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Chapter One
Warm summer rain poured outside his bedroom window. Matthew tied his dark blue cravat with practiced and efficient movements as he stared out at the wet street below. Not ideal weather for guests arriving in costume to the Blue Angel this evening. Thank God he’d listened to Val, and they had put up a large awning leading from the street to the front door. The former sailor turned club security chief had near-perfect intuition when it came to rain.
Matthew turned from the rain-splattered view to cross to his dressing table and fetch his cuff links. Didn’t matter, guests would come. No one missed his bacchanal. The masquerade, in its third year, was already the summer’s most sought-after event.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” he called out.
“Evening, boss.” Ben crossed into the room. He carried a small tray that held a tumbler with two fingers of whiskey. “Gotcha your evening drink here.”
“Thank you, Ben.” Matthew took a sip, letting the pleasant burn of the fine Scottish whiskey slide down his throat. This would be his only drink of the night. A tradition to allow himself a small pleasure before work. “How are the girls? Everything ready for the show?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Fanny was bitchin’ about her spot as usual, but generally, everything looks good. Rob says everything on the floor is ready. Val’s got two additional youngins helping behind the bar tonight.”
Ben, or Big Ben, as everyone in the club called him, had a unique position at the Blue Angel. He was part butler, part mother hen. Matthew was thankful that Ben handled all the behind-the-scenes drama. He supervised the kitchen staff, the maids who came in each morning to clean, and watched over the dancing girls in the show. He was one of four staff managers that Matthew relied on to keep the Blue Angel running in top shape.
“Tell Fanny she can leave the show anytime if she is so disappointed to be on the line.” Matthew’s lips twitched at Ben’s loud snort of laughter. “I’ll find another girl like her in a snap of the fingers.”
“She knows this is the best job in town. She’s just a complainer, that one. Maybe you can go down and give the girls one of yer famous smiles. Cheer ’em up.” Ben pulled a folded newspaper from the pocket of his jacket. “Today’s Piccadilly Press mentioned the Angel. Yer not going to like it, though.”
Matthew snatched up the outstretched paper. This damn rag had been writing a series of articles they called Vice and Crime in the City. At first, he had been impressed at the knowledge the writer had of some of the inner workings of gangs in London. Then, the man had turned his focus on high-end brothels with a clear rub for those most frequented by toffs, and Matthew had laughed at the writer’s naivety. The bias had been an obvious pander to the Press’s audience. Matthew looked down at today’s headline, Lives Ruined Every Night at the Gaming Tables. Bloody hell. He skimmed the article, looking for any mention of the Blue Angel, finding it several paragraphs deep.
One of the many gaming hells on the east side, the Blue Angel seems to cater to the working man, enticing their patrons to lose their wages at the tables. The promise of these types of places is that within their walls lay the path to easy money when, in fact, the path more often leads to ruin. Preying on the hardworking man to turn a profit is not illegal, but perhaps should be deemed a crime.
What sentimental tripe was this shit? He didn’t force anyone to gamble away their money. Men were sentient creatures that did whatever they wanted. If they didn’t gamble away their money at his place, it would be at one of his competitors. He threw the paper down on the side table and took a long draught from his whiskey. What this reporter didn’t seem to understand was that people were inherently bad, sinful creatures. There would always be places to market to the vices that fed the masses.
“It’s fine.” Matthew waved a hand, dismissing the article. “Annoying, but the reporter clearly has no clue the truth of human nature. As far as the girls, I will put in an appearance when I do my rounds. I want to check on Stella anyway.” He trusted Ben to know what was needed. And if he needed to be charming and give the girls a talk, then he would. The show must be flawless tonight.
It was the biggest party of the year and his favorite because many of the aristocrats were out of London at their country houses, leaving his place free of their snooty demands and endless whining when they lost to the house. Money was money, Seaton always said. Personally, Matthew preferred the “working man” to a bloody toff any day. But, as a businessman, he knew attracting a higher-class clientele could be beneficial, because Lord knew the toffs loved to waste their money. Luckily, Matthew’s floor manager, Rob Morrow, was smooth as honey, never getting his temper ruffled by petulant young lordlings.
“And the awning is holding up under this downpour?” he asked.
“Yes, boss.” Ben picked up the cufflinks from the table and, taking Matthew’s left arm, began to fasten his sleeve. Matthew swallowed the last of his whiskey, set down the glass, and held out his other hand for Ben to fuss with the cufflink. He knew from experience that shooing Ben away would only hurt the man’s feelings. Ben took care of his people and that was that.
Ben’s tall stature and broad, muscled frame had won him his nickname. He had been a boxer for a decade, and that’s how Matthew met and became friends with the man. The gentle giant had been desperate to get out of the fighting ring. When Matthew opened the club five years ago, he had offered Ben a job and won the man’s loyalty for life. Not that he minded the mother hen thing…too much. Matthew valued loyalty in his friends over everything else. A man was nobody without the loyalty of his friends.
They headed down the back stairs, stopping at the large arched window that overlooked the main gaming room. Matthew assessed the floor. Along one wall, the long carved wooden bar gleamed with fresh polish. He and his business partner, Rhys Seaton, had built it themselves, their first project when setting up the gaming club. A massive hazard table sat at the center of the room. Above it hung a crystal chandelier, dust-free and sparkling in the candlelight. A sea of dice and cribbage tables dotted the rest of the space, ready for tonight’s crowd of revelers. Matthew nodded his approval and continued down to the ground level.
He and Ben made their way to the main room and walked through the club to check that everything was perfect. Beyond the main gaming area, along the back of the house, were smaller rooms for different types of play—piquet, cribbage, loo, faro, whist, and passe-dix. Some of the rooms were for deeper play, with minimum bids to join in. Some rooms could be rented for the evening to play with a private party. He was pleased to see everything clean and ready.
At last, they backtracked to the front of the house and up the curved staircase to the theater. Tucked at the rear of the club, he’d converted the manse’s old main drawing room into an intimate theater space. Long tables faced an elevated stage draped with lush, blue velvet curtains. The dancing girls were on stage in costume, practicing steps or just chatting amongst themselves. Mrs. Langley, his theater manager, was on her knees, sewing the hem of one girl’s costume. The smoke of the kerosine lights that rimmed the edge of the stage and the equally potent smell of greasepaint the performers used to paint their faces pale white with bright rouge spots on their cheeks and lips all settled into his chest and made him smile with its familiarity.
“Ladies, you all look lovely as ever,” he called out as he climbed the four steps to the stage. “Are you excited for tonight’s show?”
“Oh yes.”
“We have been practicing all week.”
“The new costumes are beautiful.”
The dancers replied enthusiastically. Mrs. Langley stood, giving one last look of approval at the skirt she had been mending. She turned to face him. “Everything is ready. Tonight, Jenny, Rose, Fanny, and Mary Beth will accompany Stella to the front for the opener.”
Matthew nodded. Each evening, the best of the dancers performed an opening number in the grand foyer to entice customers from the tables to come to see the nightly show. “Where is my blue angel?”
“In her dressing room, getting dressed still. Late as usual.” Mrs. Langley rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in a smile. Everyone loved Stella despite her flightiness. She had the voice of an operatic diva and the kindness of an old soul, all wrapped in the lithe body of a seventeen-year-old girl.
Matthew glanced around at the dancers, putting forth his most charming smile. “Tonight, the atmosphere will be different than most nights. For those of you that are new, the masquerade is very popular. There will be large crowds, so sing and dance your hearts out. You never know who will be in the audience.” He sobered his expression. “Because everyone will be costumed and wearing masks, there will be more bad behavior than normal. I want you all to be safe. If you get into any trouble, Ben will be here, watching and waiting to intervene.”
Some girls nodded, but a few looked delighted at the prospect of trouble. He sighed. It was always the way of it. He couldn’t make good decisions for them. These were all grown women. All except one. “Break a leg, ladies.” Matthew walked across to the backstage area, heading for Stella’s dressing room.
Halfway across, he was waylaid by a hand gripping his arm. “Mr. Reeves, I’m just so excited to be in the opener tonight. Thanks so much.”
He glanced down into the wide blue eyes of Fanny Cooper. “All the decisions are made by Mrs. Langley.”
She batted her long eyelashes. “You’re the boss. Surely you influence everything here at the club.”
“Not in this case. I have more than enough to worry about. I don’t second-guess my managers. Keep up the good work, and I am sure you will stay in the opening number.” He tried to walk away, but her fingers tightened on his sleeve.
“Mr. Reeves, if you ever get tired of your favorite, just know that I am always available for the company of such a man as yourself.” Her smile was coy, but her eyes were cold and calculating.
Matthew pried her fingers off his arm. “You’re new, Fanny, but that’s not how I run things. I never sleep with my employees. I suggest you look elsewhere for a benefactor.” He left her behind and made his way through the backstage door into the hallway that housed the dressing rooms. He knocked on Stella’s door.
“Come in.”
Mathew entered the room and shut the door. Stella was dressed in her costume, one foot propped up on a chair as she rolled a stocking up her leg. “Sorry I am running late. I found this poor little kitten shivering in the rain on the way back from the market. I just had to bring it home.”
She finished tying the ribbons on her stocking and swept over to the dressing table with its small looking glass to pick up a pot of rouge and apply some to her lips. It didn’t stop her from talking, though; nothing could stop her chatter. “Big Ben gave me some milk in a saucer, and I rubbed the poor thing down with a towel. I left it up in my room, curled up on the hearth. I think I shall name it Raindrop…or perhaps Pitter-Patter. What do you think?”
Matthew straddled the chair and rested his arms on the back. “I think you should be out front already practicing with the other girls.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I’m hurrying, I promise.” She turned to face him, her wide brown eyes fringed with dark black lashes, the same color as her raven hair, glowing with excitement over her new pet. “There, I’m ready. Did I forget anything?”
He looked her over. Then pointed at her feet. “Shoes.”
“Oh yes.” She glanced around the small room.
Matthew sighed. “I already gave my warning to the rest of the girls. Tonight’s bacchanal will be rowdier than most of the parties we host. When guests are masked, many become beasts, with no manners whatsoever. After the show, you are to go straight back upstairs to your rooms. No mingling, no hanging out behind the bar. Do you hear me?”
Stella’s head popped up from under the dressing table, where she had found her shoes. “Yes, big brother.” She straightened and gave him a mocking salute.
“I mean it, Stella.”
“Yes, sir. I want to go see my kitten anyway. I won’t get into trouble, I promise.”
Famous last words. Stella never meant to get into trouble, but her newfound freedom this past year had made her reckless. And he was still getting the hang of the role of older brother. When their father died last summer, Stella had shown up on his doorstep. How she had known where to look for him, he still didn’t know. But he hadn’t hesitated to take her in. He understood exactly why she was too frightened to stay in the home they grew up in. Ten years younger than him, she had just been an infant when he was sent away. Matthew sighed. He would have Ben keep a close eye on her tonight.
“You know, brother, it wouldn’t hurt you to get into a little trouble tonight.” Stella smirked at him. “There are plenty of ladies who would love to let you seduce them in a dark corner.”
“I have a club to run. No time for trouble.” He got up and bent to kiss her cheek. “And you shouldn’t be thinking about seduction in dark corners.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. He chuckled. A gaming hell wasn’t exactly the place for a young girl to be sheltered from the city’s vices. Far from it. But it was the best he could do. This was his life. At least he could offer her safety along with a sense of family, and that was something anyway. “Don’t forget your mask, my blue angel.”
End of Excerpt
