Thanks to Mariana, however, Callie had expected that she might need the oil can Michael had fetched for her earlier that evening—without a single question as to her motives, bless him—and she had come prepared. Lifting the can in her hand, she soaked the hinge with the dark liquid, working the gate to spread the lubricant and silence the jarring noise. When she had completed her work with the top hinge, she turned her attention to the lower one.

She was so engrossed in her work that she did not hear Ralston approach.

“Now here is a gentleman of many talents,” he said dryly, and she jumped in surprise at the words. Looking up at him from her crouch, she smiled before carefully adding drops of oil to the hinge and working the gate. He removed his gloves and crouched next to her, taking the oil can as he continued, “Of all the clandestine outings I’ve taken in my life, I will say that this is the first one that included oiling squeaky hinges.”

She smiled at his casual tone. “I could not take the risk that I could be caught by my family should I return home after them.”

He nodded, the movement barely perceptible in the darkness. “A clever precaution.” Finishing his task, he set the oil can aside and removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands on it and handing it to her to do the same. Rising, he reached down to help her into a standing position. He took a step back to survey her disguise. It wasn’t easy to see, but this time she was wearing black and white eveningwear, entirely appropriate for the inside of Brooks’s. Her boots shone in the moonlight, black breeches and black topcoat highlighting a crisp white shirt and waistcoat and a perfectly starched cravat. Anne was becoming quite adept at dressing her mistress in men’s clothing. To complete the look, Callie’s hair was tucked into a black top hat. Lifting her cane with a flourish, she asked in a low tone, “Well, my lord? What do you think?”

“I think that, though diminutive, you should pass just fine. Assuming the lights inside Brooks’s are similar to those here. In your garden. In the dead of night.” His lips set in a firm line as he considered her, then shook his head. “One would have to be an imbecile not to know you’re a woman. This is going to be a disaster.”

Pulling his gloves back on, Ralston began to walk the short distance to his coach. She followed, pointing out, “You didn’t notice I was a woman in the fencing club.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt.

“I find that people see what they expect, my lord, as opposed to what is there.”

He opened the coach door and handed her up into the darkened interior. As she scrambled across the seat to make room for him, she could have sworn that she heard him say, “This was a terrible idea,” before he joined her, pulling the door closed behind him and knocking on the roof to set the carriage in motion.

They rode in silence, Callie attempting to ignore Ralston’s obvious second thoughts when it came to smuggling her into his club. She had come this far…she most certainly was not turning back. The drive wasn’t far, and when the carriage arrived, Callie sat forward on her seat to get a better look out the window. As she pressed her face to the glass, Ralston produced a large greatcoat and handed it to her. “Here. Put this on.”

“But, I—”

“This is not negotiable,” he cut her off in a clipped tone. “It is my membership on the line if you get caught.”

“Not to mention my reputation,” she said under her breath.

He gave her a firm look. “Yes. Well, tonight I’m rather more concerned with my club. Put on the cloak; pull the collar up; keep your head down. Do not meet anyone’s eye. Stay close to me. Do not look at anyone. And for God’s sake don’t use that ridiculous voice you think sounds manly.”

“But, I—”

“No, Callie. I promised you I’d take you gambling at Brooks’s. But I did not promise to do it your way.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

He opened the door and hopped out of the carriage, striding to the door of the club without giving her another glance. She watched for a moment, surprised that he so easily ignored his gentlemanly instincts—leaving her, instead, to fend for herself in alighting from the coach. She did so, slamming the door behind her.

The coach door banged shut with a too-loud crash, drawing attention from Ralston and several others on the street. As several heads spun toward her, Callie’s tentative steps faltered. She met Ralston’s brilliant blue gaze with her panicked brown one and watched as he raised one brow just enough for her to read his thoughts.

Are you quite finished?

She dipped her head, hiding her face in the ample collar of his greatcoat, and headed for him. When she was a few steps away, he entered the club, throwing the door open wide enough for her to catch it and follow him inside.

Callie’s first thought upon crossing the threshold was that Brook’s was stunning. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it was not this. The wide marble entryway boasted the wealth and stature of the men who were members—all lovely planes and gilded edges.

She caught her breath at the space, outfitted like the finest London homes in deep masculine colors and rich woods. And there were men everywhere. They stood in little pockets of conversation in the foyer, acknowledging Ralston with quick nods as he passed through the large entryway and led Callie down a long corridor toward the back of the building. Trying to be discreet, she peeped into the rooms that stood open, some large and warmly lit, where clusters of men were engaged in billiards, cards, and discussion, and others, small and intimate, hosting just a handful of occupants who drank port and smoked.