She smiled again, this time wider and with joy, revealing a row of mostly straight, white teeth, but her brown eyes did not brighten at all. Sighing, she sat back, thinking of all the women she had seen Thorne escort about the club and their easy smiles. It reaffirmed her instinct that he would like her better if she could smile more naturally, and she would have tried again, but the door to the ladies’ dressing room swung open and a beautiful woman came sweeping in. She paused in surprise as soon as she set eyes on Camille. She appeared to be only a few years older than Camille with dark eyes and hair and a golden complexion.
“Well, well, well, you do exist.” The newcomer smiled and took a seat beside Camille on the elongated ottoman that was set before the mirror and vanity. “Lilian Green,” she introduced herself.
“Camille—” she began but the woman took over.
“Duchess of Hereford, yes, I know.” Lilian Green’s smile had no trouble lighting her eyes as she turned toward the mirror and leaned forward to adjust a hairpin hiding near her temple in her raven tresses. She was elegantly dressed in a modestly cut chocolate-colored gown.
“Dowager now,” Camille clarified.
“Of course, Dowager.” She paused, her sympathetic eyes catching Camille’s in the mirror. “I am sorry for your loss, Your Grace.”
Camille gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Please call me Camille. I’d prefer to have one place where my title doesn’t matter.” She hated the title, actually. It had brought her nothing but pain and frustration.
“Then you must call me Lilian. When Jacob told me another woman had joined the club, I was happy, of course, but then I never saw you here and I wondered if he’d made you up simply to placate me. I am always at him to bring on more female members and stop referring to it as a gentlemen’s club.” She chattered easily as she arranged other pins in her hair.
“You know Mr. Thorne well then?” There was no reasonable explanation for why the fact that Lilian had called him by his first name made her feel so heavy inside. Lilian seemed unaware of this fact as she pulled out a small cosmetic tin from the handbag dangling on a strap looped around her wrist and dabbed a bit of scarlet rouge on the apples of each cheek and her lips.
“Would you like some?” she asked instead of answering the question, holding the little pot out to Camille.
“Oh, thank you.” Perhaps a little color would brighten her face. She put a dab of the cream on her fingertip and slicked it across her bottom lip. It was brighter against her lighter skin and blond hair, but she loved the effect. Usually she only wore neutral shades meant to subtly enhance her peaches-and-cream coloring, but the scarlet was arresting, drawing the eye immediately to her lips. She couldn’t help wondering if Thorne would like it. Another swirl of anticipation swooped through her, prompting her other hand to press against her stomach.
“That color works well on you. And to answer your question, yes, Jacob and I know each other well. I’m a long-time member.” Lilian winked and rose, adjusting her skirts.
It was absolutely none of her business, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Lilian and Jacob were lovers. He had lovers. Camille knew that. She had been a member of the club for approximately three months and in that time she had seen any number of women arrive by the ladies-only entrance and greet him very warmly. Sometimes he’d offer his arm, other times he’d slide his hand around their waist and disappear with them into parts unknown and she wouldn’t see him again that night. She couldn’t say with reasonable certainty that he slept with all of them, but it was a fair bet that he’d bedded a few.
“How many women members are there?” Camille hadn’t thought to ask when she’d filled out her registration form and paid the rather expensive dues. She’d joined because Hereford would have been appalled, not because she’d been trying to prove a larger point about equality of the sexes.
“A dozen, give or take, not nearly enough. I have to hurry off, but I would love to chat more. Will you be here another evening this week?”
Camille opened and closed her mouth when she realized she didn’t know what to say. If Thorne rejected her proposition, then she couldn’t imagine showing her face here again, but she didn’t want to miss the chance of making a new friend. She didn’t have many of those. Since coming to London over three years ago, she’d become that American because she could never seem to live up to the expectations of being Hereford’s duchess. It had become the done thing to invite her to events only to sneer at her behind her back. Fellow American heiresses, the Crenshaw sisters August and Violet, were her friends but they were both happily married now and starting families of their own.
“Perhaps we could have tea one afternoon?” she offered.
Lilian’s smile was genuine when she said, “I would like that very much.”
They exchanged goodbyes and Camille was left alone. She didn’t bother practicing her smile again, because it could quickly become a procrastination tactic. Either he was attracted to her and he said yes, or he wasn’t and he said no. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she rose and brushed out invisible wrinkles on her skirts. She wore an emerald-green gown cut the slightest bit lower than modest and in the natural shape that emphasized the flare of her hips.
Pushing open the paneled mahogany door, she made her way down the wide corridor to the gaming room. It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening, which meant Thorne was probably there talking with patrons or dealing cards. He owned Montague Club along with his half-brother Christian Halston, Earl of Leigh, and their friend Evan Sterling, Duke of Rothschild. Both men were married to the Crenshaw sisters, so Camille had met him socially a handful of times. While she had always been charmed by his handsomeness in those social settings, it wasn’t until she had joined Montague Club a few months ago that she’d found herself viewing him differently . . . as someone she might want to get to know in an entirely more intimate way.
The double doors that led to the main gaming room were thrown wide open, revealing a dimly lit but richly appointed space. Gilded sconces were set at intervals giving off flickering gaslight that was immediately absorbed by the dark wood paneling, creating playful shadows and an aura of intimacy. Aubusson rugs in dark red and gold matched the sofas and overstuffed chairs set in small groupings near the fireplaces on either end of the room. Rosewood gaming tables topped with green baize were scattered throughout the middle of the room. It was a slow night so only a few had men playing at them, while the rest sat empty.
As usual, the table where Jacob Thorne stood dealing cards was busy. He was well-liked and the club members seemed to gravitate toward him. He was as sinfully handsome as his half-brother, Christian, but not nearly as forbidding. They were both tall and filled out a frock coat nicely, but where Christian’s smile seemed to hold an edge of cynicism, Thorne’s was more open and friendly. That was partly why she had decided to approach him with her indecent proposition. He was kind and trustworthy. She didn’t think he would laugh at her or brag to his friends, but even more than that, he was the only man who had turned her head in a long time. Since before her parents had introduced her to Hereford. Once she had met her future husband and reluctantly agreed to the marriage, she hadn’t looked at men the same way. She’d begun to despair that she ever would again, but something about Thorne had her looking twice.