by Jane Charles
Pickmore scrunched his face as if he’d just gotten the whiff of a most unpleasant odor. “Good God, you’re worse than your mother led me to believe, and I don’t want to talk about Egypt or the artifacts now.” He strode for the entrance of the gaming hell and brothel, then stepped inside. “But I am not one to run from a challenge. Come along, Kilsyth. You will enjoy yourself tonight, even if it kills you.”
That was highly doubtful, but Henry followed his friend inside. Perhaps he had become rather dull of late, but it wasn’t without purpose. Besides avoiding marriage-minded misses, he had been busy grooming old and new agents for their roles across the Continent, and every other corner of the world where Napoleon might send or already have troops amassed. Those under him were trained and prepared to blend in with the locals for the soul purpose of obtaining information for the Crown. He’d become diligent in his training and making certain not one piece of information was left untaught.
“Women, Hazard, brandy or all?” Pickmore asked.
In the large drawing room, decorated in decadent golds and reds, were women who wore very little and lounged on the laps of gentlemen Henry recognized from the House of Lords and from Whites. Not all of the women were on laps, some were looking for laps, but none would be sitting on his. Pickmore, however, had no difficulty finding a chair, ordering a brandy and motioning to a rather buxom brunette to settle upon him.
“If you aren’t going to partake, Kilsyth, perhaps Hazard would be of interest,” he called with a grin as he wrapped a hand around the woman’s hip. “The rooms are in the back.”
“Hazard.” Henry didn’t even wager on horses and they were better odds than a roll of the dice.
“Oh, let loose of some of your wealth. It’s not as if an evening spent inside will leave you in debtor’s prison.”
In that Pickmore was correct. “Very well.” With a sigh Henry made his way to the gaming rooms and stopped at the threshold as he took in the occupants. His stomach tightened. What the blazes were Keegan and Ashford doing here. Didn’t they have a mission to prepare for?
Of course, being seen at a Hazard table in a brothel did fit with what society believed of the Devils of Dalston, so Henry shouldn’t fault them.
As he was a known associate of the two, Henry forced a smile and made his way further into the room. Even if he wasn’t up to a night of revelry, he must still act the part, which his friends were certainly doing. A woman on one arm, a glass of brandy in another and wagering on a game of chance.
“Kilsyth,” Ashford called. “It’s good to see you out. I thought we’d have to pull you back into society.”
“Or at least back to life’s pleasures,” Keegan laughed and fondled the breast of the woman on his lap.
“Pickmore and I just attended the theatre,” Henry responded defensively.
“Pickmore,” Keegan and Ashford cried at the same time as if they were deep in their cups.
“Where is the bloody bastard?” Keegan asked.
“Being entertained upstairs, or will be soon.”
Henry ordered a brandy and studied the men gathered around the table. In the middle sat an agitated gentleman of approximately five and twenty years. His face pale even though sweat glistened his brow. Either it was the drink, his losses or something else, but there was almost a madness in his light green eyes. Desperation perhaps? Was the man close to losing his quarterly or worse?
“One person. Private game,” the gentleman said.
None of the others at the table were willing to take up the offer.
“Ye, sir?”
Henry glanced around, but there was no one else standing beside him. Apparently, the gentleman was speaking to him.
“I don’t wager.”
“Then why are ye here?”
Henry could feel all eyes on him, including those of Keegan and Ashford.
“With a friend,” he answered slowly.
“A simple game while yer friend dips his wick.”
Irish! The man was most definitely Irish and from the Cork region if he was correct.
“Game?”
“Hazard.” Then he pulled a sapphire and diamond necklace from his coat pocket. “’Tis all I have.”
That, Henry very much doubted. A poor man did not carry around something so expensive if he were truly down to his last quid.
Pickmore was right in that Henry was wealthy and perhaps a simple game would prove to be entertaining. Besides, it would offer him a chance to study the others in the room, especially the gentleman with the necklace, in order to train agents for future missions. The study of character was always beneficial. “Very well, I’ll accept your challenge.”
Eve Doyle settled back on her heels before the fireplace, exhausted.
If father were alive, he’d be so disappointed in her brother, Brendan. Of course, if Father were alive, she wouldn’t be responsible for cleaning their small lodgings or the stack of mending on the table. However, before she tackled the mending, she’d see to cleaning the drafty fireplace since her clothing was already quite filthy. Not that their home was so dirty, but an old wagon had rumbled by while she was returning from the theatre and struck a puddle, spraying the contents onto her skirt. She’d been quite irritated as she had little clothing as it was and most needed to be laundered, which she would see to before the mending.
If Father were alive, Eve wouldn’t be trying to pay the rent through employment at the theatre. Not as an actress, but costume mistress, dresser and occasional hairdresser.
If Father were alive, she’d be asleep in her bed instead of awake all through the night, taking care of household chores while her brother was away and most likely getting into trouble as he was want to do.
If Father were alive, she’d have her sister, Caitlin, by her side, as they enjoyed the Season, or they would have already made brilliant matches. But her sister wasn’t here. Cait was in Cornwall where she’d managed to secure a position teaching at a girls’ boarding school.
As much as Eve missed her sister, she was also grateful that Cait was in a situation that allowed her to secretly send funds to Eve so she and their brother wouldn’t starve. But sometimes Eve would rather be hungry just so she could have her older sister by her side.
Eve got up and wandered to peek out the window. The streets were coming alive with vendors and people on their way to work.
Where in the world was Brendan? He’d gone out last night after she’d left for the theatre and he’d not come home.
If Father were alive, they’d still have a home in Cork and horses to ride and race. But her brother had lost it all—everything because of gambling.
As a girl, when she had dreamed of her future, cleaning a fireplace had not been part of that image. No, it was of balls and elegant gentlemen. Her father may not have been titled, but he was landed gentry and wealthy, with a stable full of some of the fastest horses ever to race, and gentlemen were willing to part with good coin for the privilege of their mares mating with her father’s Arabians.
All of it was gone now. Everything, save her mother’s necklace she’d hidden from her brother along with the funds from Cait because otherwise Brendan would have sold or lost them in a game of chance. If she kept saving, soon she’d have enough to make her way to Cornwall to live near Cait, find a position, and support herself. As much as she loved her brother, he could rot in his liquor and debts without her. He’d already ruined what was left of the family’s estates, and Eve would not allow him to ruin the remainder of her life as well.
At least Cait was able to get a good position because she was well-spoken. Even as a child, Cait dreamed of going to England to have a Season and meet a Lord and thus had painstakingly done her best to mimic their English governess in word and gestures, to the point that by the time Cait was old enough for a Season, she didn’t even sound Irish.
Eve, on the other hand, took to her studies, but refused to change who she was. If a gentleman didn’t want her on account of how she spoke or where s
he was from, then she didn’t want him either. However, had Eve been as diligent as Cait, perhaps she would have found a respectable position within a household, or even a school when they had come to England. Instead, she had only found work in Covent Gardens. But, at least she had found honest, decent work because it could have turned out so much worse.
Just as she was about to take the ashes out the back, the front door burst open, so startling that she spilled even more onto her already filthy skirt.
“Pack yer belongin’s.”
Eve blinked at her brother.
“I said, pack yer thin’s.”
Her heart immediately started to pound. “What have ye done?”
“We need ta leave.”
“Not till ye explain.” She was tired of sneaking out of their lodgings before the sun was up. Except it was morning, and not the middle of the night for a change.
“Rent is due. I don’t have it.”
“Yet, ye had enough ta drink.” Brendan’s eyes were bloodshot, his cravat askew and his breath fetid.
“Enough!”
Eve stumbled back. She’d not seen her brother in quite this state before. Panicked. “It is so bad dis time?” Worry ate at her insides. If they left here, where would they go? Further into Seven Dials? They already lived at the edge, but given their financial state, there was no other place, short of a cell in debtor’s prison.
“Ye’ll be settled. ‘Tis me promise I give.”
A promise, indeed! One she’d heard time and time again. Assurance of riches once his luck turned, which it never did.
“Hurry, Eve, we’ve not much time.”
With a sigh, she set the bucket of ash aside.
“Wash yer face and hands, pack and we shall go.”
“I’d like ta change my clothes.”
“No time!” Brendan barked. “Now, go pack.”
This was worse than any other time, and Eve hurried from the room. After washing and trying to repair her hair, she grabbed her satchel and filled it with what little clothing she had left. All of the hats, gloves and gowns from home had been sold long ago and all she was left were sturdy wool dresses, not comfortable in the summer, but necessary in the winter.
Then she crossed the floor and pulled up the one loose board and reached inside for the jewelry and funds.
Her stomach sank, and she frantically searched every corner, but all that she’d saved was gone.
Tears spiked her eyes as she came to realize what her brother had done. He’d stolen from her. It had to have been Brendan. He was the only other person who lived here.
Sinking back on her heels, Eve allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks.
“What is takin’ so lo…”
Eve glanced up at her brother through watery eyes, but her vision wasn’t so clouded that she couldn’t see the color leave his face as his jaw dropped.
“How could ye?”
“I needed ta, Eve. Ye don’t understand the pressure. Nothin’ is workin’ as it should.”
“Because ye spend yer nights gamblin’ and drinkin’ instead of gettin’ a position.”
He reared back as if she’d struck him. “I’m not meant ta work.”
“I’m not meant ta live on the streets and run out on rent. Yet, it’s what I’ve been reduced ta.”
“No. I’ve seen that ye’ll be cared for.” Brendan reached out for her, but Eve jerked back.
Oh, how many times had he promised that he’d protect her, when it was she who had tried to keep the two of them from starving, and tried to earn enough funds to keep a roof over their heads? She’d failed and had finally given up, intent on taking care of herself, and now he’d taken even that from her. “Mamaí’s necklace?” That’s what cut the deepest. Father had given one to Eve and another to Cait after their mother died. It was all Eve had left of her parents, and she’d treasured the sapphire and diamond necklace above all else. Now it was lost to her forever.
“I needed it.”
“For drink, gamblin’, opium or whores?” Eve rose to her feet as her anger mounted.
“I should have won.”
“Dat’s what ye always say. Will ye ever learn?” Eve didn’t care that she was now yelling and that she might disturb the neighbors. The loss of the necklace was the end of what remained of her patience.
“It worked out dis time.” He took a step forward. “At least for ye.”
Fairytales! Her brother lived in a world of fairytales and dreams and the drink and the poppy weren’t helping him face the reality of the situation. How could it have possibly worked if they were to run again?
“I promise,” Brendan insisted. “Gather yer thin’s and come alon’. The hackney is waitin’.”
“Hackney?” They’d not taken any form of conveyance in months. They couldn’t afford to.
“I promised I’d take care of ye and dat is what I’ve done. Now come alon’.”
Hesitantly, Eve grabbed her satchel. Perhaps Brendan’s luck had finally changed. However, she might never forgive him for losing Mother’s necklace.
After settling into the hackney, Eve looked at her brother from the corner of her eye. “Where are we goin’?”
“Mayfair.” Then he took her hand. “All will be well for ye, Eve. I promise.”
Chapter 2
What was that blasted pounding? Henry pushed the covers away and checked the time. It was only ten in the morning. He’d gotten to sleep only a few hours earlier. It had been the first time he’d been out all night since before his father died. Back then he’d still been a Devil and it was expected not to return to his lodgings until early morning. Last night had been reminiscent of what his life had once been.
Once again, there was a loud knock at his door.
“Come.”
“I do apologize for disturbing you, Lord Kilsyth,” his butler said as he stepped into the bedchamber. “There is a matter most urgent.”
His heartbeat kicked up as concern mounted. Had something happened to his mother? She’d not been herself since father died.
“An Irishman, a Mr. Brendan Doyle, insists on seeing you. He says he’s here to make good on his wager.”
Thank God nothing had happened to his mother.
“Wager?” Henry frowned. The man had made good by way of a sapphire and diamond necklace. What else did he owe?
Henry sat up and was completely awake in an instant. “Is he alone?” he asked slowly.
“No. A rather disheveled young woman is with him.”
Bloody hell. “Get Pickmore and show them into the library.”
“Library, sir?”
“Library!” It was closest to the front door, which they would be leaving by instantly. The last thing Henry wanted was for them to be traipsing around his house, visiting any rooms far more suitable for invited guests. “Have someone with them until I come down.” Brendan Doyle was down on his luck and desperate and Henry didn’t want the man taking anything that didn’t belong to him.
“Very good, sir.” The butler bowed and quit the room as Henry jumped from the bed.
“Damn and blast!” The bloke had been serious when he had wagered his sister.
Well, Henry was having none of that. He’d even give back the blasted necklace to make them go away if he had to.
“What is going on, Kilsyth and why do you need me at this wretched hour?” Pickmore demanded as Henry stepped into the corridor after dressing.
“It’s only wretched because we found our beds only five hours ago. As a military man, I assumed you’d be awake already.”
“I’m no longer in the military,” Pickmore reminded him as he tried to cover a yawn.
Unlike the other Devils, upon leaving Cambridge, Pickmore had purchased a commission, at his father’s insistence while most of the Devils remained in England or traveled abroad for only brief jaunts. After escorting a spy back from India, the Home Office had decided that it was best that Pickmore resign his commission so that he could be of better use in England
and abroad, if he chose to travel as a gentleman. From what Henry understood, Pickmore was glad to be back in gentleman’s clothing—permanently.
“Doyle has come to make good on his losses.”
“Why does that require my presence?”
“He wagered his sister.”
Pickmore stopped and stared at Henry with a bit of intrigue. “His sister, you say?”
“His sister!”
“Yes, well, that’s highly unusual.” Pickmore frowned.
“I didn’t believe the man to be serious,” Henry defended. “He only wished to win back the necklace.” Henry stomped toward the stairs. “One doesn’t wager another soul in a game of chance. It just isn’t done.”
“Well, apparently, it is,” Pickmore said with a bit of humor, which was certainly not at all appropriate for the current situation. “When a wager is made at a gaming table, you must always take it with the utmost seriousness.”
Who honestly believed a man would wager a sibling? Henry still wasn’t certain Doyle wasn’t up to something else. “Well, we’ll just take care of this matter and send the bloke, and his sister, on their way.”
Henry paused as he had found his housekeeper waiting at the foot of the stairs. Mrs. Peade had come with the townhouse when he purchased it. Not that she was a part of the price, but she’d been the housekeeper for the former owner before he died and had stayed to see to the place. Henry had been happy to keep her on as well. It was the best choice a gentleman could make as Mrs. Peade had proved to be quite indispensable. Not only did she oversee the various servants and saw to the house, but she also held many of his secrets, such as his position with the Home Office, without batting an eye.
“Would you like tea sent in?”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Peade. They won’t be staying.”
“Very good, sir.” She turned and walked down the corridor and toward the back stairs that led down into the kitchens.
Suspicion settled in Henry’s gut as he started for the library. What did he really know of Doyle, except that the man had lost everything last night, and was drunk while doing so? What if Doyle and his sister were part of a plan to fleece him of more?
