Today I'm continuing with Ars Daemonica. This six introduces Ashe, our love interest.
Ashe reclined, relishing the warm, etheric headiness of his cognac as he sank into an exceedingly comfortable leather wingchair. The dry smoke of a tobacco cigar—a new-style thing from some colony called Connecticut—married quite well with the cognac. His father was right—as much as it pained Ashe to admit—London was educational, even to one of Ashe's age.
The Phoenix Club, although a pale offspring of its Hellfire sire, boasted not only some of the finest refreshment to be had in Victoria's Britain but also a great number of Her Majesty's most handsome subjects. Despite their more peculiar interests, the members of the Phoenix men's club were singularly well-bred. Ashe cast a languid eye over the room, making a few selections for later that evening.
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