Shifting his arms around her, he lifted his hands to her face. “Just one more thing,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to hers.
It was not a kiss of great passion. It did not reveal all of the desire he felt for her, nor did it expose the deep regret he harbored in his soul. It was a kiss of reverence and understanding. A kiss meant to tell her without words that he would honor her wishes and he would not forget the night they shared.
When he felt her hands start to slide from his chest around to his back, he pulled away.
He would not withstand a full embrace.
Averting his gaze, he stepped past her and swept up his coat, hat, and gloves. He left without glancing back. He just opened the door, walked through, descended the front steps, and started off down the sidewalk with swift strides.
There was still some time yet before dawn and all was quiet in Mayfair. He was forced to walk a few blocks before he was able to hail a passing hack. Once on his way, he finally began to breathe again as he turned his focus away from what he could not change.
He had not lied to Emma when he assured her of Nightshade’s abilities. He was likely the one person in London who had a chance of tracking Lily Chadwick to the gentleman who had claimed her.
There may not be much Roderick could do to assist in the search, but he had to do something.
Pendragon’s Pleasure House was one of the most elite of such places in town. Madam Pendragon, the proprietress, was well-known for running an uncommonly discreet business. Roderick had never had cause to visit Pendragon’s establishment himself, but he had often heard tales of the specialized services she provided to the highest members of London society and the most influential of visiting dignitaries.
From everything he had heard of Madam Pendragon, he knew she was not going to readily give up any information, but Roderick was not interested in speaking with the brothel’s proprietress.
As Roderick anticipated, a burly servant dressed in fine footman’s livery prevented him from proceeding past the foyer.
“Hold it there, sir,” the doorman muttered brusquely. “I can’t just let you in if you’ve never been here before.”
Roderick lifted his brows. “How could you possibly be certain I haven’t?”
“I’ve a memory for faces, and yours I’ve never seen. Have you a letter from a sponsor?”
“I have no letter,” Roderick replied. “No sponsor.”
“Out with ya, then. This business is for invited guests only.”
“I did not say I wasn’t invited. I received a standing invitation from Madam Pendragon more than two years ago.”
The doorman snorted. “I’m no fool. There’s only three men in all of London who received invitations and haven’t cashed in on ’em.”
“There comes a time for everything, I suppose. I trust your memory is good for names as well. I am Roderick Bentley.”
The doorman’s skeptical gaze widened a fraction of a degree as he stepped back against the wall. “Of course, sir. My mistake. Madam will be pleased to learn you have finally accepted her invitation.”
Roderick gave the man a nod as he continued through the double doors opening into a large drawing room.
The pleasure house was still well occupied, despite the nearing of dawn. Hazy candlelight created an otherworldly atmosphere for the guests wandering about the drawing room, as did the grand mural of mythical satyrs cavorting with voluptuous nymphs painted along one whole wall.
Roderick scanned the room for a familiar face, anyone from his membership list who might be persuaded to talk. Roderick hated men who used what influence they possessed to bully others into doing their bidding, but he was not above doing it himself if it might help Emma in some small way to protect her family.
After only a moment, he spotted a gentleman who fit his criteria perfectly. A man with a healthy debit in Bentley’s books and a selfish disregard for anyone’s concerns but his own. He crossed to where the gentleman lounged in an overstuffed chair. A woman danced before him in a diaphanous gown that had been wet through so the transparent material clung to every dip and hollow of her body as she moved.
“Lord Fallbrook, a word, if you please.”
The man looked away from the erotic dancer to angle a bleary glare at Roderick.
“How the hell did you get in here, Bentley? I thought the place had higher standards.”
Roderick ignored the insult. “I insist upon a moment of your time.”
“I’m busy,” the lord replied, turning his attention back to the woman.
“If you value your standing as a member of my club, you will indulge me.”
That got the gentleman’s full attention as Roderick knew it would. Lord Fallbrook was a second son and only one of many members of a long and noble peerage going back several generations. His family was in possession of an enormous fortune, and naturally everyone assumed Fallbrook had unlimited access to that wealth.