Earl of Scandal (London Lords)

by Gillgannon, Mary

  Crockett’s eyebrows jerked upwards. “You’re jesting, aren’t you? Such a paltry sum is hardly worth my trouble. I operate a business, not a charity.”

  “You have my word that he’ll pay you the rest,” Merissa said, although the idea of paying anything to this villain was becoming more and more distasteful.

  “Your word?” Crockett’s voice had grown deadly soft, silky, and dangerous. His gaze roamed her person with rude interest. “You’ll have to do better than that, Miss Cassell.”

  Outrage suffused her. She pulled the bag of bank notes and coins out of her reticule and threw it on the desk. “Well, it’s going to have to do, Mr. Crockett! You’ll get nothing else from me—except a piece of my mind! I see that everything I’ve heard about you is true. You’re a shameless knave! A black-hearted blackguard! You lure innocent young men to your establishment and prey upon them! You ruin them, take everything—their self-respect, their sense of honor, their will to live. Then, like a spider, when you have sucked them dry, you go on to your next victim! Have you no shame, Mr. Crockett? Don’t you ever worry about your future in the Hereafter?”

  Crockett laughed, a cold, sinister, utterly chilling sound. “You mean, do I worry I will go to hell for my sins?” He shook his head. “There is no hell. Nor heaven either. I do what I want. I answer to no one.”

  He rose from the desk and moved towards her. Merissa held her reticule protectively in front of her. She’d done it now! Elizabeth always said her wretched tongue was going to be the undoing of her.

  A squeak-like sound escaped her as Crockett put his hands on her arms. His demonic face was only a few inches away from hers. “My dear Miss Cassell. I must say I am impressed by your spirited nature. If your brother had half your pluck and fortitude, he would never have gotten himself in the sad state he’s in. Because of your stirring speech, because...” his fingers came up to brush her cheek. “Because you amuse me, I am disposed to be lenient.”

  He withdrew his hand and stepped back. “I’ll give your brother a week to collect the funds. If, after that time, he’s not paid me, I’ll send one of my employees to find him. The thing is,” Crockett’s eyes grew cold as a snake’s, “Worth likes his work. He enjoys causing pain.”

  Merissa could scarce draw a breath. The implication was that if they could not come up with the funds, Charles would be battered, tortured, perhaps killed. “I don’t see how that profits you,” she whispered. “If he’s dead or maimed, you’ll never be able to collect the money.”

  “He’ll be an example, of course. I must make it clear that I insist on payment, else I would very shortly be out of business. You see, Miss Cassell, I’m not like Worth. I don’t particularly enjoy causing pain. But I don’t flinch from it either if it becomes necessary.”

  Suddenly, Merissa saw him for what he was. Crockett used sinister methods to terrify his victims because he had some terrible need for control over those around him. She gazed at his scarred, harsh face, wondering what sort of childhood he’d had, what abuses he’d suffered to make him like this.

  “I feel sorry for you,” she said softly. “No matter how much power you have, how much money you amass, you’ll never be happy. It’s love that gives life meaning, not wealth and might. You’re a fool if you don’t understand that.”

  Crockett went to the door and opened it. “Good day, Miss Cassell.” He bowed. “It’s been entertaining.”

  She went out. Now what? she wondered. She’d met the enemy. The first battle seemed a draw. But she was not certain she would survive the next.

  ~ ~ ~

  What a bloody goose chase, Christian thought wearily. He’d visited nearly every club in town. A Brooks, one of his erstwhile acquaintances had casually made reference to the rumor that Christian was bedding Honoria Averill. But he didn’t have time to think of that now.

  Not until the last club had he a bit of luck. Fellow there had vaguely remembered the Cassell boy. Used to come in with a crowd from Cambridge, he said. Heard that they were staying at the New Arms Hotel. Christian went there immediately.

  Yes, he remembered Charles Cassell, the clerk agreed. Blond, good-looking fellow. Nice bloke. Moved out a few weeks before. Pretty done up. Had trouble paying his bill.

  “Where has he gone?” Christian inquired.

  The man shook his head. “Somewhere on Rosemary Lane. Bad neighborhood. Sad to see it. I was hoping he’d go home to his family.”

  Christian thanked the man and returned to the hackney he’d hired. “Rosemary Lane,” he told the driver.

  “Sir?”

  Christian withdrew a handful of coins from his pocket and handed them over. “It’s hardly my destination of choice, either,” he told the driver.

  A back slum, a rookery, they called places like this. Crude, hovel-like buildings bunched together. Garbage and filth in the streets. Grim, blank-faced people.

  Appalling to think that places like this existed only a few miles from Mayfair and Bond streets. Even more horrifying to think of Merissa here. Christian tensed at the thought. She no more belonged among this squalor than a butterfly belonged on a heap of dung. She possessed everything this place did not. Life and hope, grace and beauty.

  The hackney drew to a halt in front of a row of ramshackle, two-story dwellings. “Where to now, sir?” the driver called over his shoulder. “Have you an address?”

  Christian sighed. “I guess I’ll get out and search on foot.”

  Disgusting odors assaulted his nose, and he had to step carefully as he started down the street, although, the muddy trackway hardly deserved the designation. It would be impossible to go to every dwelling and inquire after the Cassells. He’d have to find someone who worked out in the street who might have seen Merissa, or her brother.

  He spied a fellow selling lumps of coal from a broken down, mule drawn cart. “I say, have you seen a young man around here?” Christian asked the coal man. “Blond Brutus, sort of a weak face, but respectable-looking?”

  The man gaped at him, blue eyes red and rheumy in a smudged, weary countenance. Christian realized from the man’s astonished perusal that he must make a very unlikely sight for this locale. He was aware of how the snowy white of his cuffs and ascot contrasted almost obscenely with the man’s head-to-toe coating of coal dust. Cleanliness was a luxury few could afford in these places.

  Slowly, the man shook his head.

  “What about a young woman? Curly brown hair, spectacles, tall and pretty?”

  Recognition sparked in the man’s eyes. “Aye, I’ve seen that one. Coming out of a house a ways down. Knew at once she didn’t belong here. Ask old Henry there.” He pointed to another coal dealer driving his cart a distance away. “We work different sides of the road, ye see. Split up the business.”

  “Thank you.” Christian handed the man a shilling, and turned to pursue the other coal man.

  The second coal man pointed out a dilapidated structure. Gazing at the rude hovel, Christian decided he was going to strangle Charles Cassell as soon as he found him. Whatever had possessed him to give his sister this address? Didn’t he know her well enough to realize she was bound to seek him out?

  Jaw clenched, Christian went to the saggy door, opened it, and started up the stairs. “Charles Cassell?” he called loudly, then grimaced at the stench. “Cassell, are you up there?”

  He paused on a landing, and called out again. The devil take him if both Charles and Merissa were out. The thought of waiting around in this place was intolerable!

  “Charles Cassell,” he called again. “I’m a friend of your sister’s. I met her in Derbyshire. Elizabeth is frantic to make certain you’re all right.”

  There was the sound of a door creaking. Christian hurried to the end of the hall and pushed the door the rest of the way open. Charles Cassell stood before him, blue eyes desperate. “Elizabeth,” he breathed, “she sent you?”

  “Yes.” Christian glanced around the stark, poorly furnished room. “Where’s Merissa?”

 
“She went to run an errand for me. Who... who are you?”

  “I don’t suppose Merissa mentioned me, did she?” Christian said with a hint of bitterness.

  Charles shook his head, then went rigid. “No,” he said coldly, “she didn’t mention you, but I half guessed she must have met a fellow of your sort. She’s changed, she is. There’s a sadness in her eyes now, and she talked a lot about giving up her dreams. Didn’t sound like Merissa at all. She’s always been so sure she could have what she wanted.”

  Feeling irritated, and a little guilty, Christian said, “Are you certain it isn’t your circumstances that have disillusioned her?”

  “Don’t think that it is,” Charles said, his voice growing belligerent. “So, what have you done to her?” He raised his fists as if ready to engage Christian in a fisticuffs. “If you’ve dishonored my sister, you’ll have me to deal with!”

  Christian rolled his eyes. Heaven save him from cork-brained, self-destructive whelps like this one!

  He glowered down at the youth, whom he overtopped by several inches and outweighed by two stone. “Frankly, Mr. Cassell, if I were you, I would worry about my own behavior and its effect on my sister before I started looking elsewhere to lay blame. It seems to me that you’re the reason she’s here in this... this dung heap!” He gestured toward the foul stairwell. “How could you possibly allow her to run an errand for you around here? Surely you realize it’s not safe for a lady, indeed for any woman, to go about in this part of town.”

  “Her errand is not around here, it’s in Jerym Street,” Charles said. “Besides, there was no way I could have stopped her. Merissa does what she wants. She always has.”

  “And don’t I know it,” Christian sighed. “What about Jerym Street? What business do you have there that you thought Merissa could settle for you? Why didn’t you go yourself?”

  Charles looked discomfited. “I thought that Mr. Crockett might take pity on her and perhaps give me another chance.”

  “Crockett? Jerym Street?” Christian reached out and grabbed the young man by the collar. He hoisted him up so they were eye-to-eye. “Tell me that what I’m thinking isn’t true! Tell me that you didn’t send Merissa to see Blackjack Crockett, the proprietor of the most notorious hell in London!”

  Charles’s eyes bugged out and he gestured wildly. Fearing the young man would suffer a fit of apoplexy, Christian released him. “I... I couldn’t stop her,” Charles panted. “I... tried but there was no help for it. If you know her ... you must understand.”

  “Yes, I suppose l do.” Christian set his jaw. Merissa Cassell’s mule-headed willfulness was going to be the death of him.

  He jerked around and started for the door. “Where are you going?” Charles asked.

  “To rescue your sister.” He faced the young man. “Although etiquette does not require it, l would like your agreement that I should bring her back here by any means possible. What do you say, Charles?”

  Charles nodded vigorously. “And I’d like to say, sir...” He extended his hand. “I meant no offense with what I said earlier. I can see you’re a gentleman. That you’ve only Merissa’s best interests at heart.”

  Christian smiled grimly as he shook with Charles. “Thank you, Mr. Cassell. It’s not often I am the recipient of such extravagant praise. I fear few enough of my acquaintances count me a gentleman. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve a damsel to rescue.”

  Twelve

  Christian rapped sharply on the door and waited for the porter’s window to slide open. It did so, and a man’s eyes regarded him suspiciously. “State your business,” the man said.

  “I’ve come to see the proprietor.”

  “Crockett’s busy now. Come back in a few hours. The gamin’ don’t begin until half past eight.”

  “I did not come for gaming. I came for information. I’m Christian Faraday, earl of Bedlington. If you let me in to see your employer, I’ll make it worth your trouble.”

  The peephole slammed shut and there was a fumbling at the lock. The battered looking bruiser who opened the door regarded Christian with a mixture of deference and wariness, then, extended his hand for the bribe. “Crockett might not be in the best temper. Already had a visitor interruptin’ him.”

  “Could it possibly have been a young woman?” Christian dropped a couple of shillings in the man’s hand and tried to keep his voice calm.

  The porter pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It was at that. Is she someone to you, guv’nor?”

  Christian ignored the porter’s probing look. “Why don’t you go announce me to your employer? I’m in a bit of a rush.”

  He was shown into a superbly furnished office. Observing the Moroccan leather furniture, the carved wainscoting, the pure gold inlaying, and the ebony wood desk, Christian realized he was looking at the losses of dozens of unfortunate gamesters. Many of them were probably much like Charles Cassell, too naive to realize what was happening until it was too late. A strong urge came over him to do better than to settle the young man’s debts. If he could find a way to close down this hell and save some other innocent youths, he would have accomplished something worthwhile.

  But first, he must make certain that Melissa was safe. Then he would deal with Crockett.

  There was a slight sound behind Christian,’ and Blackjack Crockett entered the office. The elegance of his attire contrasted dramatically with the brutal ugliness of his face. “My lord.” He extended his hand.

  Christian declined to return the gesture. There were times it was gratifying to be a peer. “Let me get to the point.” He made his voice as condescending as possible. “A friend of mine is in debt to you. I believe his sister has already been to see you and spoken of the matter.”

  There was a hint of surprise in Crockett’s chilly gray eyes. Then it vanished. “Miss Cassell is an acquaintance of yours?” he asked casually.

  “Indeed. Quite a close friend. I hold the whole family in great esteem.”

  Crockett steepled his hands. “Charles Cassell owes me a fair piece of blunt, yes. And since he is an acquaintance of yours, he must be a gentleman and realize his obligation to pay his debts.”

  “Not debts that occurred under duress and coercion. I don’t think there is any obligation under those circumstances.”

  Crockett smiled without warmth. “The young man knew exactly what he was about. He came here of his own free will.”

  Christian gave a derisive snort. “Like a lamb to the slaughter. He had no idea how deep the play would be, how much he could lose in a few hours.”

  “Are you calling me a cheat?” Crockett’s voice was silky quiet, almost inaudible.

  “Certainly not. I’m calling you a menace, a scourge upon the foolish young men you lure to your lair and ruin.”

  Crockett laughed. “It’s all perfectly on the square. You can’t touch me and you know it.”

  “Oh, but I can. I have the resources to ruin you. All I have to do is bring a group of my deep-pocketed friends here one night and play against the bank. One of us is bound to win and win heavily, more than you can possibly afford to pay. Unless your dealers cheat, and then we’ll destroy you by that means. As you said, it’s a gentleman’s endeavor. Once your reputation’s finished, there’s no way to get it back. You’ll be reduced to gammoning green young flats. And since most of them can’t afford to pay, there’s no percentage in that.”

  “What do you want?” Crockett’s face had turned hard and murderous. As the carefully cultivated aura of refinement vanished, Christian realized he was looking at a common thief from the streets.

  “I want you to forgive Charles Cassell’s debt. I also want you to be more discriminating in your clients. If I hear you’re gulling any more callow youths, I promise you, I’ll carry out my threat to close you down.”

  Crockett glared at him, but Christian could see he was considering the proposal. Crockett knew he was overmatched. The weight of Christian’s influence and financial resources were sufficient to crush him.


  Crockett strode to the desk and opened a ledger. He dipped a quill into ink and crossed out a line in the account book. “There,” he said. “Charles Cassell is no longer in my debt.”

  Christian nodded, wondering if Crockett would honor the rest of the agreement. At least he’d tried. But there was only so much one could do to save fellows like Charles Cassell from themselves.

  Christian showed himself out and climbed into the rented vehicle. Gads, he felt wretched! The stresses of the last few days were catching up with him. And he still had Merissa to deal with.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Christian? He was here?” Merissa gazed around the cluttered room in dismay. “How did he find us?”

  “I don’t know, but he did. Why didn’t you tell me you’d turned the head of an earl?” Charles demanded. “Why, if you were to marry him, it would make all the difference. He’d be able to settle me up with Crockett, buy me my colors...”

  “No, I’m certainly not marrying Chris... Lord Bedlington. Not to mention that he hasn’t asked me. And even if he did, I’d say no. He’s a hedonistic, depraved, unprincipled—”

  “He seemed a nice enough fellow to me,” Charles interrupted. “A real Corinthian. How the devil did you ever meet him, Merissa? Didn’t know you traveled in such high-toned circles.”

  “I met him when he nearly ran me off the road due to careless driving. I should have known what he was like then. Forget good manners, I would have been wise to have left him to freeze to death!” She swallowed back a rush of panic. Christian had followed her to London. What was she going to do? She still had her pelisse on, as she’d barely got in the door when Charles informed her of their visitor. Perhaps she should leave immediately, in case Christian came back.

  “Bosh, ‘Rissa, you’re just being stiff-necked and stubborn about this. If this fellow can help us, we have to let him. I don’t see any way out otherwise. Not unless you were able to convince Crockett to let me pay him a pound a week for the rest of my life.”