Georgiana’s brow furrowed at the strange request. “Tremley is not a member. You know that.”

The Earl of Tremley was not a fool. He would never get into bed with The Fallen Angel – no matter how tempting the tables might be. He knew the price was too high.

The founders of the Angel had worked for years to establish the invitation to join the club as the most coveted offer in Britain – perhaps in Europe. Unlike other men’s clubs, there were no membership dues, and there was no allowance for vouching for friends or cohorts – members rarely knew why they were invited to the club, and they were encouraged not to discuss their membership. Few did, in part because of the high price of entry to the casino floor.

They were not willing to risk their secrets becoming public.

For years, Bourne, Cross, Temple, and Georgiana – masked as Anna and Chase – had been amassing secrets on London’s most powerful men and women, each piece of privileged, clandestine information given freely in exchange for membership in London’s darkest, most promising, most sinful gaming hell. There was nothing that the Angel could not give her members, and few requests that the owners of the casino would not accommodate.

That kind of luxury was worth unfathomable information, and information was the currency of power.

But the Earl of Tremley was too well connected to the crown to risk a connection to The Fallen Angel. “Try the clubs across the street,” she said, injecting her words with teasing. “White’s is more to the earl’s liking.”

He inclined his head. “That may be true, but I need Chase for what I’m asking.”

She was immediately intrigued. “What do you have on him?”

He raised a brow. “Does Chase have anything?”

The Angel had tried to hook the earl any number of times since King William ascended to the throne with Tremley at his right hand, but few were willing to talk about a man with so much political power. Was there something they’d missed?

If West was asking, there was. Without doubt. “There is no file on Tremley,” she said. It was the truth.

He did not believe her. She could see it in his eyes even here, in the dim light. “There will be when Chase invites the earl’s wife to the ladies’ side.”

She stilled at the words. “I don’t know what you are referring to.”

For as many years as there had been a Fallen Angel, the coveted public men’s club and casino run by four fallen aristocrats, each richer than the next, there had been a secret, unspoken second club that operated beneath the gentlemen’s noses and utterly beyond their notice. A ladies’ club, with no name and no public face.

It was never discussed.

And she wasn’t about to acknowledge its existence.

West did not seem to care; he took a step closer and the small, dark space became smaller. Darker. More dangerous. “Chase is not the only one who knows things, love.”

The words were low and graveled, and she hesitated, the pleasure of their sound unfamiliar and unsettling. Finally, she remembered herself. “We do not take ladies.”

His lips curved and she was reminded of the lion they’d discussed the previous evening. “Come now, you can lie to the rest of London, but don’t think to lie to me. You will offer the lady membership. She will trade proof of her husband’s deeds for it. And you’ll get me my information.”

She collected herself. “Chase will not be happy.”

He leaned in, whispered low at her ear, sending a thrill through her. “Tell Chase I do not care where his women play.” He pulled back, meeting her eyes. “I want the information the lady provides.”

She resisted him, curious. Why the earl? Why now? “What do you know?”

He leaned in. “I know he steals from the exchequer.”

She met his gaze. “He, and every councilor to every monarch since William the Conqueror.”

“Not to aid the Ottoman Empire in their war.”

Her gaze went wide. She lowered her voice. “Treason?”

“We’ll see.”

“Why do I think you already do see?”

His gaze snapped to hers. “Because I see a great deal.”

And suddenly, it seemed that they were having a different conversation altogether. “Who is to say the lady will offer the proof?”

“She’ll offer,” he said. “He’s a beast of a husband. She’ll want to share what she knows.”

“And you do nothing to help her?”

“This will help her,” he said.

“What makes you think she knows anything?”

He inclined his head. “Therein lies the wager I make.”

“You think luck is on your side?”

He smiled, all wolf. “Luck has been on my side for eleven years; I have no reason to believe it has changed.”

“That is a very specific number.”

A shadow crossed his face, there, then gone. “I shall pay handsomely for his information.”

He, too, had secrets. The thought comforted her. She resisted the urge to ask about them, instead forcing a smile. “How handsomely?” She brazened on. “Tit for tat, Mr. West.”

He watched her for a moment, and the air in the little space seemed to shift. “What would you like, Anna?”

Had she imagined the strange emphasis on the false name?

She ignored it. “It is not me you must pay,” she said, putting on her best flirt, leaning back against the wall of the alcove, pressing her breasts up and looking up at him through her darkened lashes. “You’ve already given me so much. Saving me from Pottle.” She offered her best moue. “What a lucky girl am I.”