A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby

by Vanessa Riley

  Markham slammed down a coin. “Sullivan’s a little light tonight.”

  “I think my friend will take his chances. He’s very persuasive. Go, LaCroy.”

  I put down my nearly empty glass, but something inside said not to leave my drink near the worm, Colin’s uncle, so I handed it back to the waiter. Then I made my boots move.

  “Wait.” Markham said.

  My heart thundered.

  My breath stuck in my throat. Fingers again curled about my knife, I looked over my shoulder, daring him to acknowledge me. “Yes.”

  “Let me know if he does lend money. Good to know he’s still in the business for others.”

  My head nodded, and I started away.

  It was better that the fool didn’t recognize me. That’s what I told myself, but I clutched the knife in my pocket, wondering if I was finally ready to strike.

  Standing a few feet away from the man I’d hoped was Sullivan, I saw that meeting unfold in my head.

  Shouting, long and angry. I came waddling down the stairs, away from the marble gods sweeping under the shadow of the chandelier. I posted outside the drawing room and heard the boasts, the threats.

  Fearing for Colin’s life, I went inside.

  The one called Sullivan had his hands about Colin’s neck.

  The fiend had a mole on his nose, close-set eyes, veiny hands.

  I squinted and blinked. This man in the corner with the mole, with those eyes was him. It was A. Sullivan.

  The man stared back at me, and I panicked. I was sure my face was awash with perspiration.

  “Sir,” he said. “Are you looking for credit? Have you been sent to meet a man for credit?”

  “Yes, Sullivan. An old friend, Jordan, said you were good for it.”

  My words were bold, and I hoped they would get me choked.

  His veiny hands balled. “The welch is dead and with him my IOUs. Get new friends if you expect any money to be lent. Him and that slick Markham are not good references.”

  I put my damp palms to my sides. “You’re angry, almost like they took your personal money. IOUs would be for the club, no?”

  He lowered his voice. “Like I said—”

  “LaCroy.”

  “Like I said, LaCroy, get new friends. The convenient death of the blackguard doesn’t solve everything. Excuse me.”

  The man pushed past me and headed straight for Markham.

  My voice died in my throat. If he told him I’d mentioned Colin, Markham would confront me. He’d recognize my face and expose me in this club.

  Crossing my arms, I felt sticky. My nerves had done it. My milk would soak through the bandaging to my chest.

  Tugging on my jacket, I wanted to leave, but my gaze was caught by the man entering the club.

  The Duke of Repington had come to Piccadilly with my bread basket in his hands, one covered with a blanket that kicked as if it carried my son.

  CHAPTER 24

  LESSONS OF A RAKE

  Busick glared at Patience.

  No disguise could hide her from his anger.

  He scooped up the handle of the bread basket with his sleeping ward and marched toward her.

  She didn’t retreat. She didn’t hide.

  He liked that she was bold.

  Her daring nature was something he hoped Lionel inherited, but that he’d learn good sense from him.

  Balancing with a cane in one hand, the basket in the other, he maneuvered in his boots to stand near her.

  Powdered wig, face slathered in paint, she lowered her head to Lionel kicking at his blanket. She shook her head. “Repington?”

  “Yes, LaCroy. I believe we’ve met.”

  “Yes.”

  He set the basket down and leaned over and adjusted her cravat. “Nice tailor, but your waistcoat, is getting damp. Perhaps you should leave and get some fresh air.”

  “We should go.”

  “Not me. I’m here to gamble.” He picked Lionel’s basket up again. “Nice seeing you again, LaCroy.”

  That look—wide eyes, quivering cleft in her chin—touched his heart, softening the well-deserved ire built up every mile to London. It was a long trip with the countess and a babe who wouldn’t drink his pap milk.

  But Patience needed a lesson.

  He stepped around her and went to the hazard table. The jade-colored baize table was crowded. Dice rolled down the length to jeers and cheers.

  “You ready to roll, sir. The man just threw out with deuce aces.”

  The operator dropped the two white cubes into Busick’s palm. He cast them down the table with just enough pressure to make the long distance.

  It took two rolls, two adjustments to the force of his throw before the dice stopped on a nick of five. Gambling wasn’t something he did, but he admired the strategy of the game and beating the odds.

  He hit his streak, winning his shots, casting the dice and nailing his nicks—fives, sixes, and an occasional twelve.

  Luck was on his side, and Lionel had fallen back to sleep, the gentle blue blanket shifting only a little.

  The shadow of thinner legs fell on the basket and that sweet soapy smell came from behind.

  “Your Grace, don’t you think you’ve proven your point?”

  He shook the die in his palms. “No points can be proven unless someone admits that flouting authority is wrong. Does one recognize the governance of a superior officer? His wisdom?”

  “Duke,” the operator said. “It’s your roll. You’re still winning.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am. LaCroy, why don’t you go try another game? You like games.”

  Her penitent look turned petulant. “As you wish, Commander. But take care of the bread, Markham is here.”

  No sooner had she said those words than the devil appeared on his right.

  Markham hissed and chuckled. “See? I knew you’d want to go on and enjoy living.”

  “Back away from my roll,” Busick said, “I don’t want your luck.”

  Patience slipped away, retreating to a safe distance beneath the chandelier.

  He saw fear on her face. That wasn’t the lesson he wanted for her.

  Busick shook the dice. “You’re still here, Markham. Do they know you’re bankrupt?”

  The man’s pinched faced caved in better than what Busick’s fist would do.

  “Nothing is over, Duke. You haven’t won. In fact, I hear you have one foot in the grave, or was it that you left one there?”

  Busick tossed the dice and hit his mark. “I’m still in a better position than you. Take your broke pockets, your bluster, and leave.”

  The operator tapped the table. “Your Grace, it’s your roll. Is this gentleman bothering you?”

  “He is.”

  The operator waved his hand, and two footmen came on either side of Markham. “Eject him.”

  “I’ll go. Wait, what’s moving in—”

  “Quiet, Markham.” Busick smiled. “Take him away.”

  The men gripped Markham by the arms and dragged him away.

  Markham twisted and struggled. “This isn’t over, Duke.”

  “But it feels like it. Take him and toss him out on his ear.”

  Soon, the fiend was a memory. Busick shuffled the dice in his palms while the operator apologized for the disturbance. He let the cubes roll down the table.

  Boots stomped and congratulations sounded as he hit his nick again, lucky number twelve.

  But one jeer was missing.

  When he glanced at LaCroy, he frowned.

  She sat with the barrister.

  Busick turned back to the hazard table. He wasn’t done winning, and he wouldn’t allow jealousy to snatch it from him now.

  CHAPTER 25

  A RAKE’S SURRENDER

  There’s a moment in your life when you wonder how you arrived at the point you are at. I glanced at the duke and my baby’s bread basket. I sat near Mr. Thackery at a table covered in white linen, trying to figure out how I’d gone so wrong. Agassou could
n’t help me. Mama’s wiles, Papa’s money and brawn brought no answers. Repington and his Jove were winning. They’d even defeated Markham for the moment.

  This was punishment, and I was angry, fearful, and sticky.

  Smelling the thick onions and gravy on Thackery’s beefsteak made my stomach rumble. I wished I could bathe in the gravy. Never again would I fail to eat before cavorting about in menswear with a mocking duke giving chase.

  “You doing well over there, LaCroy? You look a little green.”

  “My headache of yesterday returned, and I’m a little tired of being punished on these shores. If I brought you my trust documents, could you arrange passage for three to Demerara?”

  “Three?”

  “Myself, Lionel, and Mrs. St. Maur.”

  He shook his head, even grunted a little. “Would this passage be done with the duke’s permission?”

  I lowered my eyes to the nearly empty plate. “That wasn’t my question.”

  “It needs to be. I survive by upholding the laws and rulings of the Crown. I’ll not knowingly break the provisions of a will. The duke is Lionel Jordan’s guardian. He sets the rules. It would have to be extraordinary circumstances for me to break my oath.”

  Where were these honorable men when I sought to marry? “Then forget what I said. Perhaps your aunt has someone else who could do what I need.”

  Thackery forked the last bit of his meal, bits of gravy spilling on his chin. “Maybe you need to rethink what you need.”

  I handed him a napkin. “Are you done? Jemina’s still waiting outside. You go on and take her. Knowing the duke, your aunt might be outside, too.”

  He took the cloth and wiped at his mouth, patting his mouth. “You have transport? Repington seems to be in good spirits.”

  I looked over at the duke, straddling the bread basket, winning another hazard roll. “I think I have a way back.”

  At least I hoped I had.

  The duke’s posture was a little bent, but that was probably from hovering over the table.

  He looked very smart in black trousers and an ebony-striped waistcoat. His cravat was still crisp, but he wasn’t lugging a cow in his shirt.

  Sullivan came to the other side of me. “Mighty young for the duke to bring his page with him. I thought a good page was a Blackamoor child that could walk or at least be able to follow a lady around with a satin pillow. Right, Thackery? You know how it’s done. Weren’t you one for your father?”

  The barrister put his fork down. “It’s time to leave.”

  The awful man chuckled. “Just a little jest, Thackery. The little thing is quiet and must be bringing His Grace luck. The duke’s on quite a streak.”

  “The Duke of Repington is eccentric and does as he pleases.” My voice held steady, but I was ready to hit Sullivan. I didn’t slap like a girl. My mother taught me how to deliver a blow.

  “Now, LaCroy, your friend Mr. Thackery knows I’m joking. In fact, I should be nice to him. I hear he’s set to inherit a title when his uncle finally dies.”

  The barrister stood. His countenance hadn’t changed from blank. “LaCroy, finish your business with Sullivan, I’ll go watch the duke and see if his luck doubles.”

  When Thackery left, Sullivan stepped closer.

  “LaCroy, you do have better people to vouch for you than those deadbeats, Markham and Jordan. Let me know when you need credit extended. I’m sure I could work out an offering, even one without management’s extra fees. Jordan mentioned this?”

  “He did. I’ll keep this is mind.”

  “Yes, come to me alone. I can give you better terms than the house.”

  I nodded. “I’ll contact you once I figure out how much I’d like to gamble.”

  When Sullivan moved back into the crowd, I sat back down.

  After a few minutes, Thackery returned, slipping into a seat. “Well, LaCroy?”

  “My husband was involved in a conspiracy to defraud this club with Sullivan. Colin was guilty.”

  “Did the man mention Markham being involved?”

  “Just as a deadbeat. He hinted at Colin knowing about Sullivan’s lending money at better terms than the house.”

  “Well, Jordan’s diary must be a record of these deals. That must be the tool Colin used to get his IOUs canceled. His extortion worked.”

  That was no comfort. How could my husband run a criminal pursuit?

  The sight of my sleeping angel beginning to punch at his blanket was too much. I hungered to be with honest souls. My head had mapped out the quickest route to my babe and the duke. I’d cede to the lessons the clear-eyed commander wanted to teach.

  “Mr. Thackery, good evening to you.”

  “I’ll sit here for a moment and ensure you do have transport. You’re under my protection. I won’t chance leaving you, not here, not disguised as you are.”

  Again, the fussy man surprised me, but I knew Repington. I could count on him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Slowly walking, like it was my last mile, I went to the hazard table and brushed his coat. “Duke, I think it’s time to go. You have appointments and schedules.”

  “No, relax, LaCroy. Go sit back with the barrister. Lionel will tell me when it’s time to go. Unless you know of a reason, a good reason for me to stop.”

  A few gentlemen looked my way with frowning lips, almost menacing. “Continue, Your Grace. Win at all costs.”

  He offered me a wicked smile. A cross between two can play this game and wait until I get you home. Neither would be well for me or my traitorous racing pulse.

  I slipped away, plotted murder in my head, and wondered if I stole Lionel’s basket from between the duke’s legs if I could make it out of the gaming hell before one of the footmen stopped me.

  Swatting my way through the crowd, I walked back to the barrister.

  “How long will the duke make me suffer?”

  Thackery slid me his glass of wine he nursed. The level of it looked untouched. “LaCroy, you look like you need this more than me.”

  A groom came and pressed a note in my palm.

  I took it, my hands visibly shaking.

  It was in Lady Shrewsbury’s script. She was outside and wanted to know how everything was going. “Mr. Thackery, your aunt’s in the duke’s carriage. I think you should collect her and Mrs. St. Maur and take them back to Hamlin.”

  “LaCroy, you don’t seem to be doing so well in your present negotiations. Perhaps you should come, too. The duke is only going to stay as long as you do.”

  “I’ve had enough games and disguises, sir. I understand my limits.”

  The barrister settled the bill, tossing a few coins from his purse. “Don’t lose heart. You have a duke and a baby chasing after you. You must be some kind of woman. Evening, LaCroy.”

  Thackery strolled to the door, and I heard claps from the hazard table.

  Seems the duke won again.

  I sniffed the barrister’s wine and took a drink. If I wanted to be drunk and deadened to pain, I’d down the thing. The way my heart hurt right now, as if it had been ripped from my sticky chest, it was clear the duke had won everything.

  * * *

  Busick held the dice in his palm and watched the barrister leave.

  “Come on, Repington,” the operator said. “Don’t let that arm grow cold.”

  He rolled again and won his nick. “I think it’s time to stop.”

  “Your Grace, you need to give the house a chance to win back its money. Surely, you want another turn?”

  “Roll ’em.” One man started the chant, then another picked it up, too.

  It wasn’t the same as his soldiers voicing their meter in a march, but it was stirring. Wellington eschewed gambling, so Busick would, too. He passed the dice to the man on his right, then hefted the bread basket.

  Lionel started to stir, wiggling his blanket. Any moment he’d fully awaken and would be ready to dine.

  He made his way through the crowd to where Patience sat.

&nbs
p; Was it wrong to admire the shapely cut of her legs, or the way the pantaloons made her backside a viewable work of art?

  He stopped staring before he became known as even more eccentric. “LaCroy, would you like me to drop you off somewhere?”

  She didn’t glance at him, her gaze stayed steady on the blanket. “I’m quite ready to go.”

  Patience took the basket at such a speed, he thought her capable of fleeing, but Busick knew she’d not run from battle. She’d hear him out first.

  “I’ll get your hat, Your Grace.”

  He let her retrieve it, and then they walked side by side onto the street.

  She released a sigh. It was deep, shaking him at his core.

  Had she suffered as much as he, thinking of the jeopardy her scheme afforded?

  His carriage pulled around, and he leaned in, thinking Lady Shrewsbury would mediate, but it was empty. They’d be quite alone.

  Patience put Lionel’s basket on the seat. Then she bounced back out and went up under his shoulder, helping him balance. Her scent of cigars and soap was an interesting blend, wrinkling his nose as he was hoisted by his petard, his nanny-petard up the step.

  “I needed no help.”

  “You’re leaning more on your cane. You haven’t straightened in an hour.”

  The door closed as they settled inside. “So observant. Did you see how cross I am, or are your observations selective?”

  She didn’t answer but fiddled with Lionel’s blanket. “He went back to sleep.”

  “Ignoring me won’t work this time. Nor will one-word answers.” He tossed her a handkerchief. “Take that foul cosmetic off. Make yourself look like the infernal woman I know.”

  She scrubbed at her face. “You didn’t need to come.”

  “Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot do? You don’t listen, Patience. Why should I listen to you?”

  “Your Grace didn’t tell me I couldn’t come.”

  “You didn’t tell me you’d dress as a man going to a men’s-only gaming hell.”

  “Well, that’s true. Sorry.”

  “Are you saying that to appease me or because you mean it?”

  “Both.”

  “Not the one-word thing again. I’m not in the wrong.”

  “You brought my son to a gaming hell. How is that not wrong?”