She startled, her heart lurching. “Whyever would you say that?”
“Mrs. Darden told me that Mr. Finch had been in our foyer all day. Though the most I managed to get out of her was that if anyone could tell me what that ‘dastardly Sterling’ was up to, it would be you. Then she muttered something about the world going topsy-turvy and I left the kitchen, more confused than ever.”
Ainsley did her best to feign disinterest in the topic, brushing her gloved fingers across her lap. “It’s nothing really. Mr. Sterling happened to drop in this morning when Mr. Mitchum was here. Then after seeing Mr. Mitchum to the door, Mr. Sterling returned to offer the services of Mr. Finch until we could employ a butler.”
She sucked in a breath, her side hitching on a twinge as if she’d strained something with that expurgated version of the story.
“It’s peculiar that Mr. Sterling should care whether we had a butler or not. Of course, the Duchess of Holliford has mentioned it a time or two. And I, well”—he shrugged sheepishly—“I may have fibbed a bit and told Her Grace that Mr. Hatman had taken the position. But when I tried to make it a truthful statement, my valet flatly refused on the grounds of preferring shoe polish to silver polish. Of all the absurdities.”
“He is quite old, Uncle.”
“Mmm . . . yes. I suppose we must hire someone. After all, it cannot bode well for us to have Mr. Finch in our foyer. He has a way of looking down at a man as one might to an insect on the footpath, right before he steps upon it.”
Ainsley offered a nod of agreement, but was more bothered by the association to Sterling’s than by Mr. Finch’s imposing stature. Ever since her last two encounters with Reed, she knew it was imperative that neither she nor the agency had anything to do with the gaming hell across the street.
“I imagine,” Uncle Ernest continued, casting her a hesitant glance, “that now is not the best time to mention the flowers and confections I had delivered to a new acquaintance today.”
Ainsley sighed. “What’s done is done. We will simply make do.”
“I wish I had your level head about my own shoulders. You’ve always managed things so well. It is a wonderful trait to have, my dear. Ah, but your mother would have been so proud to see the fine woman you’ve become.” Then he looked toward the window again, shadows settling in the hollows beneath his distant gaze. “Though she may not have been so pleased with my own efforts. I have not always been your finest protector.”
Ainsley felt tears threaten, prickling at the corners of her eyes. She quickly blinked them away, refusing to relive the experience that was even more raw today than usual.
Then reaching across the carriage she squeezed his hand. “You have always been the best of uncles. Without you, we would never have been able to open the agency and help people avoid marriage to the wrong sort.” Herself included.
He smiled wanly and gave her hand a pat. “I so wanted our little venture to be a smashing success.”
“And it will be,” she said, finding herself soothing his worries instead of the other way around. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She had a plan, after all. Today she’d written dozens of invitations for the servants’ dinner at Sterling’s. Tomorrow she would start interviewing butler candidates, finding the funds for the position somehow.
Soon, she would be rid of Reed Sterling’s unexpected touches, melting kisses, and unwanted interference for good.
Chapter 14
“I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me.”
Jane Austen, Emma
From the third-floor balcony, Reed surveyed the crush standing shoulder to shoulder in the main card room of the hell below. Men crowded around tables, the air thick with shouts and cursing and the fog of cheroot smoke. Tempers flared and purses jingled.
It was going to be an excellent night.
Even though it wasn’t Ainsley Bourne’s intention, her first two acts of war—as she called them—had only helped his business.
In the week since, he’d received dozens of requests—and even bribes—to be put on the list. Not all were from the most elite ton. Some came from those with padded pockets and an eagerness to discover for themselves who dared to slight the renowned prizefighter’s manhood with their pranks.
He didn’t care that they were snickering, betting on who dared to insult him, and whether or not Reed would fight again. That was precisely what he wanted.
There was more traffic than ever queued up outside his door. So many carriages that the street was clogged with whinnying horses and shouting drivers.
Grinning, Reed thought of Ainsley as he made his way down the stairs. Unable to escape the noise, she would likely stay awake all night, fuming and thinking of him. Whether she liked it or not.
“Haven’t seen much of old Finch at the door,” a man muttered as he passed.
“Mayhap you’re looking at the wrong door. Someone told me that he’s buttling across the street at the matrimonial agency. Heard he was seen through the window the other day with a feather duster in hand.”
A series of guffaws rolled through the group.
Reed supposed that was his own fault. After all, he was the one who stationed Finch across the street. But what else could he have done under the circumstances?
He’d needed someone he trusted. Someone capable. Of course, all the men who worked for him fit that description. He’d even considered sending Raven. However, his handsome croupier was too much of a flirt for his tastes, always making women blush with just the flash of a grin.
Reed was certain that Ainsley didn’t need such a distraction. So he chose the happily married Finch instead.
“I heard Lord Savage was the reason,” another man said. “Apparently, Finch already opened a secret betting book for a fight between Sterling and Savage. That’s what got him fired.”
Reed paused briefly and slowly pivoted to face the men. Whenever he had the opportunity to pretend that he was bothered by Finch’s absence, he sent a warning glare that had been proven to send men pissing their pants. This would keep feeding the pyre. And as long as the speculators weren’t close to guessing the truth of why Finch was really across the street, then all the better.
To keep minds on the right course, he’d furthered interest by opening the betting books and putting down five hundred pounds against him ever entering the ring again. Which worked in his favor. It whetted the ton’s appetite, many calling for the man responsible to show himself and make a formal challenge.
He ventured out of the main hall and down the paneled corridor. Inside the bustling midnight blue roulette and piquet room, he saw Raven at the betting lectern in the corner, overseeing the cashbox and books.
“How are the wagers fairing?” Reed asked, keeping his voice low.
“Our secret book is filled—odds in your favor against Savage. They seem to think you have a score to settle and that you fired Finch in a fit of rage.” Raven chuckled and shook his head, stirring the inky dark layers of his hair. “They’re all idiots. Anyone who’s ever watched you knows that you don’t lose your temper. You’re as cool as the stone in an icehouse.”
“If it makes the men giddy as schoolgirls to think of me entering the ring again, then open up another secret book. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before Savage issues a real challenge.”
Reed turned to survey the room, seeing a few faces he didn’t recognize. That was to be expected, he supposed, with the additional invitations he’d extended.
Yet for some reason, he felt unsettled by the pressing crowd, his senses on alert. “How was Pickerington doing before you came upstairs?”
“He’ll never be accused of being a wit, to be sure.”
“All the more reason for you to take him under your wing, teach him a thing or two. You have wits enough to spare. Even if you don’t care to tell me how you came by all your worldly knowledge.”
“There are some blokes you just can’t teach,” Raven answered, car
efully dodging the enquiry. As usual. “I even warned Pickerington that there would be plenty of gents trying to filch their way inside, bribing him, claiming that their name was left off the list by mistake, all sorts of tricks. Then what does he do but get into a row at the door? So me and Teddy went over to sort things out.”
Reed was about to ask more but loud, sharp voices coming from the next room drew his attention. Men angling for a fight, no doubt.
He peered through the doorway into the hazard room, where golden sconce light flickered against the red silk–papered walls. But there were too many men swarming about to spot the instigator. All he could hear were claims of being cheated.
Here, in the depths of the hell, tempers ran more heated.
“Send to the kitchens for coffee. Clearly, it’s past time that a few of these gents had a cup or two,” he said to Raven before he ambled into the room.
Reed was familiar with soothing singed feathers. Some men didn’t know their limits and drank too much. Wagered too deep. Of course, he wasn’t a saint bent on keeping the nobility from losing their shirts at his tables. Quite the opposite. He wouldn’t mind if they were all beggared when they left and begging him for a loan.
Even so, if there was going to be any bloodshed in his gaming hell, then it would be in the ring upstairs. He’d open up a new book and let the wagering commence.
Yet the instant he saw the man at the center of the uproar, every hair on the back of his neck stood up on end.
Nigel Mitchum was here.
Damn that fool Pickerington for letting him slip through the door!
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Reed asked, never looking away from Mitchum, who appeared to be well into his cups, cheeks ruddy, eyes bloodshot.
“And there he is,” Mitchum announced with a loose-jointed salute, “the man who would keep you well-liquored in order to rob you of every farthing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stole into your homes while you were keeled-over drunk underneath tables and bedded your wives.”
“If he can stomach the sight of mine, then he’s more than welcome to her,” one man said, earning a roll of laughter. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“And mine’s over at the faro table, likely losing my fortune. I’d pay him to take her.”
Reed lifted his hands in a hapless gesture. “I’m afraid your hopes of offending someone are for naught, Mr. Mitchum. Perhaps you would do better at another club. I’ll even pay the hackney driver to take you there.”
“Of course, a bounder such as yourself couldn’t be offended. You don’t even mind taking another man’s leavings, well used and still warm from his own pocket. At least, that’s what you made me believe when we last met.”
“Take care of what you say next, Mitchum,” Reed warned, his glare causing the men nearest his target to sidle away.
Mitchum pressed a hand to his chest, trying to appear innocent, and clucked his tongue. “An undeserving threat, to be sure. Indeed, for I have done nothing but repeat what you inferred when you caught me paying a call—shall we say—on a certain lovely acquaintance we both share.”
Mitchum’s words intimated they had visited a harlot or courtesan, not a woman of virtue. The immediate congregation around them fell silent, eager as vultures at the sound of a death rattle. They were all waiting with baited breath for the barest hint of who this creature could be.
And if Mitchum so much as whispered Ainsley Bourne’s name, her utter ruination would follow.
Wanting to quell the crowd’s interest, Reed kept to his cool façade as he walked toward the blackguard, ready to haul him out of the club.
“There is but one firm rule at Sterling’s,” he said, his voice low and deathly calm, “and that is we never besmirch a woman’s honor. You, sir, have tread too close to that line and I must insist that you leave.”
Either Mitchum was outrageously arrogant or fool enough to believe that Reed’s threats were empty, because he skirted between a few more patrons. His eyes turned bright with the same cruel amusement Reed had once seen in Lord Bray’s countenance. “And what does the lowborn son of a tavern owner know about honor? Did you learn it at university after your mother bedded her way into a better class?”
With a quick jerk of his head, Reed gestured to Teddy to escort him out. It was safer that way. Reed wasn’t entirely sure he could do it without tossing Mitchum through the nearest window.
But Teddy wasn’t quick enough.
As he took him by the arm and dragged him through the door, toward the stairs, Mitchum sealed Ainsley’s fate with his parting shout. “Like mother, like son, I suppose. Shall we ring out a toast to the man of the hour—Mister Sterling—whose common neck was ensnared by the highborn matchmaker across the street?”
There were so many gasps at once that it might have cleared the smoke from the room. The crowd fell silent, the air punctuated by the absent tumble of bones on the felt table.
In the deafening stillness, he could almost feel everyone’s thoughts bubbling at a low simmer, ready to spill over with one name on their lips. Ainsley Bourne.
They would be quick to call her a whore, too. Mitchum had seen to that.
Reed was surprised he’d heard anything above the din of blood rushing in his ears or saw anything other than the haze of red in his eyes. He’d never felt this close to murder.
In a flash, he knew what would happen—Mitchum’s words would ruin Ainsley’s reputation and make her an outcast. Not even the venerable Duchess of Holliford could save her from being shunned by society, driven out of London. And Mitchum wouldn’t stop going after her. When a man like him set his sights on a victim, he would be determined to break her by any means possible. Lord Bray had proven this by dragging Mum back each time she’d tried to leave. And each time, he’d made it worse for her behind closed doors.
Reed knew that something had to be said to explain Mitchum’s outburst. And there was only one thing he could think of.
Drawing in a deep breath, he pivoted on his heel and faced the crowd. Then pasting on a broad grin, he announced, “My happy secret has been unveiled before I could make a proper announcement. So, congratulate me, ladies and gentlemen and pour more whisky, for you are looking at a man about to be married.”
It took a moment for the shock to settle and the agape jaws to shut. Then, with Raven strolling to his side and leading the cheer, an uproarious chorus of Huzzah! rose up to the rafters.
A fast line formed at the betting lectern, spectators ready to wager that the wedding would be in Gretna Green, and that Sterling would soon be a father.
Reed couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before his patrons went elsewhere for their entertainment.
Had he just struck the nail that would seal Sterling’s coffin?
Moving into the corridor, he withdrew a handkerchief and surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his brow. When that was done, he stood in front of a large window that shone like mirror glass. Peering closely through the inky night sky, he spied a light across the street on the second floor, and his thoughts turned.
Raven came up beside him, only now revealing the shock in his expression as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t think anyone was.”
“It should make for some interesting wagers, I imagine.”
“There’s some talk starting in the other room. Men are saying that”—Raven hesitated—“if she was really yours, then you would have done something about it for the sake of her honor.”
“And I did.”
“But marriage? There might have been another way. Besides, the men are all itching for a fight, and just think of all the coin you could earn.”
“A duel of honor—even if in a boxing ring—would have declared that she was mine to protect. Her reputation would have been tainted, regardless.” And Reed would have fought a man in rage, even though he’d vowed never to do so.
“But, Sterling—”
“No,” he interrupted firmly. “Now tha
t it’s all said and done, I don’t want the topic of a fight between me and Mitchum broached again.”
Raven expelled a breath of resignation. “You know, you were sort of . . . distracted in the moment. I’d wager that anyone would understand if you changed your mind.”
“That isn’t going to happen.” Reed shook his head, a strange calm washing over him. He pointed to the gaming parlor. “Watch over things. I’m off to tell my bride-to-be the happy news.”
Chapter 15
“. . . she soon felt that concealment must be impossible. Within half an hour it was known all over Highbury.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Ainsley was just beginning her nightly ritual of snuffing out the lights when a hard knock fell on the door. Her thoughts veered straight to Nigel.
She froze in the middle of the foyer, heart pounding in hard, panicked beats.
Then a softer rap came—just a tap on the glass—and a familiar drawl. “Highness, it’s only me.”
Relief rushed from her lungs so quickly that her breath bent the flame in the lamp she held. Though, almost in the same instant, her fear dissipated underneath a flood of irritation as she glanced at the clock.
“Only you? Only you would come to the door at midnight expecting to pay a call,” she muttered, stalking forward in a swish of fawn-colored skirts. Wrenching open the door, she glared at his dark form and mismatched eyes. “Go away at once.”
“Ah, such a sweet salutation. I am a lucky man, indeed,” he said with a rueful laugh.
“It is late. Though I don’t imagine someone like you would—” She broke off as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Wait just a moment. I did not invite you in. And for your information, my uncle is upstairs.”
“Good. He is the one I came here to see.” Reed looked her over, expectation in his gaze, a smirk touching the nick on his upper lip. “Am I to try to conjure him or do you suppose you could inform him that I am here?”
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