Once she’d twisted back her hair, she headed for the kitchen. Mama Rose was already at the stove, mixing up a porridge for breakfast. The day frequently started late here but there was always plenty of work. Linens needed to be washed, rooms polished.

  Mama Rose lifted her head as she entered. “You’re up early after all that happened last night.”

  Ophelia stopped with a shrug, knowing she had to prove herself not just to The Duke but to Mama Rose as well. “I’ve survived much worse.”

  Mama Rose cocked her head. “Maybe you’ve got more grit than I first thought, girlie.”

  Ophelia’s chest puffed a bit at the words. Mama Rose might be the strongest woman she knew. A bit frightening, but very strong. “Thank you.”

  “Still. You should have gotten a bit more rest. It’s a hard day taking care of a house full of whores.”

  There was no denying that. “I’ll be all right.” She crossed to the pantry, pulling out the flour to rise some bread for dinner. She looked over at Mama Rose, who’d begun chopping some dates. Did she dare to question the woman?

  “Whatever it is you wish to know, hurry up and ask.”

  Her cheeks flushed with color. “Do the ladies who work here make decent money?”

  “They do. A fair sight better than most places like this. The Duke is exceptionally fair that way.”

  She let out a long breath. “How much do they…”

  Mama Rose straightened. “I told him and I’m telling you now—you’re not right for the work.”

  A bit of panic began to fill her chest. “But I need money. And⁠—”

  Mama Rose held up her hand. “You’ll make far more money for him and for yourself by not being a whore.”

  “But I thought he meant to sell my virginity. Isn’t that why he had me checked?”

  “He had you checked to assess his options.”

  What did that even mean? She parted her lips to ask but Mama Rose turned away. “I’ll take care of the bread. I need you to clean Daisy’s room.”

  “Daisy’s room? Isn’t she still sleeping?” But Ophelia paused, realizing part of the reason she’d slept so well, despite how short her night had been. Daisy hadn’t woken her.

  “Daisy is gone.”

  “Gone?” Her throat closed. Gone where? “Is it because of that customer who didn’t pay?”

  Mama Rose scowled over her shoulder, a clear indication she wasn’t answering. “Let’s get that room cleaned. It’ll be in use before we know it.”

  Ophelia went to retrieve the dusting rag, mop, and bucket, but a weight had settled deep in the pit of her stomach. What had happened to Daisy?

  Clayton sat at his desk while the house began to stir. He’d been working on the ledgers for hours in preparation for the buyers’ visit today. There would be no question of the house’s profitability. He didn’t need to give them any reasons to hesitate.

  A knock sounded at the door as Bode opened it, poking his head in. “He’s here.”

  “Which of the buyers would that be?” Clayton asked, rising.

  A group of five brothers, along with several lords, were all partners and would buy this business in equal shares. He normally didn’t do business with lords, but the brothers…they were like him. Bastard sons of an earl, they’d raised themselves up from nothing. Those men understood Clayton and the driving need to be successful and prove that he was just as good as, nay, better than the lords of the world who lived in decadent filth.

  “The Earl of Somersworth.”

  Inwardly, Clayton cursed. He’d hoped it was one of the Smith brothers. He’d met two and liked them both. One a boxer, the other a landowner, they both were smart, pragmatic, and tough as nails.

  He liked negotiating with them even if they held their cards exceptionally close, and he thought he’d like working with them even better. While Clayton would no longer run just this club, he would be intimately involved with the creation of others, creating a whole network of houses like these, just like the brothers had done with their string of gaming hells. At least that’s what he assumed was the plan. They used words like sustainability and community. What other endeavor had the sustainability of men wanting sex? “Send him in.”

  Bode gave a nod and started to retreat. But Clayton called out. “Actually, bring him to the sitting room with the pianoforte and fetch Ophelia for me.”

  Bode’s brows lifted, but he didn’t ask and left the room. Clayton rose, making his way to the front of the house.

  Whatever their plan, they clearly wished for something more posh, and Ophelia could help with that.

  They’d made several comments about the good of the girls and the long-term outcomes of the women abandoned by society. Clayton saw no problem with either of those thoughts. His girls were well paid, so much so that they usually only stayed for a short time before they moved on to more respectable jobs or marriage.

  Clayton took pride in the fact that he didn’t do as his own father had done, whoever the hell that asshole was, and use a woman and throw her away. He took care of the women here. The only facts about the man his mother had shared was that he was a duke who’d promised her the world and then left her to rot.

  Leaning against the mantel, he waited as the earl entered, looking every bit the flashy aristocrat. His blond hair was pushed back from his forehead with not a strand out of place, his smile charming and rehearsed.

  Clayton’s teeth ground together but he executed a short bow. “My lord.”

  The other man nodded in return. “Mr. Duke.”

  “Just Duke.”

  “Is that your last name?” Clayton balked at the question. His father had refused to allow Clayton to have his last name so his mother had simply named him Clayton Duke, in reference to his father. And he preferred to use the name to its greatest sway. Did the earl know this?

  A muscle in his jaw twitched with his irritation. How had those two words even come off as condescending. “You’re here to discuss the deal?”

  Somersworth moved to the settee, taking a seat without being invited, and drew a cheroot from a case in his breast pocket. “Yes. That and more.”

  “Good, because I have a great many questions.” He needed more specifics, and it was time to get answers.

  “Do you? In that case we’d better discuss my other reason for being here.” The earl gave him another sickeningly polished grin.

  “What’s that?” His shoulders bunched in irritation. Why did he never make progress with these people? He could sense the meeting was about to take a turn he didn’t wish.

  “I want to know about the events that occurred last night.”

  Clayton’s back snapped straight and a rumble of dissent filled his chest. He was fine with discussing the vision for the future, but if these men thought they were going to tell him how to run his club, they were dead wrong. “That is not up for discussion⁠—”

  “Am I interrupting?” Ophelia’s sweet voice floated into the room from where she stood in the doorway.

  Somersworth was back on his feet, his eyes taking in every detail from Ophelia’s crown of blond hair to the tips of her polished leather boots. “Hello.”

  “My lord,” she said, then executed a perfect curtsey, giving the other man a sweetly innocent smile. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Ophelia.” Clayton’s voice came out sharp and hard, jealousy sitting bitter on his tongue. He’d be damned if he was going to let some earl defile his greatest find.

  His teeth ground together, knowing that his jealousy was ruling his emotions. If the earl was willing to pay, and pay dearly for Ophelia, that was the point of having her here. But his internal thoughts did little to quell the rising need to respond to that other man’s smarmy smile with violence.

  “Yes?” She crossed to him, dipping into another curtsey. “How may I be of assistance?”

  Somersworth’s gaze met his, the earl’s blue eyes filled with questions.

  Clayton turned from him, looking instead at the beauty by his side. “I wished for you to play for his lordship.”

  “Of course.” She started for the pianoforte, slipping easily onto the bench before primly adjusting her skirts.

  “May I ask Ophelia a question first?” Somersworth spoke to him, but his eyes had followed Ophelia across the room.

  He already knew what the question would be and was tired of the conversation with this man. “She’s the daughter of a viscount whose father died and whose brother is now in debtors’ prison.”

  Somersworth gave a nod. “And she found herself here because…”

  Ophelia looked at him, clearly waiting to see if she should answer or if he would. His hands ached to cover her shoulders, protect her, claim her as his own. “Go ahead,” he said to her.

  With a quick nod, she turned to the earl. “I came because I’d run out of money, and I was sleeping on a stoop.” Her cheeks filled with color as she cast her gaze down.

  Somersworth turned back to him, a fire burning in his eyes. “This is true?”

  Clayton gave a quick nod of affirmation.

  “The Duke took me in when no one else would help,” Ophelia added, her gaze meeting his, unspoken words sparkling in their depth. “I am eternally grateful.”

  “That is why I’m here,” Somersworth rumbled, not appearing polished or smarmy, but hard and determined.

  Clayton didn’t fully understand what Somersworth’s words meant. Some part of him that was growing more possessive over Ophelia thought the man might be referring to her. Did he wish to collect a beauty like Ophelia to use for his own needs?

  But that was likely Clayton’s bias talking.

  “To do what, my lord?” she asked.

  “Protect the innocent,” Somersworth answered. “Now, my dear, play for us, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Ophelia nodded and turned back to the pianoforte. She began to stroke the keys, warming up slowly, before the meanderings flowed effortlessly into a song.

  Clayton crossed to the window, staring out. Looking at Ophelia was making him ache, though even with his eyes cast to the street, he was aware of every single shift she made on her seat as she began to play and then sing.

  For a moment, his eyes drifted closed. Her talent was undeniable. He’d never heard her like.

  Somersworth sucked in a breath, “I’ll be,” he murmured.

  Clayton’s eyes snapped open, noting that the earl had moved to the edge of his seat.

  Another wave of jealousy washed over him, but clenching his teeth, he returned his gaze to the street.

  He’d brought her in here to impress. To show that this was a refined establishment. He couldn’t very well snap, he’d undo all he’d accomplished.

  A carriage pulled up outside, and Mr. Simpson, the man he’d interviewed the other day, stepped out of it.

  Clayton’s brows drew together. He’d rejected that man as a future client. Mr. Simpson ran his hands through his slicked-back hair, pulling his jacket over his large belly before he made his way to the door.

  Clayton straightened, trying to decide if he should toss the fellow out on his ear. But Somersworth was here, and he was already questioning Clayton on his practices. He’d deal with Simpson later.

  Ophelia finished her song and Somersworth hopped up, clapping enthusiastically.

  She gave the other man a shy smile as Clayton nodded for her to go. Pressing her hands down her skirts, she started for the door.

  “One question.” Somersworth raised a finger and Clayton resisted the urge to snap the digit off the man’s hand. “Did the incident last night involve you, Ophelia?”

  Her eyes grew impossibly wide as she looked at Clayton for direction. Her understanding to check with him before speaking made his chest tighten. This deal was of the utmost importance to him, and Ophelia was proving to be nothing but an asset.

  He gave the barest nod before she turned her head toward Somersworth. “One of the guards attempted…” Her words trailed off. “The Duke was kind enough to defend my honor.”

  Defend her honor. It was such an odd choice of words here, though perfectly suited to the posh world that had protected her right up until the point that it hadn’t.

  He gave another jerk of his chin and Ophelia left the room without a backward glance.

  Both he and Somersworth watched her go.

  “She is your latest acquisition?” Somersworth asked, taking a step closer.

  “She isn’t available,” he gritted out, not quite able to hold in the words, which were foolish at best. Becoming the paramour for this man was an excellent opportunity for her and would surely seal this deal for Clayton. So why would he say such a thing?

  But Somersworth only chuckled. “I wasn’t asking for myself. I’ve a wife. Redhead. Not only does she take every scrap of my time, energy, and affection, but if I dallied, even the slightest bit, she’d cut off a certain part of my body with one quick swipe of a knife. She’s got the temper to match the hair. It’s glorious.”

  Clayton’s brows rose. Was the man openly acknowledging that he was completely smitten with his wife and that he was monogamous? It was a rarity in a lord, to be certain.

  “How long have you been married?”

  “A few years.”

  He didn’t know why the next question burned in his thoughts, but he didn’t think too deeply as he asked, “And you don’t mind being tied to one woman?”

  “Mind it?” Somersworth gave another charming chuckle. Clayton found he didn’t mind this one so much. “It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Interesting.

  Somersworth clapped him on the back. “I’m satisfied with what I’ve found here today. I’ll bring the rest of the buyers around for one final interview. We’ll discuss all the details and the offer and that will be your chance to take what we’re proposing or leave it. Thank you for satisfying our many curiosities. You’ve been most helpful. Same time next week?”

  “Same time next week.” Clayton made a mental note. Ophelia was going nowhere and doing nothing until this deal was closed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ophelia pressed her hands to her stomach, standing just outside The Duke’s office. She’d kissed the man last night to prove to him and to herself that she was ready for the work here. But she’d not expected to feel so much when she’d pressed her mouth to his.

  He’d been so warm, his lips the perfect combination of masculine strength and suppleness. His arms had been like protective bands of iron around her, and the way he’d felt…

  Just remembering the touch had her pulse fluttering all over again.

  But she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Kissing her benefactor was not going to get her brother out of prison, was it?

  Lord Somersworth and The Duke appeared in the hall. The Duke looked at her for a brief moment, his eyes skimming down her before he turned to the stairs, seeing his guest out.

  Less than a minute passed before he was thundering back up the stairs. His large frame filled the hall as his long strides ate the ground between them. Her stomach danced with nerves that were only very dimly related to fear.

  He stopped not a foot from her, and her chin notched up so that she might look at him. He was so tall…

  “Ophelia?”

  Her tongue came out to wet her lips as she realized she had not been invited to wait in the hall outside his door. “Apologies for standing outside your door. I’d hoped⁠—”

  “We’re not nearly so formal here. There is no need to apologize.”

  She gave a tentative nod. “May I have a word with you?”

  He leaned close, reaching around her to open the office door. His scent filled her nostrils and for another second, she forgot herself, before he stepped around her and led the way into his study.

  She followed, taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  He stopped, not going around his desk but sitting on the edge as he gestured for her to take a chair. She did as he asked, arranging her skirts and crossing her feet at her ankles.

  “Feeling all right this morning?” he asked, leaning closer to study her.

  Was he searching for injuries? That eased some of the tension that had knotted her chest. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for your help today as well.”

  She cocked her head, not sure what she’d helped with. “Was Lord Somersworth a prospective client?”

  “Prospective buyer,” he answered.

  “Buyer?”

  “A group of men wish to potentially buy shares in my business and help fund the expansion. It would mean a great deal more money for all of us.”

  “How exciting.” She gave him a warm smile. “How wonderful for you, Duke.”

  “My given name is Clayton.”

  Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Clayton?”

  “I do not dally with the women here. None of the men do. It’s part of our code. But since you kissed me…”

  She winced. Perhaps that had been a mistake. “My apologies. I am new to the rules…”

  “Don’t apologize.” He leaned even closer. “I did kiss you back.”

  A flush climbed up her cheeks, her voice dropping. “You did.”

  His features had taken on that unreadable mask once again as he straightened up. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

  Ophelia struggled to find the thread she’d come in here hoping to chase. To transition from the topic of kissing him to anything else was…difficult. She gave her head a small shake, trying to reorder her thoughts.

  She’d kissed him last night to prove a point—because she had to find a way to save her brother. “I wanted to know when I would begin…working.”

  There was nothing unreadable about his scowl. “I don’t know.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Don’t know?”

  “I’m not sure yet where you’ll fit⁠—”

  She stood, then notched her chin higher. “But that’s why I kissed you last night. I can⁠—”

  “Sit.” His voice wasn’t sharp, but it held the edge of authority that had her instantly returning to her seat. He stared at her for several seconds before he began speaking again. “It’s one thing to kiss someone you share a mutual attraction with.”