“Still, a woman likes to feel she is wanted.”
“I would not deign to marry a woman if she was not.”
She wondered why his words brought her no comfort, why she couldn’t imagine losing herself to his kiss in the garden or being wretchedly hurt if he disappointed her by making a wager that involved her.
She hadn’t seen Griff since that night in Kingsland’s garden. She’d barely seen Althea. Oh, she’d been there for her friend that fateful morning when she’d gone to confront Griff. She’d held Althea as she wept, rubbed her back as she trembled, and reassured her that it was all simply a horrendous mistake, would be quickly sorted, and everything would return to normal in short order.
However, by the time she’d returned home in the early afternoon, word of the duke’s transgressions and the suspicions regarding his sons’ involvement had spread throughout London. Her father had forbidden her to have any further association with Lady Althea Stanwick. When a daughter lives beneath her father’s roof and has no means to acquire her own, she has little choice except to obey his dictates.
She’d managed to secretly visit with Althea a couple of times, but after her friend’s father had been hanged for treason, Althea and her brothers had disappeared. It had been quite upsetting to have no word at all, to wonder how they fared. But then several weeks ago, her friend had come back into her life—after she’d become involved with Benedict Trewlove, the newly-anointed Earl of Tewksbury. They’d recently married and were presently in Scotland. Neither Marcus nor Griff had attended the wedding, and Althea was reluctant to share any news about them, other than to reassure her that they were fine, if not readily accessible.
“You have every right to be upset with my frequent absences,” the duke said now.
But that was the crux of the issue. She wasn’t bothered by them in the least. While he was away, she didn’t miss him, didn’t wonder what he was doing. It was ludicrous that her thoughts would often drift to Griff, and she would wonder if he was well, if he was wandering the streets or enjoying a pint at a pub. In spite of her upset with him regarding the wager, she couldn’t seem to not worry about him, to wonder what sort of toll his father’s actions had taken on him.
“Yet, I assure you,” the duke continued, “that nothing will distract me—”
“King?”
Immediately he turned his attention away from her to the young man who had entered his box. “Lawrence, I didn’t realize you had an interest in joining us this evening.”
“I don’t, but I’m in a spot of bother, and Pettypeace informed me I’d find you here.”
“How much?”
She heard in his tone that this matter was a frequent conversation between him and his brother, the one he’d once told her he considered more important than himself.
Lord Lawrence crouched so he was on a more equal level with Kingsland. “A thousand.”
“You lost a thousand quid after only a few hours at a gaming hell tonight? Good God, Lawrence, that’s totally unacceptable.”
“No, no, I’ve not even been to the gaming hell yet. It’s that damned wager I made with Griffith Stanwick last Season.”
Kathryn’s heart gave a wild thump at the mention of Griff. And the mention of a wager from last Season. Could he be referring to any wager other than the awful one that involved her? Why was Griff only collecting on it now?
“He’s come out of the shadows, has he?”
“To collect what is owed, yes.”
“You haven’t already settled with him? Paying on a lost wager is a matter of honor.”
“No one paid him. His father was a traitor, and we all agreed it nullified the matter.”
So all this time, Griff had not had access to the money he’d won? It didn’t lessen her upset with him for making the blasted bet in the first place, but it did serve to make her angry at those who hadn’t paid up. Based on what Althea had told her, she knew they’d all been in dire straits financially after they were ousted from Mayfair. They’d been relegated to living in the rookeries, to actually working in order to survive.
“Remorse seems rather late in coming, so what changed your mind about paying what was owed?” Kingsland asked.
“He’s threatening bodily harm or the spilling of secrets that some don’t want spilled.”
That did not sound at all like the teasing Griffith Stanwick she knew, a man who smiled and laughed easily.
“Which applies to you?”
“Does it matter?”
She watched as Kingsland scrutinized his younger brother, another example of a spare who was always holding out his hand. Little wonder her grandmother had warned her against marrying one.
The duke released a long sigh. “Tell Pettypeace to give you what you need.”
“Your secretary isn’t going to give over any blunt unless I know the secret word the two of you use to indicate you’re willing to open your coffers to me. Or have a note with your signature signifying you approve of my having the funds.”
The duke removed a small notebook and tiny pencil from inside his jacket, scrawled something, tore the paper free of its mooring, and held it out to his brother.
“Thank you,” Lawrence offered quietly before straightening. It was only then that he acknowledged her. “Lady Kathryn, I apologize for disturbing your evening. Enjoy the performance.”
With that, the young lord took his leave, giving her no time to ask if he knew where she might find Griff and if he looked well. Not that she would have given so much of her thoughts and feelings away, especially as she didn’t want Kingsland to doubt her devotion to him—even if she doubted it herself.
The lights in the theater began to dim until only those illuminating the stage provided a meaningful glow. The curtains drew back to reveal several actors in a forest.
“Have you had any word from Mr. Griffith Stanwick?”
She jerked her attention to Kingsland. “I haven’t, no. He’d have no reason to pay me a visit or correspond. I certainly didn’t make a wager with him.”
“I assumed as his sister’s friend, you might know how he’s weathered his father’s betrayal to the Crown.”
“I’m not even certain she knows what he’s involved in these days. I can’t believe he threatened your brother.”
“We gents take our wagers damned seriously. Some have fought duels over the honor associated with them.”
“It wasn’t very sporting of you not to let your brother know whom you’d selected so that he wouldn’t lose money in that ridiculous wager.” She felt the anger and hurt bubbling back to the surface as she was reminded of the reason Griff had assisted her.
The duke leaned toward her. “You know the details of the wager to which he was referring?”
His voice was low, but she heard no intimacy in it and didn’t know if he’d gone quiet out of respect for her or so as not to disturb those sitting in nearby balconies. “I’m assuming he’s referring to the one that predicted you would select me. My father told me of it. Did you make a bet on the matter?”
“It would be unethical for me to do so when I was the one who would determine the outcome. It would have also been unfair for me to tell my brother. Knowing what was written in the betting book at White’s, I kept my decision to myself, told no one, not even my best mates.”
“Oh yes, of course.” She knotted her hands in her lap. “I didn’t know he hadn’t collected on it. Would you have paid him if no one else did?”
“I always honor my debts. I wonder where he’s been.”
She wondered as well, then cursed her blasted curiosity. She was spending the evening with a man who had never taken advantage of what he knew about her to benefit himself. Mr. Griffith Stanwick shouldn’t occupy her thoughts. Yet, she seemed unable not to think about him.
After their brief discourse regarding the wager, they watched the play in silence, and then journeyed home with nary a word spoken. When they reached the manor, he asked her to wait with him a moment for a qu
iet word while her maid carried on into the residence. But he didn’t give her a quiet word. He gave her a kiss. A brief one to be sure, a mere passing of his lips over hers, but it was the first time he’d taken such liberties. She couldn’t deny that her heart had certainly sped up, but there was no fluttering in her stomach, no weakening of her knees, no curling of her toes—none of the visceral sensations she’d experienced when Griff had kissed her, but then his had been the kiss of a scoundrel, not a gentleman.
If she was wise, she’d toss out every memory of Griffith Stanwick she possessed. She certainly shouldn’t make any effort to compare the duke to him.
Chapter 11
June 1, 1874
Six weeks later, with no ball or soiree scheduled for the evening, Kingsland in Yorkshire as he’d predicted, and her parents visiting Paris, Kathryn went to the Elysium Club, a gaming hell for ladies—or at least the ladies assumed it was close to being one that rivaled those the men in their lives frequented. Kathryn suspected it was a bit posher than its counterpart for men because it didn’t resemble her idea of hell in the least. But Aiden Trewlove had certainly taken great pains to ensure his establishment reflected women’s fantasies.
The gaming room was softly lit. Handsome gents in evening attire wandered through offering advice on strategy, a light touch on a shoulder, or just a smile. Other rooms provided different entertainments—food, dancing, foot rubs—but Kathryn preferred this one because while they might occasionally flirt, the gentlemen weren’t delivering so much attention as to be distracting, and within these walls, it was never completely quiet. Clacking dice, spinning wheels, and the shuffling of cards created a cacophony that served as a backdrop for the gossip that was often shared during play.
Her favorite game was vingt-et-un. The rules were simple: accumulating cards, striving to reach a value of twenty-one or as near to it as possible without going over. She’d acquired her membership here shortly after that fateful night when Kingsland had announced her name. She’d heard of the club, had been curious about it, and had decided that if she was to soon marry, she should do everything she’d ever wanted to before she exchanged vows in case her husband had objections to his wife being entertained in such a scandalous manner. Now, however, she suspected she could continue to come here, and he wouldn’t care one whit. Her marriage would very likely resemble the one her parents had before they fell in love. She couldn’t quite envision Kingsland plastering her against walls and devouring her. He had yet to strike her as a man who would lose control of himself or a situation.
“Lady Kathryn?”
She glanced up at the dealer, studied her cards, nodded. “Yes, I’ll have another.”
Then she smiled as the card he dealt her left her two shy of twenty-one. “I’ll stop here.”
He moved on to the lady beside her, one who wore a domino mask. Some of the members preferred a disguise because for various reasons they wanted to keep their identity secret, but Kathryn didn’t care who knew she was here. She wasn’t going to slink about as though ashamed of her behavior when she wasn’t. The one thing she could claim with certainty regarding her relationship with Kingsland was that it reflected an honesty that ensured she never had to pretend to be other than as she was.
“Have you found someone to recommend you?” Lady Prudence, sitting beside Kathryn said sotto voce to Lady Caroline, who sat on the other side of Lady Prudence.
“I have, yes.”
“Would she recommend me, do you think?”
“I’ll recommend you if I gain membership.”
“What’s this then?” Kathryn asked, knowing it was rude to eavesdrop, but having her attention snagged by the recommend portion of their conversation.
Both ladies gave a start and looked rather guilty. They studied each other for a minute before finally nodding. Lady Prudence leaned toward Kathryn and whispered so low that she almost didn’t hear her. “There’s a new club.”
Her heart gave a lurch as suspicion took hold. Griff should be flush with funds after collecting on his wager. He might have obtained enough to purchase the building he wanted. “What sort of club?”
Lady Prudence glanced around as though fearful of being spied upon, of being caught doing what she ought not. “It’s a place where men and women meet for . . . companionship. But the membership is very exclusive, and you’re admitted only upon someone else’s recommendation.” Once more her gaze darted around the room. Seemingly satisfied with her observations, she inched her mouth ever closer to Kathryn’s ear. “And you must swear an oath not to divulge what happens within or whom you see there. More importantly whom you see together. I heard one lady didn’t honor the oath, began whispering about a gent in the company of a lady another was courting—and the offender awoke to find the club owner in her bedchamber threatening to see her reputation ruined if she didn’t cease with the gossiping.”
Kathryn seemed unable to stop herself from staring, to come up with a proper response. All of this sounded far, far too familiar, except for the notion of Griff breaking into a woman’s bedchamber to threaten reprisals. First of all, he wouldn’t have the skills needed for gaining entry into a residence locked up for the night, and secondly, he wasn’t one to threaten. Not seriously. If anything, he would be teasing.
“Scandalous, I know, for such a place to exist,” Lady Prudence murmured in the wake of her silence. “Not to mention the sneaking into a lady’s bedchamber.”
However, it wasn’t the scandal of the place but rather the fact that she knew owning such a business had been Griff’s dream. She even knew the building he’d wanted to purchase, had driven by it a few times after their nighttime visit to it. The last time she did so, it still appeared to be for sale. But that was a couple of months ago. “Who is the owner?”
Lady Prudence’s eyes widened with glee. “That’s just it. Only the members know, and they aren’t tattling. It’s just all so delightfully mysterious and deliciously disreputable.”
“Ladies, are you going to continue to play?”
Kathryn jerked her attention to the dealer, noting as she did so that he’d revealed his cards, the sum he’d reached greater than twenty-one. Her winnings already sat in front of her. She shook her head. “I believe I’ll call it a night.”
After gathering up her chips, she stood, started to move aside, halted, and lowered herself to Lady Prudence’s ear so she could make a discreet inquiry. “Has this establishment a name?”
“The Fair and Spare. But you shan’t be allowed in if your name isn’t on the list. And its membership is so secret that it’s deuced difficult to figure out who you can ask to sponsor you.”
“I shan’t require a sponsor.” Or a recommendation or her name on a list.
As she headed for the door, she knew nothing on God’s green earth was going to stop her from gaining entry.
From the top of the stairs, Griff looked over the railing and down onto the crowded foyer where the new arrivals mingled, waiting for the woman he’d hired to search for their name on a list and verify their membership before allowing them access to the main portion of the building. The Fair and Spare had officially opened a fortnight earlier, and word had spread more quickly than he’d anticipated. Everyone he’d invited to the first night’s celebration had come. He’d not put his name on the invitation, but neither had he hidden his identity from those who had walked through the door out of curiosity. As a matter of fact, he’d taken perverse delight in their shock when they’d realized they’d answered the summons of the traitor’s son. He’d debated operating in secret but had decided to hell with it. He was no longer going to let his father’s legacy define him.
Even though he couldn’t deny that, in many ways, it had made him the man he was now, barely clinging to the few frayed remnants of who he’d once been.
Besides, he liked being visible, moving about. His presence ensured people behaved. The hands that had bled and scarred provided an ominous signal that he was no longer a proper gentleman, and he kep
t them on display by never wearing gloves. When he walked through the rooms, people gave him a wide berth. He didn’t mind that, either. Their membership was putting coins into his coffers. He didn’t need them as friends, acquaintances, or mates, preferred they were a bit wary of him.
He no longer belonged in their world, wasn’t going to pretend that he did.
Weary of his idleness, the boredom settling in because of his inaction, he decided it was time to strut through the various rooms, had just started to turn when he caught sight of her.
She marched in with confidence and the bearing of a queen, an empress, the ruler of a dominion spread out before her, resting at her feet. His gut shouldn’t have tightened. His heart shouldn’t have started galloping wildly. He shouldn’t have been grateful for her arrival.
And yet he’d known she would come if she ever heard of the place. After all this time, the sight of her was a balm to his tattered soul. Not that by word, deed, or expression he was going to give any indication that was the case.
She wore a gown of emerald green, one he’d never before seen, but he knew her eyes would reflect the shade. Gloriously dark, gloriously rich.
As though she were special—Lord help him if he didn’t consider her so—she waltzed past the line of people having their membership confirmed, strolled farther into the hallway until her path was blocked by a big brute of a fellow, whom he’d hired to maintain order. He’d seen several men noticeably pale when Billy stepped in front of them, but she merely arched a brow at him as though his presence was a nuisance. God, he loved that she wasn’t intimidated by a man who could snap her in half, but then there were so many things he’d come to admire about her, far too late for any of his realizations to do any good.
If he was smart, he’d go to his office and lock the door. Instead, he started down.
Kathryn would not have been surprised to learn the man standing before her had descended from giants. However, having just come from the Elysium Club, she was impatient to learn if what she suspected was accurate and didn’t intend for anyone—giant or no—to stop her. “Let me pass.”
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 10
