“Possibly,” she allowed. “But it won’t be today.” She followed his gaze to the window, where the beautiful blond angel tumbled into Hell. “Today, I reign.”

In minutes, she was belowstairs, at the ladies’ entrance to the club, where Bruno, one of the Angel’s main security detail, stood watch in the dim light. Next to him was Lady Tremley, a beautiful woman in her twenties who sported one of the worst shiners Georgiana had ever seen, despite the Angel being known for its nightly bare-knuckle fights.

With a nod to Bruno, she opened the door to a small antechamber off the dark entryway. “My lady,” she said quietly, startling the other woman. “Will you join me?”

Lady Tremley looked skeptical, but followed Georgiana into the room, taking in the sitting room, appointed as though it were prepared for ladies of the ton to take their afternoon tea instead of gambling and gossiping and playing at life as their husbands did.

Georgiana indicated a settee, upholstered in blue velvet. “Please.”

The lady sat. “I asked to see Mr. Chase.”

And Chase she saw.

Georgiana sat across from Lady Tremley. “Chase is indisposed, my lady. He sends his regards, and hopes you will consider speaking to me instead.”

The marchioness took in the low neckline of Georgiana’s dress, the height of her pale blond wig, the dark kohl around her eyes, and saw what everyone saw when they looked at her. A skilled prostitute. “I don’t think —”

A rap came on the door, and Georgiana opened it to receive a package from Bruno, who was long-skilled in the art of knowing what the founders of The Fallen Angel required without being asked. Closing the door, she approached the lady, extending the linen parcel, filled with ice. “For the eye.”

The marchioness took it. “Thank you.”

“We know about bruises here.” Georgiana sat. “All sorts.”

They remained unspeaking as Lady Tremley held the compress over her eye. Georgiana had had this precise meeting too many times to count, and she recognized the lady. A woman eager for something more than that which life had offered her. Eager for something that would entertain and enrich and engage. Something that would change her in some small, private way, allowing her to suffer through her long days of propriety. And if the black eye were to be considered, something that would see her through long days of marriage, as well.

The key was to let the lady speak first. Always.

After long minutes, Lady Tremley lowered the ice and unlocked herself. “Thank you.”

Georgiana nodded. “Of course.”

“I am sorry.”

It always began this way. With apology. As though the lady had some hand in the cards she had been dealt. As though she weren’t simply made female and, therefore, less than.

“There is no need to be.” It was the truth.

“Surely you have something else…” The lady trailed off.

Georgiana waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing of import.”

Lady Tremley nodded once, looking down to confess to her skirts, “I judged you harshly when you appeared.”

Georgiana laughed. “You think you are the first?” She leaned back in her chair. “I am Anna.”

The marchioness’s eyes went wide. Georgiana was used to shock from proper ladies when she treated them as equals. It was the first test; the one that proved their mettle. “Imogen.”

The lady passed.

“Welcome to The Fallen Angel, Imogen. You may trust that whatever is said between us is shared only with Chase.”

“I have heard of you. You’re his…” She stopped, rethinking the word doxy, choosing a rhyming one instead. “His proxy.”

“Among other things.”

The lady hesitated, fiddling with the gold satin. Georgiana thought it was not a common action for the wife of one of the King’s closest councilors. “I received an invitation from Mr. Chase. I am told there is a woman’s club.”

Georgiana smiled. “No sewing circles or reading societies to be found, I am afraid.”

Lady Tremley’s gaze turned shrewd. “I am not as simpering as you might imagine.”

Georgiana let her attention fall to the bruise on the lady’s face. “I don’t imagine that you are simpering at all.”

Lady Tremley flushed, but Georgiana didn’t imagine that it was embarrassment that caused it. No doubt, if the woman were here, she’d long passed embarrassment at her husband’s actions. She was well into anger. “I understand that to gain acceptance, I must provide information.”

Georgiana was still for a long moment. “I don’t know where you would have heard such a thing.”

Imogen’s gaze narrowed. “I am not a fool.”

“Who is to say that Chase does not already have this information? As you must have heard, we’ve a file thick as his thumb on every important man in London.”

“He does not have this,” the lady said, lowering her voice and looking to the door. “No one has this.”

Georgiana did not believe that for a moment. “Not even the King?”

The lady shook her head. “It would ruin Tremley. Forever.” There was something in the words, eagerness. Excitement. The heady triumph that comes with revenge.

Georgiana leaned back. “We are aware that your husband steals from the exchequer.”

Lady Tremley’s eyes went wide. “How do you know that?”

It was true.

How had West known it, dammit?

How had West known it and she hadn’t?

She collected herself, took a second run. “And we know that he pays it to fund the arming of our enemies.”