Lawrence Russell despised the White House in Soho. It was one of the less reputable brothels in London, and it had a dark side that made even a seasoned rogue such as himself shudder in revulsion. His tastes ran more toward the Midnight Garden, which catered less to hired pleasure workers and more toward matching aristocratic ladies and gentlemen with similar needs.
When I seduce a woman, it is out of mutual desire, not a monetary transaction.
No mistress he’d ever had demanded fine clothes or jewels—they’d only begged him never to leave their beds. He’d been quite happy to oblige for as long as he could.
He stared around at the crowd in the dimly lit card room. The tables had been pushed back half a dozen feet to make room for a small stage, large enough to accommodate a person in the
