sensed the man’s penetrating gaze, though.
“Is that why you’ve come here?” wondered Edmund.
“There is no salvation for me.”
Edmund withheld a snort at the melodramatic retort. He rubbed his chin, convinced the nob was searching for a saphead to listen to his groans about life—like his valet’s failure to polish his boots. Edmund wasn’t willing to offer him an ear, though.
“Then why have you come to the club?” said Edmund.