He’d sworn off romance, his one goal focused on ironing out the wrinkles he’d created at the gaming hell. Yet, somehow he’d managed to fall in love instead.
The door opened and jarred him from the regretful revelation. Max Sinclair stood in the dimly lit hall.
‘I need to talk, Sinclair.’
His demand was met with a brief flicker of surprise, then Sin stepped aside and gestured with a nod. They walked to the gaming floor, the four walls silent with anticipation at this hour, and Crispin wondered if Luke and Cole watched from above. It mattered little. He had a message and a plan. It was the only way he could ensure Amanda’s safety, his personal mission pushed aside.
‘What’s on your mind?’ Sinclair leaned against a Hazard table, his hand quick to pick up the dice.
Crispin doubted it was a coincidence they’d settled at the exact location of his exorbitant loss months before. But again, he had a more important topic to explore. ‘Stokes.’ He watched Sinclair’s reaction.
‘He’s a nuisance.’ Max dropped the dice to the green-baize-covered table. ‘Is he a friend of yours?’
‘Not at all, though he believes he can form an alliance, that our goals align, despite they don’t.’
‘What’s your goal?’ Sinclair eyed him carefully. ‘You’ve already paid your debt. A sum that was previously forgiven. Vivienne took me to task for that.’ The slightest smile curled Sinclair’s mouth with the mention of his wife.
‘I’m happy for the three of you.’ Sinclair shot his attention to Crispin with the comment, and for a moment nothing was said.
‘We are that. It’s one of the reasons I rarely need to come to the hell.’
‘I see.’
‘We have investors now. Cole and Luke are equally anxious to pursue other interests, but not until we find a man suitable to run the hell as we’ve created it.’
‘Which brings me back to Stokes,’ Crispin added. ‘He seeks vengeance on the Underworld and I wouldn’t put it past him to harm someone in the process.’
‘He’s a sore loser, for ever mourning his losses, the cheating bastard. Still upset he was caught red-handed and driven to poverty. I don’t usually mix with the riff-raff. I have men who exist for that purpose, but Stokes came at me with a dagger. He needed a permanent reminder to mind his manners.’
‘Well done. Although Stokes views it differently.’ A beat of silence stretched. ‘He has plans to enter the hell, cause havoc and steal as much money as possible. He’s attempted to draw me in, knowing my unfinished business, and when I refused, Stokes threatened the safety of someone I hold dear.’
‘Your sister?’ Sinclair’s expression sobered.
‘No. Though were Stokes to dig, it could get worse. He’s desperate and not thinking clearly. He believes my status will protect him as well as grant him opportunity here. But I want no part of it.’
‘What is it you want, Daventry?’
‘Redemption.’ Crispin pressed a half-smile. ‘I left here in embarrassment, but now I’ve honed my skill. I want redemption, plain and simple.’
‘That’s easily achieved.’ Sinclair pushed off the Hazard table. ‘And Stokes? Have you tracked him?’
‘I visited his rooms in Southwark and paid a lad to keep watch. Stokes hasn’t returned and I believe he won’t. He’s operating on a different level now.’
A door near the far corner flung open and Cole and Luke entered. As Crispin suspected, they’d viewed, perhaps also listened to, the conversation.
‘The ladies will be upset if we get embroiled in this.’ Cole shook his head in the negative.
‘We can’t,’ Luke added. ‘But Daventry can.’
All heads turned in his direction, but Crispin merely smiled in return. ‘That suits. Now let’s get down to specifics. I have a plan.’
Amanda tossed to her back, her thoughts as restless as her attempt at sleep. She lit the bedside lantern and sat up, staring into the embers of the hearth, unwilling to allow tears to fall. Her chest seemed hollow and at the same time filled with unresolved emotion. Was this love? When one couldn’t stop wondering about another or yearning for their touch? If it was, there had to be a greater benefit than this torment, or ladies would never place such high regard on affection.
Her heart quickly summoned the exquisite pleasure found in Crispin’s kiss, but she dared not consider it overlong. She needed to focus on the Frankley event. Tomorrow was the last day to practise clever conversation and polish her dance steps. And if she played her cards right, she’d leave a lasting impression of elegance with every member of the ton. Her dance card would fill and each twirl and promenade on the arm of a dashing gentleman would serve to dismiss Crispin’s memory. The idea reminded of the pilfered playing card in her reticule and she smiled with regret.
What had Crispin said to Father anyway? Danger? Nothing could be more dangerous than the off-balance unpredictability of love. Danger sounded a bit dramatic. Every danger she’d courted involved hot soup, slippery floors or a boot-heel stuck in the carpeting.
With a resigned huff, she lowered the counterpane and took up a hand candle. First she opened her wardrobe and met with the scent of fresh linen and lemon. She breathed deep. On a hanger at the centre was her gown for tomorrow evening. Even in the sallow glow of the candle, the fabric shimmered as if enchanted. The tightness in her chest eased.
She walked then to the double window and moved aside the draperies. Placing the candle on the sill, she snuck beneath the warmth of the velvet drapes and laid her palm on the window glass. Cocooned in darkness, her eyes on the outside world, she waited for the niggling reminder or sensible message she believed came from her mother in times of confusion or worry. But nothing whispered to mind.
Her eyes acclimated to the blue-black night and, like an aberration, a shadowy figure moved across the brick wall beneath her window. The moon was obscured by grey, murky clouds and she couldn’t be sure. Resting her forehead against the glass she attempted to see below, but dismissed it as imagination because, after several minutes, with her exhales fogging the glass, she scurried back to bed and sought sleep.
‘Heard you’re looking for me.’ Stokes emerged from the shadows and moved into the stall where Crispin brushed down Majesty. ‘Had a change of heart, have you?’
Stokes’s words were near comical for how perfectly they fit the situation. Yes, he’d had a change of heart but it had nothing to do with his regard for the man at his side. Best he get Stokes talking while the opportunity existed. At least the word he’d spread through the lads at the Underworld had reached the cur’s ears effectively.
‘I’ve come to my senses.’ Crispin tossed the brush into a bucket in the corner and confronted Stokes. ‘It’s time I taught the bastards at the Underworld not to disrespect a peer. I’ve repaid my debt, but I’m interested in further retribution.’
‘I told you we’re of like mind. Your revenge is timely.’ Stokes sneered and the candlelight lent his scar a milky sheen. ‘The bastards won’t let me in no more but I’ve managed to enter on occasion when the raggedy little felon at the door’s attention is drawn to the street. Once inside, if I keep to the mix and don’t cause a problem, we can get down to business before anyone knows what’s underway.’
‘And what exactly do you want to happen?’
‘It’s a gaming hell, isn’t it?’ Stokes snickered. ‘I say we turn it into one in truth.’
‘What?’ Crispin didn’t understand and questioning could put Stokes off, but the only way to provide Sinclair with the information needed to thwart the plan and send Stokes to Newgate was to uncover as many details as possible.
‘We go tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow?’ That left little time for preparation. He’d need to send a message to Sinclair first thing in the morning. ‘Why so soon?’
‘Friday’s some uppity social event that will have every knee-bender out to escort their sister, but tomorrow the same dashers will be dee
p in their pockets and the hell’s coffers overfilled.’
‘So you’re after money?’ Crispin worked to assemble the pieces of Stokes’s haphazard plan.
‘My goal’s not your concern. You have business of your own to conduct. Besides, I have it all figured out. We need to strike when the crowd is thick and the odds run in our favour.’ Stokes smiled, apparently anticipating his future fortune. ‘You need to create some disturbance. Lose on purpose and cause an argument or accuse the house of cheating. Do something to draw Sinclair and the other two out onto the floor. Keep an eye – Hewitt carries a pistol. I’ll be there even if you don’t see me at first. Once you act, things will get interesting.’
Crispin listened closely. His mind spun. Like everything in life, he weighed the risk. One small choice had immense consequences. That’s how he’d landed in love with Amanda. The moment he’d decided to keep her existence a secret aboard that galleon…
‘Got it, Daventry?’
Stokes’s gravelly voice unnerved him. He nodded. ‘When?’
‘The crowd should be thick by ten. Get started without me. If you’re smart about it, you’ll know when I arrive.’
Crispin nodded in agreement, though the vagueness of Stokes’s intentions troubled him. He’d relay the hour and information to the Underworld owners. While Stokes remained unpredictable, at least they could watch for a problem.
‘’Til tomorrow then.’ Crispin watched Stokes steal out, his mind at work organizing the tasks in need of completion.
Amanda.
Despite the seriousness of all his considerations, the lady stayed present in his thoughts. He needed to see her one last time. Their sunrise kiss haunted him and her conflicted expression this morning in the breakfast room remained at odds with the emotions he tried without success to deny.
And then there was Stokes. He couldn’t trust a man who placed no value on life and relished violence. Crispin had volunteered to initiate a commotion in a confined space with a brawl-hungry crowd of half-sprung gamblers. Too many things could go wrong. Bloody hell, Stokes might knife him as soon as his usefulness expired.
This truth brought him back to Amanda. But how would he get to her? Huntingdon would never permit it. Heaving a breath of frustration, he left the mews and walked towards Bedford Square. Perhaps Lady Matilda would assist. He’d agreed to sharpen her card skills. He could barter for a favour returned if she’d agree. He suspected that, like his sister Sophie, Matilda coveted a chance to enter the Underworld. What so many viewed in an enamoured light was darker than hell in actuality, but he supposed the misconception sustained the establishment’s success. Even Ferris sought to visit once they’d arrived.
His thoughts wandered to his family and the danger he placed himself in yet again. Conspiring with Stokes was risky and reckless. Crispin wanted to reclaim time lost with his parents and Sophie and amend a series of poor choices on the other side of this mess. And for him to reach the other side, he needed everything to proceed as planned.
Turning a key in the lock, he entered his townhouse, exhausted mentally and dead tired otherwise, but he would write out everything Stokes had said so Sinclair’s message in the morning contained exacting detail.
Two messages actually. If he could arrange an early card lesson tomorrow with Lady Matilda, there would still be time to meet with Amanda before he’d have to show at the hell. He’d employ every ounce of charm possessed to increase his chances because he needed to see Amanda one last time. Of that he was certain.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Amanda paced before the fireplace in her bedchamber, her head and heart at odds she could not remedy. While each kiss and embrace brought her closer to Crispin, he continued to put distance between them. She needed to speak to him if for no other reason than to resolve the tension. It was as though she was a wave, gaining speed and strength, crested yet never crashed against the shore. Either he wanted her or not. How many times had he drawn her close and then pushed her away? Her head ached from thinking of it. Before, all she’d wanted was to find love, be loved, and create a content life. Now every vision of the future included Crispin. She was destined for disaster. She’d made yet another mistake. She needed distraction and, at last, the universe favoured her condition.
The Frankley soiree was tomorrow evening. If she presented herself in the best light and opened her heart to romance, she could break free of the loyalty she felt towards Crispin. Loyalty he didn’t deserve, didn’t ask for, didn’t want. Yet she clung to it nonetheless. And that made her heart ache right along with her head.
Despite the intimacy they shared, their brief time aboard the ship and mottled relationship of secret interludes, her father would never accept Crispin. It didn’t matter what her heart sought. Her mind spoke the truth. Like Raelyn, she would be forced to endure heartbreak except this was her own fault. The situation seemed impossible and she closed her eyes in a wish she could resolve the mess.
‘Aunt Matilda will know what to do.’ She gathered her reticule and opened the door, unwilling to seek advice from her sister whose heart was only newly repaired.
She informed her father of her plans and he insisted she take extra footmen with the carriage. It seemed a ridiculous notion and she wondered at his lack of trust, but then again, she’d deceived and disappointed him, hadn’t she?
Marylebone Street was a ten-minute ride from Wigmore, and she arrived with hardly a chance to arrange the words to explain her predicament. She hurried down the steps and knocked on her aunt’s door. As the butler led her to the drawing room, conversation met her ears and a pulse of excitement sent a shiver travelling along her spine.
Crispin? At this early hour? It seemed unlikely, yet she knew the timbre of his voice as well as her own.
‘Lady Amanda to visit you, milady.’
The butler stepped away and there at a square table sat Aunt Matilda with a familiar satinwood box and deck of cards scattered in front of her. Crispin rose and their eyes matched and held. Her heart raced with a thunderous beat and she swallowed anything she might have said, all sense of logic and vocabulary evaporated.
He looked dashing. Yet another version of his wickedly handsome self. Tight black kerseymere breeches were paired with a well-tailored waistcoat of slate-blue, the ideal hue to enhance his brilliant eyes. His cravat was tied impeccably, the white knot a stark contrast to the fabric of his coat. As always, his tawny hair caught the glimmer of every nearby candle. Damn the man for being so pleasing to the eye. No wonder she was smitten beyond comprehension and her aunt equally charmed.
‘Amanda, I didn’t expect you.’ Aunt Matilda rose and Crispin followed. His eyes remained locked with hers.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ Recovering some semblance of brain function, she flicked her eyes from Crispin to her aunt and back again, unwilling to relinquish the sight of him despite her comments were directed to her aunt. ‘I decided to visit on a whim.’
‘Lady Amanda.’
Crispin took the necessary steps to close the distance between them, to where she stood rooted to the Aubusson rug. He lifted her hand in greeting and kissed her palm, his eyes never leaving her. The heat of his caress sunk through her glove and caused her cheeks to flush.
‘It’s as though you’ve read my thoughts. I wanted to speak to you and didn’t know how to arrange the conversation.’
‘Serendipity.’ Aunt Matilda eyed them before looking down to smooth her skirts. ‘And thank heavens for it. I’m afraid I’ll have to curtail the lesson, Lord Hastings. My niece’s arrival has reminded me of pressing correspondence needing my immediate attention.’ She gave a brief smile and turned towards Amanda. ‘Do be a dear and keep Lord Hastings company. We’ll have our visit when I’m finished with my letter-writing, although it will take some time.’
Before Amanda could object, not that she wished to, or bring notice to the impropriety, her aunt swept from the room and closed the double doors. The lock caught with a click.
All participants knew the game played and it wasn’t Vingt-et-un.
She exhaled a shallow breath and whispered gratitude to her aunt, but she wouldn’t grant Crispin the same courtesy. He stated he wished a conversation. Here was the opportunity.
‘You need to speak to me?’
‘I do.’
His voice dropped low and her pulse skittered. He gathered her hands, his broad chest too close for her to carry out sensible conversation. Worse, she detected the scent of his shaving soap and almost closed her eyes at the pleasure. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his company, his nearness. But it didn’t matter. Nothing could become of the complicated mess they’d created.
‘I know my behaviour has seemed somewhat contrary.’
‘Somewhat?’ She arched a brow in hope he realized how much she doubted the validity of that admittance.
‘That I’ve kissed you.’
He was a terrible man to mention the fact when his mouth hovered near. She dropped her gaze from his entrancing blue eyes to his lips. That was another poor decision.
‘That we’ve shared a connection, not just physical in nature.’
She forced herself to focus on his words and not the remembrance of his heated kiss. A yearning she worked hard to smother awakened in the pit of her stomach and climbed upward, wrapping tendrils of desire and longing around her heart.
‘And yesterday morning I once again sent you away.’ He angled his head slightly closer. ‘You must be confused.’
‘And disappointed.’ Aah, she would not reveal how terribly disappointed.
‘I apologize for casting shadows on our relationship and causing you to feel anything aside from happiness.’
He’d made her feel beautiful, sensual and desirable in the better moments, but there were just as many lesser ones. Perhaps more. And in truth, they had no relationship.
‘I’ve only recently managed to reorder my priorities and view my emotions with honesty.’
‘You have?’ She drew her eyes back to his. The sincerity and vulnerability she saw there caused her heart to thud heavily.
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