“I appreciate the concern, sir,” she said. “But I’ll be fine. I am not going far, just down that street.” She pointed.

“But, miss,” the driver whispered. “That’s where—”

“I know all about it. I swear, I’ll be careful. Thank you for the concern.” She slipped him an extra coin. “Good night.”

Lifting her skirts, she stepped around the horse and off the curb. A dead animal lay in the middle of the street, rolled over by some cart or carriage, and she gave it a wide berth. Night had long fallen in the city, the revelry downtown in full swing. Taverns and saloons were crammed with sailors and dockworkers, tradesmen and students. They would drink all night, fights and liaisons spilling into the streets in the wee hours.

Florence wasn’t headed to a tavern or a saloon, however. Her destination was the New Belfast Athletic Club, Mr. Mulligan’s headquarters.

Mulligan owned Donnelly’s saloon and gaming operation, the place that had accused Florence of cheating. He’s likely the only person in the city who knows as much about gaming as I do. High praise coming from Clay, who wasn’t one to pay false compliments. No, he was more likely to bed you then send you packing.

She shoved all those memories aside, far down into the dark pit with all her other unpleasant thoughts. There were more important things right now. Like convincing Mulligan to help her.

Two guards flanked the door to the club, their expressions grim in the yellow gaslight. They eyed her warily as she approached, her head covered by a thick cloak. She hadn’t worn expensive fabrics tonight, but her outfit wasn’t shabby, either. No doubt she stood out as a curiosity in the gloom.

“Good evening.” She came to a stop in front of the doors. “I wish to see Mr. Mulligan.”

One guard snorted and returned his gaze to the street. The other guard frowned heavily at her. “He’s got no need of servicing tonight. Move along, dove.”

Servicing? They thought she was . . . ? Oh. “No, you misunderstand. I wish to hire him.”

Both men snickered. “I bet you do. He don’t do it for money, either. Now, get out of here or—”

“This is not related to sexual favors,” she snapped, and both young men straightened, their brows shooting high. Unclear whether the words or her tone surprised them, but at least she had their attention now. “Tell him I’m the one Donnelly accused of cheating the other night. He’ll know who I am.” She prayed that was true. After all, Bald Jack had sent Clay’s regards on to Mulligan. Surely the message had been passed along, right?

The guards exchanged looks. Probably deciding if she was telling the truth or not. One finally nodded and crossed his arms. The other guard slid between the doors and disappeared inside the club.