She entered a small hallway, lined with hooks for coats and hats. At the end of the short hallway was another closed door, this one dark, polished mahogany. Lorrie pushed past the empty hooks and opened the door. It swung in, and she stared at a large room with a high ceiling. The floors were carpeted in deep crimson, like the red and black damask of the walls, and green baize tables, some with chairs and some without, were scattered throughout the room. Mirrors lined the room, above paneled walls. Beautiful gold and crystal chandeliers hung throughout the room and must have made it glitter with light when the candles were lit.
At present the room was shadowed as only a few lamps sat here and there and two maids swept floors and dusted tables. Lorrie took a cautious step inside. “It doesn’t look like a den of iniquity,” she whispered to Nell.
“Looks can be deceiving, my lady.”
“Excuse me,” Lorrie called to one of the maids, who looked up from her sweeping and eyed the two women in the door with suspicion. “Could you tell me where I might find Mr. Mostyn?”
The servant put her hand on her waist. “And who wants him?”
Lorrie looked back at Nell, wondering what response she was to make to this impertinence. Unfortunately, Nell’s face was as shrouded as her own.
“A friend,” Lorrie said finally. “I don’t mean him any harm.”
The servant with her hand on her waist harrumphed. “We’re closed right now. You’ll have to come back later.”
Lorrie’s spirits sank. She couldn’t return later. Later the street would be full of young bucks who might accost her or, worse, recognize her. Later she would be at some affair or another, and there would be no opportunity to speak to Ewan.
“Ignore her,” said the other maid, lowering her duster. “Mr. Mostyn will be either in the kitchen or in his room. I haven’t seen him come out this morning, so my guess is in his room. Second floor. His name is on the door.”
“Why did you tell them that?” the first maid asked, spinning on the other.
The dusting maid shrugged. “There’s no harm in it, Meg.” She went back to her work, while the one named Meg gave them both cool stares.
Lorrie leaned close to Nell. “I will knock on the door to his room. You stay here.”
Nell blew out a breath that fluttered the veil. No doubt she did not wish to spend any more time with the unfriendly Meg than she had to.
“I’ll be right back.”
She hoped.
Lorrie lifted her skirts and ascended the gently curving stairway. At the top, a hallway circled the room, serving as a balcony. Guests could stand all along the edge and watch the gambling below.
Lorrie started around the hall, stopping to peer at the name placards on each. She was acutely aware she was being watched from below and also aware that she was doing what no proper lady should do—visiting a man alone in his rooms.
Finally, she stopped before a room with Mr. Mostyn written in elegant script on a small card in the little gold cardholder. Lorrie stood and listened for a moment but heard nothing on the other side. Lifting her hand, she tapped quietly on the door.
No sound.
She tapped again, this time louder. Finally, she heard what sounded like a curse and then a thump. The door did not open, and Lorrie began to wonder if perhaps coming here unannounced was the wisest course of action. What if Ewan was not alone? What if he’d been staying in his rooms here because he had a paramour?
She was about to turn and rush back down the stairs when the door swung open and the man himself stood before her. Lorrie forgot why she had come, forgot her own name. She simply stared at the expanse of bare muscled chest on display, her eyes unable to comprehend that this was a man and not a statue. He was too perfectly formed.
Gradually, her gaze moved up to his broad, square shoulders—shoulders that looked as though they had been sculpted from marble. Then there was the neck she was familiar with, followed by the square jaw, glinting with pale blond whiskers, the almost straight nose that had been broken at least once and probably more, and the piercing blue eyes that looked so much like a cloudless summer day she could all but feel the breeze.
“Mr. Mostyn.” She gave a trembling curtsy.
He didn’t move, and she realized he might not know who she was. She lifted her veil, and he blew out a long breath. “What do you want?”
What did she want? Something… “I wanted to speak with you a moment. May I come in?”
“No.” He moved to close the door, but she shoved her shoulder against it. This would not in the least have prevented him from closing it, but it made him pause. “Go home.”
“Well,” she huffed, straining against the door. “I see you have forgotten your manners.”
“My manners? You come to my room. Uninvited. You, a lady. In a gaming hell. In St. James’s. And you speak to me of manners?”
That was quite a speech for a man of few words. She must have angered him more than she anticipated. “I will be on my way as soon as we speak.”
“Speak.”
He made no attempt at deference, didn’t call her my lady or Lady Lorraine as he always did at her father’s house or when they were out in Society. This was his territory, and she held no power here. She might very well regret what she was about to say, but she hadn’t come all this way not to risk something.
“May we speak inside your chamber? I don’t wish an audience.” She glanced over her shoulder. The maids and Nell were probably too far away to hear them, but they could see them easily enough. In fact, all three women were looking up.
And then she remembered her earlier fears. “Unless, that is, you are not alone?”
“I’m alone. All the more reason for you to stay outside.”
Lorrie waved her hand. “I’m not concerned. You are such a gentleman.”
He gave a low laugh that seemed to reverberate through her. “No, I am not.” But he stepped aside, giving her the first view of his private chamber. She stepped forward, keenly aware that he wore only a pair of charcoal trousers. Keeping her gaze forward, she noted the spartan white walls, the unembellished furnishings, the lack of any clutter or personal items anywhere. The bed was the only piece in the room worth noting. It alone spoke of comfort as the mattress was thick and the coverlet plush. At the moment, the sheets were mussed as though he had just woken.
He moved to the window and pushed one side of a gray curtain open, allowing more light inside. But the light revealed nothing new in the room. It might have been anyone’s room as it was completely impersonal.
“You are inside. Talk.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, making the muscles bunch. Lorrie tried to think of what she had wanted to say, but since she had seen his bare chest, she couldn’t seem to remember anything.
“Might you put on a shirt?” she asked.
“My room.”
That wasn’t exactly an answer, but she deduced that he would not don a shirt. He must not have minded standing in front of her half naked. Lorrie looked away, hoping seeing something other than the half-naked sculpture before her would help her concentrate.
But, of course, her gaze landed on the bed. Did he bring women here and take them to that bed? It was not a large bed. A woman would have to press herself close to him if sharing it.
“It is rather warm in here,” she said, feeling stifled all of a sudden. “Do you mind if I removed my pelisse?” She drew off her gloves and undid the fastenings, then laid both gloves and wrap on the bed. Next, she unpinned her veil and dropped it beside them.