Lucas approached the table tucked in the corner of the brightly lit room. The place was called Mondrich's, a new gentlemen's club at the end of St. James's street, which was named after the proprietor Will Mondrich. From what Lucas understood, Mondrich was a prized fighter who decided to forfeit his life as a boxer for a slightly more stable career as a club owner.

Lucas wished him the best of luck.

He looked about him assessing the premises. The room was filled with men drinking brandy and loudly talking to one another. A few were playing cards, while others watched on puffing on their cigars.

This was the first time Lucas had stepped foot into a gentlemen's club and he was sure Mondrich's was not at all like Brooks's or White's. The fact that he, a mere physician, was present in the room amongst gentlemen of the ton, merchants, barristers, artists and writers was interesting. Mondrich's had the ability to appeal to the masses, a place for the sharing of new ideas across all classes. Unfortunately, this did not include gender as Lucas swept his eyes across the room once more and noticed the absence of any women except for the doxies that the gentlemen had brought with them.

"This is a dangerous endeavor," Thomas Dorset began even before Lucas had a chance to sit down. The dark haired man looked worried. "Your planned talk at the assembly on Wednesday."

"I do not see why," Lucas replied as he ordered a cup of coffee. He lost count of how many cups he had drank that day. He was exhausted, but he could not miss the meeting with Dorset. The man was an up-and-coming physician amongst the wealthy and they had known one another since Oxford. A professional friendship had formed between their lectures at the Royal College of Surgeons, where Lucas lectured on anatomy and Dorset lectured on medicinal herbs from different countries. His current fascination was with yellow turmeric powder from Bombay.

"Because you will be speaking amongst the radicals."

"The radicals seem to be the only ones concerned about the plight of the people in London."

That set Dorset back. "And, by people, you mean the commoners."

"I mean the impoverished, Dorset, the ones that suffer the most in our society due to lack of interest and care. The women who are forced to subject themselves to pregnancy after pregnancy until their bodies are broken and the children they birth who run the streets stealing so they won't starve to death only to be caught and transported to the penal colonies or strung up by their necks at Newgate. By God, children who turn to prostitution to survive."

"Keep your voice down," Dorset whispered, his eyes nervously scanning the room. "You will get us ejected off the premises. Or, worse, arrested."

"For speaking the truth? Come on, man, you know I am right."

Dorset snorted. "Yes, aren't you always? I do not disagree with you. But, I caution you. The palace does not look kindly on this kind of rabble-rousing, which is precisely what they will deem it. You will be putting your practice at risk if not your neck."

"All I will be doing is giving a small talk on how poor health and the lack of education are linked at the assembly."

"Yes, but your talk will be sandwiched between those demanding equal women's rights, social justice, and whatever will set the aristocrats on their teeth. Which, I may remind you, a class both of us are a member in."

Lucas waved his hand dismissively. "Not I. I have forsaken that life long ago."

Dorset gave him a flat look. "You cannot change who you really are, Blakeley. No matter how much you wish for it to be so."

Before Lucas could reply, a servant brought him a note. "From a boy outside," he said. Lucas opened it, read the contents, and stood abruptly.

"I will see you on Wednesday night then?" Lucas asked.

"At the assembly?" Dorset shook his head. "That is your mad endeavor. I will see you the next day at the college. Or, I hope I will see you there and not rotting away in a cell at Newgate."

***

Lucas stepped out of the hackney. The sun had set hours ago and Lucas always found that he was the busiest in the darkest hours of night. The building before him was nondescript from the outside, but he knew that inside he would find a lush garden designed to entice the most reserved of men. The Hothouse, run by Madame Blancet, was the most prominent brothel in London and catered only to the wealthiest gentlemen in the ton . She also turned a blind eye to some of the more risqué behaviors, which resulted in Lucas visiting more often than not.

No matter how much he wished to change the life of the girls within, he knew he had no power in doing so except to help whenever he could.

Lucas rounded the corner to the back of the building and knocked on the door with the end of his walking stick. A small window on the door slid open and he saw the ugly face of Brutus peek through. The man grunted at Lucas before the window slid shut and the door opened. Lucas's senses were instantly hit with the floral scents of heavy perfume and the muskiness of sweat and sex.

"Who is it tonight?" Lucas asked as he pushed past the much larger man. Brutus, one of three of Madame Blachet's giant doormen, was a head taller than Lucas and three times as wide. His body consisted of muscle that was slowly going to fat. His fists, as Lucas had learned after an unfortunate misunderstanding, were the size of hams.

"Lily," Brutus growled out.

Lucas nodded and headed up the backstairs to the private rooms of the girls who worked at the brothel. He was familiar with the floor and walked straight to Lily's room, which was situated at the end of the hall.

The door was already opened.

"Dr. Blakeley," Madame Blachet said in a breathy French accent that Lucas knew was practiced. Madame Blachet was dressed in a crimson gown that was in the old style that mimicked the queen’s own gowns. The dress, while would have been stunning on a queen with its many rosettes and fine black lace, looked cheap in the candlelight on the older woman. " Mon dieu , you are here."

Lucas looked past Madame Blachet to the young girl laying flat on her stomach in the bed. She was completely naked and weeping quietly into her pillow and Lucas immediately saw the reason why.

Her back was lined with red welts that were quickly bruising.

Lucas seethed with anger, his hand clenching tightly around the handle of his valise. "Who did this?"

Madame Blachet frowned. "You know I cannot disclose that information."

Lucas shot her a glare. "Yet, you allow this?" he hissed out, trying desperately to keep his anger in check.

Madame Blachet's lips flattened. "You know, as I do, that I have no choice. I am not keeping these girls here against their will. They are not caged. They can leave whenever they wish."

Blachet huffed, dropping her French accent. "And, you know they have nowhere else to go. They are spoiled goods. At least here they have a roof over their heads and food in their stomach. And, if they have to suffer the lecherous needs of gentlemen , then so be it."

"This is not lechery. This is a sickness. This gentleman would have beaten her to death if he could."

Blachet shrugged one shoulder. "And, if he does, there will be other Lilys to replace her. This is how our world works."

Lucas glared at Blachet, but he knew she was right. The slums of London were filled to the brim with whores. Lily could easily be replaced by someone who was willing to subjugate themselves to the degradation of being beaten and used like an animal. And, some would do it with a smile on their faces for a few coins and a hot supper.

Lucas opened his valise and took out several bottles–laudanum for the pain, ointment for the welts, and a few extra coins to cover the lost business Lily would suffer as she would not be able to work on her back for the rest of the week.

"Leave us." Only after he heard the door close, did Lucas try to comfort the weeping girl the best he could. At least the laudanum would help her sleep and forget for a moment the nightmare she experienced, he thought after applying the ointment and drawing the covers over her naked body.

Minutes later, Lucas found himself standing back outside the Hothouse. He clenched his jaw in aggravation. It was moments like this that he could not understand his fellow man, but he knew men like those who hurt Lily, men who call themselves "gentlemen." Wolves in sheep's clothing.

Lucas shook his head to clear it and peered into the dark street.

Wolves who were out for the hunt.