Heart pounding, Florence didn’t know what to expect when she knocked on the now-familiar bronze door that evening. Clay had agreed to mentor her, yes, but they hadn’t decided on a schedule or discussed the topics to cover. Would he turn her away? Or would he make time for her?

It didn’t matter, she realized. He’d agreed not to bar her from the casino, and just walking inside was an education. So if she didn’t see him tonight, she’d still find the experience beneficial.

And any disappointment over that possibility needed to be quashed.

The young man at the door lifted his brows when he spied her. “Looks like I owe Bald Jack twenty dollars. Thought for certain you’d change your mind about lessons from Mr. Madden.”

Ah, so word had gotten out amongst the staff. “You bet against me because I’m a woman?”

“Name’s Pete,” he said as he waved her in. “And my bet had nothing to do with you being a woman. I’ve seen grown men piss themselves at the idea of spending time with Mr. Madden.” His expression grew sheepish. “Beg pardon, miss.”

“Oh, I’ve heard worse. No need to censor yourself on my account.”

“That’s what Mr. Madden said. He told the staff no one should make allowances for you or change their behavior when you’re about. I can’t see how that’s proper, though. We don’t have any other women in the club, except for Annabelle, and she don’t mind a bit of bawdy talk.”

Annabelle? Who was that, Madden’s relative? An employee she hadn’t met? His paramour? She put that thought aside for the moment. “In this case, Mr. Madden is correct. I don’t require any special treatment. Now, where shall I go? To the floor?”

“Up to the balcony with you.” Pete pressed a flat panel behind him. It clicked then popped open. This must be another secret passage. “Mr. Madden wants you up there first.”

She ignored the flutter in her belly as she climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor. The dim lighting swathed the shabby interior in gloomy shadows. Clay clearly hadn’t bothered to spend money where no one would see it. The public part of the casino was lavish and elegant. This portion was . . . not.

The balcony was empty. No doubt Clay would be along when it suited him, so she stood near the rail and waited, observing the action on the floor.

“There you are.”

She started at the deep voice behind her. Whirling, she found Clay there, dressed in all black again. His face appeared impassive, almost forbidding, but his eyes said something else entirely. Light danced in the dark depths as he stared down at her, almost as if he was glad to see her.

“How do you manage that?”

He cocked his head. “Manage what?”

“Walk without making a single sound?”

“Practice.”