Duke of Decadence

by Tammy Andresen

  He turned and grabbed a set from the shelf. She gestured for the men to take a seat.

  Then she did the same, Eliza sitting on her right. Isabella noted that Menace took the seat on Eliza’s other side, his green eyes appraising Eliza with startling intensity.

  “Deal out fifteen cards,” Isabella requested. “Just lay them down face up. Then quickly pick them up again.”

  Bash did as she asked. He laid down fifteen cards then picked them up. She looked at each for less than a second. Her mind cleared as she noted them.

  Then he picked them up.

  “Set them aside and deal ten more.”

  He did. Then picked them up.

  Taking a slow steadying breath, she noted them. “Five more.”

  “What are we doing?” Menace asked.

  “Hush,” Eliza chastised. “She’s concentrating.”

  “Five more.” Isabella gestured toward the table.

  Bash did. He set them down and then quickly picked them up.

  “Don’t tell me that you’re going to name all the cards that you just saw.” Vanity asked, cocking his head to the side.

  “I could,” she answered as she folded her hands. This was the part she loved, and excitement skittered through her. “But you asked me to explain how I win.”

  “We’re listening,” Infamy rumbled, his voice deeper than any she’d heard before.

  “There are seventeen cards left. The queen of hearts, the king of diamonds, the six of hearts…” she continued, proceeding to name every one of the remaining cards.

  Once she was done, she nodded to Bash. “Go on. Show us the cards that you’re still holding.”

  Slowly, Bash began to turn over the cards. The first being the queen of hearts.

  “Lucky guess,” Menace called. But then came the six of hearts, and one by one each of the cards she’d named appeared.

  An eerie silence filled the room.

  “Bloody Christ,” Infamy grumbled.

  “How the fuck…” Blasphemy scrubbed his neck.

  “I see where you get your name.” Eliza smiled, sitting back in her chair. “Her mind is scary, isn’t it?”

  “That’s funny.” Isabella looked at her sister. “I think the same about yours.”

  “Seriously,” Bash rumbled. “How did you do that?”

  “I can see the entire deck in my head. As cards are played, I check them off my mental list and then I see what’s left.”

  “And you win because?” Vanity asked, notching his chin down as he studied her.

  She blushed. Did they think her odd like her family did? She twisted her hands under the table. “It’s a matter of probability. If I get a queen but three have already been played versus none of them, I know I am more or less likely to win. Keep the queen or toss it for a more probable winning hand.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Blasphemy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It makes my head hurt to even think about it.”

  “It’s brilliant,” Bash said next to her and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. His approval made her limp with relief.

  “Thank you.”

  Eliza laughed next to her. It was clear and bright and out of sync with the mood of the gathering. “It would also be very useful for men running a gaming hell. Don’t you think?”

  Isabella’s head whipped around to look at Eliza. What was her sister doing?

  Chapter Four

  Bash sat straighter as Isabella’s head swam. What was Eliza on about?

  He cleared his throat. “If Isabella were a man, I’d hire her in a second, pay her whatever she wished, and still make a bundle of money.”

  But she wasn’t a man. And she hated it here. No offense to these men. The other patrons made her nervous. On edge. “Eliza,” Isabella hissed. “Whatever you’re scheming—”

  “Not scheming.” Eliza raised a finger smiling brightly about the room. “I am simply suggesting that these men hire you to work in their club.”

  Isabella gripped the table as the blood drained from her face.

  A one-time trip to a gaming hell was to be nothing more than a memory of a time when she’d behaved very badly. But to come here regularly? It was as though she were flaunting every rule of society. And, if she were being truthful with herself, likely giving up a future that included a husband and children of her own.

  Not that she’d thought that far ahead. Well, she’d always just assumed that would be her future. Wasn’t it every girl’s who came from a decent family?

  The men began to rumble.

  Isabella could hear the change in their tenor. They’d been leery before but now their voices grew lighter, easier, and more excited with all the…possibilities.

  Her shoulders straightened. Yes, her sisters needed food and clothes, but she’d not sacrifice her future for that. There was no way. She wasn’t as strong as Eliza. Clenching her fists in her lap, she knew this time she had to put an end to Eliza’s dangerous plans.

  But as she opened her mouth to speak, another voice cut through the din. “No.” It was Bash’s deep baritone and it silenced the murmurs.

  “No?” Menace asked, his chin pulling back. “You won’t even consider it?”

  “No.” Bash said, his hand coming down on the table. “Absolutely not.”

  She let out a relieved breath. “I agree. It’s a terrible idea.”

  Blasphemy tossed up his hands. “Just to be clear, we all bought out this club to make money. The golden goose has landed on our doorstep and we’re going to toss her back on the street?”

  “I agree with Blasphemy.” Vanity, nodded his head, his hair not moving a bit. “This is a rare opportunity.”

  “To what?” Bash said and his arm came around the back of her chair. “To damage an innocent woman’s reputation?”

  Menace snorted. “She’s already impersonated a man and handed us our asses at cards. We’re going to use the word innocent?”

  A flush stained Isabella’s cheeks as her chin dropped to her chest. She was an innocent. She was just in a difficult situation. But these men assumed she was a harlot. What man wouldn’t? That was exactly why she couldn’t go through with her sister’s mad plan.

  “How dare you make such implications about my sister,” Eliza said, smacking the table. Her palm didn’t make nearly as much noise as when Bash had done it. “You don’t know the first thing about our situation.”

  Menace raised one brow. “Enlighten me, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart,” Eliza snarled back.

  Bash’s thumb stroked the spot between Isabella’s shoulder blades. If the gesture was meant to relax her, it had the opposite of the intended effect. In addition to sending a shower of tingles cascading down her back it also made her flush deeper. Did he think her a harlot too? Was that why he touched her?

  “Regardless,” Bash said as his thumb continued to dance slow circles. “We’re not going to partake in such risky behavior.”

  “What the hell has gotten into you?” Blasphemy said as he tossed Bash a scowl. “You don’t worry about consequences. You barrel headlong into everything fun and dangerous.”

  “For myself,” he fired back. “I barrel headlong into all sorts of things. This is different.”

  Isabella shook her head as it began to throb. She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. “We’ve proven to you that we didn’t steal from you. I think it best we leave now.”

  “Isabella, we’ve only just—”

  “Enough,” she said to her sister. “You may stay. I am going home.” And then she pushed back her chair and rose.

  She ignored the way she missed Bash’s touch as she started for the door. She should not want his hands on her.

  “I do see the problem you were referring to,” Vanity said as he titled his head to the side. “The pants are delightful. Someone is bound to notice.”

  Infamy chuckled. “Someone? Everyone.”

  She pulled the knob and started out
the door, not bothering to look back. She didn’t have her hat on, her hair draped down her back, but she wasn’t certain she cared. She just needed to leave this place.

  She didn’t like what they thought of her, didn’t like Eliza’s plans. She wanted to be home and safe and…she wanted to see her father.

  Anger and fear swelled in her chest making it difficult to draw air. How could he leave them to deal with all of this by themselves? To her horror, a tiny sob collected in her throat that she pushed back down, fisting her hands.

  “Isabella?” It was Bash. His deep voice reverberated through her. “You can’t go out there like that. There is a back door.” He slipped his hand about her waist, turning her back the way she’d come. “I’ll have my carriage take you and your sister home.”

  “Thank you,” she said, nodding as she saw Eliza waiting by the door.

  Bash walked them to the end of the hall and opened a door into an alley. Several carriages sat there but the one he led them to was beautifully carved and highly polished, inlaid with bits of what must be gold. Even in the dark, it flashed with opulence.

  “My driver will see you home.”

  “Of course, I will, Your Grace,” the driver answered.

  Her eyes widened. Your Grace? Who exactly was Bash?

  Bash watched the carriage roll away, half wishing he’d climbed in and escorted the ladies home.

  But he knew it was an awful idea.

  He had literally been unable to keep his hands off of Isabella. After pivoting around, he headed back inside. He didn’t return to the private game room where his friends still sat. Instead, he made his way to the small private office that was just big enough to hold a desk and a few chairs.

  He’d bought this club for the same reason he’d made several major decisions in his life. To thwart his father. He fisted his hands.

  Not that his father was even alive to know what a disappointment his son had become. The Devil Duke had died six years prior. And that’s when Bash’s entire life had changed.

  He’d been an angry, belligerent young man, one who’d been beaten down by his father’s constant disappointment and abuse. In fact, in that time, he’d boxed nearly every day as an outlet for that rage.

  But with his father’s passing, he’d let the anger go. Instead, he’d taken on a carefree attitude that his father would have despised. Bash didn’t take anyone or anything seriously. Ever.

  He sat in his chair, pushing back and propping his feet on the desk in a forced display of relaxing. He needed to get his head back into that space.

  The one where he pretended nothing mattered. In that mindset, he was the exact opposite man from his father. Anger couldn’t touch him because he didn’t care about anything.

  And he ensured he never became the Devil Duke.

  Instead, he was the Duke of Decadence. He ran a hand through his hair once again. It was a habit. Not only did it relax him but it gave him that carefree, windswept appearance. But it didn’t work this time.

  He was just as tense, and he was certain every line in his face was taut with strain.

  A knock sounded on his office door. “Go away,” he called in answer. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

  Because he was fairly convinced he’d never wanted a woman more than he wanted Isabella. But with his wanting came…caring. And there was nothing carefree about worrying.

  An image of her rose in his thoughts. Lush, full lips, chocolate brown eyes, little adorable nose. And, of course, the gentle curves of her body, completely outlined by her man’s clothing.

  She’d been tall. Damn, she’d almost reached his chin. He’d been intimately aware of how she’d fit against him. Which was perfectly.

  Another knock.

  “I said go away,” he nearly shouted, banging a fist on the table.

  “What’s wrong with you?” It wasn’t Menace, Infamy, or Blasphemy but his brother, Mason, the Earl of Baxter. He was a more silent partner in their club.

  “Nothing,” Bash said, dropping his feet. “I’m in a mood. Come in.”

  Baxter opened the door and stepped into the room. “You’re never in a mood. That’s your whole thing.”

  “I know,” Bash replied when he realized that Menace was behind Mason. “You.” He pointed at Menace. “Can get out. I don’t want you in here.”

  Menace held up his hands. “I’m very sorry that I attempted to touch her hair. It shan’t happen again, Your Grace.”

  Mason quirked a brow. “Her hair? Whose hair? What’s happened?”

  Menace came into the room despite the directive not to and plopped down in one of the two free chairs. “A lady gambler came in dressed as a man and cleaned the house out. Not only is she beautiful, but she can keep an entire deck of cards in her head at once.”

  “That’s impressive.” Mason sat too.

  “What’s even more impressive is that over the course of an hour, our duke who cares about nothing and no one appears to be completely smitten.”

  The words irritated him to no end and he sat up straighter, glaring at Menace. “Try to touch her again and I’ll rip your fingers off one at a time.”

  “See?” Menace said by way of response.

  Baxter raised both his brows. “I do.” Then he cleared his throat. “And I’m glad.”

  “What?” Bash asked, looking at his brother. “You want me to return to being that angry man who resembled our father?”

  Mason shook his head. “Of course not. But you’ll never be him. I know that for certain. And besides, caring for a woman brings out the best in a man and not the worst.”

  Bash frowned. Mason didn’t know for certain what was in Bash’s heart. And sometimes he felt the anger bubbling in his that he’d seen seething within his father. It frightened the hell out of him.

  In terms of women bringing out the best in men…Mason had recently gotten married so Bash could forgive him his ridiculous notions. “All ladies can’t be like Clarissa.”

  Mason smiled. “True. What do you know about this woman?”

  “Nothing,” he answered with a shrug. “Which is how it will stay. These lugheads want to have her work here. But all the profit in the world isn’t going to convince me that it is a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Menace asked, leaning back in his chair. “You could make a pile of money and you would have a beautiful woman in your bed.”

  Bash grimaced. For a brief second he considered that bedding Isabella might scratch the itch, but he rejected the notion.

  Somehow, he got the impression that would make him more protective, not less. “I’ve dallied with enough women to know when one has the potential to get under my skin. There will be no bedding.”

  Menace shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Bash leaned forward, his hands coming down on the desk as he half rose from his chair. “But to be clear, you are not to touch her. Ever.”

  “You’ve been clear,” Menace replied with a knowing grin.

  “Good.” He sat down again. “I’ll stay away from her and so will you.”

  Mason rubbed his chin. “So our partners wished to strike a deal with this woman, but you said no and then sent her away?”

  “No.” Bash furrowed his brow. “She wanted to leave. She’s not interested in becoming a dealer.”

  “Then why was she here?”

  “I told you. I don’t know.” But something cold slid down Bash’s back. She’d been nervous the entire time. She’d never wanted to be here. Gambling here had been Eliza’s idea. But why would Eliza bring her unwilling sister to a place like this?

  The only answer was for the money. But why?

  Chapter Five

  Isabella stood in her dressing gown and braid, her arms wrapped about her waist as she assessed the street below, nervous knots twisted in her stomach.

  He was here.

  By he Isabella meant their Uncle Malcolm. Lord Pennington.

  His visits were becoming more frequent. She pressed her fingers to her te
mples. This was not a good sign.

  Was Eliza up? She hated for Abigail and Emily to have to face the man alone. He was relentless.

  Turning from the window, she began to dress, hurriedly pulling on her warmest wool gown as she pinned her hair back in a simple style.

  There was no time to dally. Uncle Malcolm was the husband of her mother’s older sister. He was the great catch of the family, being titled and of the peerage. Her mother’s younger sister had married a laird.

  Her mother and aunts were the daughters of a successful merchant. What they’d lacked in connections, they’d made up for in funds. Their grandfather had been rich beyond most men and he’d more or less bought into the elite.

  Their uncle had received a sizable dowry for their aunt’s hand.

  Of course, that money had long since disappeared. Everything Uncle Malcolm touched disappeared. Used to feed his own needs.

  Dislike coursed through her as she stood from her dressing table. Uncle Malcolm wore a perpetual sneer and he talked as though the world owed him every courtesy.

  Her father was also a merchant and so successful he’d bought their grandfather’s business. Her uncle had been outraged. A third of that should have belonged to the barony, he’d railed. It was the beginning of the end of the family’s relationship.

  She made her way down the stairs to find all three of her sisters sitting with their uncle and cousin, Avery.

  Avery gave her a wincing look as her father droned on. “I’ve spoken with the solicitor. You girls have not touched a shilling of the money in your mother’s inheritance. Or your father’s business. Why isn’t your father sending you any money? That means one of two things.”

  No one asked what he referred to as she and Eliza exchanged a knowing glance.

  “One, the house is loaded with other funds, so your father hasn’t needed to release any to you.” His hazel eyes lit as he looked about the room as though he might see coins he could pick out of the wallpaper. “Or, you’re lying, and you haven’t heard from him. Where is your aunt? You said she was here. Is she funding you? Is she out shopping again?”