Clay took her arm and started for the doors. Only, he didn’t lead them to the lobby entrance. He directed her toward the saloon. The male-only saloon. Moralists were always screaming that Hoffman House’s Grand Saloon should be closed, due to a scandalous painting on the wall. Which was likely why women were not permitted inside. Fools. They thought protecting women from nudity would save society. Instead, it taught shame and ignorance.

“After you,” he said and pulled open the taproom door.

“But women aren’t allowed.”

He dipped his head and put his mouth near her ear. “This particular woman is allowed just for tonight.”

A thrill shot along her spine, the illicit lure of the forbidden. She stepped inside, unsure what she’d find. Elegance greeted her, a room as fine as any she’d ever come across. Mahogany panels lined the long room, which had high decorative ceilings. Thick Eastern carpets covered the floor and surrounded a carved wooden bar. French tapestries covered the walls, and marble and bronze nude statues were displayed proudly.

“Welcome, miss. Mr. Madden.” A waiter approached them. Four other waiters hovered in the background. “May we show you to your table?”

It was then that Florence realized there was only one table set up in the saloon, under a red velvet canopy. A matching red drape covered the wall under the canopy, an ornate chandelier overhead.

“Thank you,” Clay said and took Florence’s arm.

They followed the waiter to the table. Florence’s head swiveled as she struggled to take it all in. No woman had ever graced these floors, observed these walls. How had Clay talked them into allowing her to be the first?

He held out her chair and she lowered herself down. Who was this casino owner with such impeccable manners? The man was layers and layers of mystery. One I hope to solve.

“May I bring you both a drink?” the waiter asked when Clay had claimed the empty seat.

“Two house cocktails, please,” Clay said. “And your oldest bottle of Bordeaux.”

“Very good, sir.”

The waiter departed and Florence narrowed her eyes playfully. “Should I not get to choose my own drink on my birthday?”

“Trust me, you should try the house cocktail. It is all the rage, apparently.” He leaned in. “And how many women may lay claim to having tried it?”

She bit her lip. Was she so transparent? “This is the perfect gift, Clay. How did you know to pick something so unusual for me?”

His lips twisted into a smile, the scars on his face less obvious in his humor. “A woman who longs to open her own casino, who could possibly beat even me in a hand of cards, requires an unusual gift.” He lifted her hand, brought it to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “And you haven’t even seen the best part.”

Chapter Twenty