The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens
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place of her own, and the means by which she could create a better life for herself and those she cared about.
“Not so dire as that. True,” Kitty said with a nod, “we need the extra blunt the operation gives us, but nobody’s going hungry, no one’s sleeping on the steps of Christ Church. You needn’t ride yourself so.”
Lucia stepped back to allow passage for a small convoy of male staff members carrying crates of wine bottles.
“Remember, ragazzi, new rule—each guest gets a maximum of two glasses of wine.” Wine and spirits clouded judgment, and she wanted to ensure that every guest acted from a place of lucidity.
“Yes, miss,” they called over their shoulders as they moved up the stairs leading to the ground floor.
“And what of the girls’ home?” she continued to Kitty. A swell of anxiety rose up within her. “It won’t come to pass if the club sinks. All those girls will be left on the streets, without roofs over their heads, unable to read a letter or write their own names.”
Kitty exhaled. “Before you set sail, you’ve got to first build the boat. A step at a time, love.”
“What if—”
“Enough fretting now.” Kitty smiled warmly as she tapped a finger on Lucia’s chin. “You proved to our dear former manager, Mrs. Chalke, that you deserved to take over her job when she retired. No one doubts your ability—not even you. So go on upstairs and oversee your new empire, Your Highness. As for me,” she continued with a small grimace, “my feet are swollen as melons, so I’ll be retreating to my room. But I’d rather be down here, helping.”
Affection swept through Lucia in a soft tide. She enfolded Kitty in a quick embrace, though she bent into a concave shape to make room for Kitty’s round stomach.
“Never doubt that you help,” she said sincerely. “Between you and Elspeth, I have more than my share of better angels.”
Kitty laughed. “A winged angel big with child, that’s what I am.”
“Now fly, piccolo angelo,” Lucia said, swatting Kitty on the arse. “I’m a busy woman.”
Shaking her head, Kitty waddled toward the servants’ stairs, leaving Lucia briefly alone. She swallowed hard. Dark and ravenous for more of her flesh, the fear that always lurked climbed out from its pit.
She shut her eyes as she drew in a deep breath.
Cara Mamma, she implored the spirit of her mother, wherever you are, send your girl the spirit of good fortune and even better business.
Quickly, Lucia crossed herself. Now was the time. This was her moment.
She climbed the stairs, drawing strength and composure with each step. No matter how much fear or uncertainty she felt, she could never allow her guests to see any hint of apprehension. The Orchid Club relied upon its aura of unbridled sensual freedom to attract visitors again and again. Guests wanted to feel safe as they indulged their erotic desires. If there was any hint of the proprietress’s anxiety, the fantasy would shatter like brittle sugar sculpture.
By the time she reached the top step, Lucia had swathed herself in the cool serenity of her professional persona. She was a queen, benevolent but untouchable.
She hadn’t gotten this far in life by giving up, by being afraid. Poverty hadn’t stopped her, nor had losing her only parent, or undertaking a long, perilous voyage to a foreign land. Again and again, she’d pushed onward, as she would continue to do so. Until breath left her body.
Some might consider her achievements dubious, but to her, they were triumphs.
She opened the baize-covered door that stood at the head of the stairs and stepped into the hallway. Sounds of sex encircled her, as familiar as the sounds of seabirds over the Golfo di Napoli had once been. There was also the warm ripe scent of sweat-glossed skin, and the heat that came from dozens of bodies engaged in vigorous activity.
Bypassing the two main rooms in the club, she neared the entryway, where Elspeth stood awaiting the subsequent knock on the door from the next arrival. Tall and lean, Elspeth wore her peach-hued gown to perfection, and with her short hair, she looked every inch the noble gatekeeper.
Before Lucia said a word, Elspeth’s smile flashed.
“Fear not, Amina,” Elspeth said, using Lucia’s alias. She held up a pouch that jingled, heavy with coin. “The take’s as good as it’s ever been. Better.”
Lucia permitted herself a small exhalation. Perhaps this might work out. Perhaps she could allow herself a moment’s satisfaction.
She envisioned herself donning an invisible cloak that gave her strength and poise, standing straighter as its folds swathed her body. “Any troublemakers?”
“I turned away a pair of drunken Mayfair louts. Other than that, it’s been smooth as a dish of milk.”
“So long as no bothersome cats come along to tip that dish.”
The coded knock at the door sounded, and Lucia moved on as Elspeth went to admit the guests.
For the first time, she stepped into her empire as its rightful ruler. No cornets heralded her arrival, and no rose petals scattered across her path. It was, in all ways, unremarkable—except to her. She drew confidence from each footfall, rising up taller and taller.
This is mine because I fought for it and won it fairly. I belong here.
Within the two main rooms of the club, everything appeared satisfactory. The sight of people fucking in full view of others had long ago lost its ability to shock or even arouse her. It was simply business. So long as her guests were happy and kept returning, the spectacle remained merely a component of her work and nothing more.
The staff moved through the chambers with smooth efficiency, offering refreshments, righting any overturned furniture, and monitoring their guests. Lucia exchanged attentive nods with Will and Arthur before proceeding on to the ballroom.
Before this evening, there hadn’t been music, but now musicians she had personally selected for their ability and discretion played music that graced the finest assemblies in London and the Continent. The melodies provided an elegant background as guests gave free rein to their most primal desires in full view of everyone.
Lucia herself had never attended a fine assembly. This would be the closest she’d ever get to hearing the music meant for the elite, and she smiled to herself to think that what a conte or principessa heard in some august ballroom was currently performed for people of every rank as they fucked one another.
Surveying the room, her gaze lingered on the female guests, looking for signs that they were being coerced or pushed into doing things they didn’t want to do—a man’s hand gripping a woman too tightly, or a woman literally backed up against a wall. But her female guests seemed willing and eager to participate.
She released a long breath, permitting herself a moment’s relief. Fears that her first night as manager would result in disaster began to dissolve. Everything seemed attainable, and that potential rose up within her like the bubbles in sparkling wine.
I can do this. It’s possible. Everything is possible.
Her thoughts abruptly silenced. She sensed someone’s gaze on her like a velvet glove stroking down the back of her neck.
Lucia looked around to find the source of the sensation. Her breath stuttered and her pulse came in a quick flutter when she saw its origin.
A rangy, dark-haired man in a blue mask strode purposefully toward her. He moved with fluid, masculine grace, his body muscular and strapping. The direct way he approached captivated her—as though nothing could keep him from being near her.
Lucia’s pulse leapt again.
She shook her head, trying to dismiss her reaction to the guest’s approach. Clients often