Page 49 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

A wrinkled, pink, and squalling bundle lay in Honoria’s arms. Drake—Charlotte couldn’t think of him as Burwood any longer—towered over them, his little finger prodding at the bundle’s fist, his expression pure adoration.

Ashton’s warning was hardly necessary. Charlotte had never seen Honoria look more beautiful, even on her wedding day. Beatific would be a suitable descriptor as she gazed up from her daughter, her eyes brightening upon seeing Charlotte. “Come, meet Katherine Abigail Constance Pendrake.”

Without removing his attention from the baby, Drake said, “We’re going to call her Kitty. Like Aunt Kitty.”

The child screamed.

“It does seem to fit,” Charlotte said.

Drake nodded, finally looking away from the baby’s face. “The moment she displayed her temperament, the matter was settled.”

Charlotte stepped closer. “And the Abigail Constance?” The baby stopped screaming, but her tiny bottom lip quivered.

“Abigail after Drake’s mother, and Constance after mine,” Honoria said, then cooed to little Kitty.

“Ashton said you had something to ask me.” She took another tentative step closer, fear still gripping her feet to the floor.

Honoria exchanged a glance with Drake. The love the two shared tugged at Charlotte’s cold heart. “As Drake’s best friend, we already decided to ask Simon to be Kitty’s godfather, and it seemed fitting to ask you to be her godmother. Especially now.”

The trepidation rooting Charlotte to the floor twined up her legs like vines, wrapping around her and squeezing her chest. “Why now?”

“Well, of course, with your marriage to Simon. But more because we decided Kitty might need a strong woman in her life.” The love for her infant daughter lit Honoria’s entire face.

Drake nodded. “Especially since I expect Simon will spoil her by catering to her every whim. She’ll need a clear head to counter his flattery. If her few moments in this world are any indication, she will be strong willed like my aunt, and who better to guide her than you?”

Oh.Something wet pricked the corners of Charlotte’s eyes. “I’m honored.”

“Besides,” Drake said, lifting Kitty in his arms, “she’ll get the perfect balance of frivolity and seriousness, making for a perfect whole. Just like you and Simon.”

As Drake cradled his infant daughter, Charlotte didn’t have the heart to tell him there was nothing perfect about her union with Simon Beckham.

Simon bangedon the carriage roof, bringing it to a halt in front of the new gaming hell,The Knave of Hearts. Since it had opened a year ago, he’d wanted to see for himself what all the chatter was about. Unable to attend White’s, which in all honesty was fine with him, Simon longed for a place a little more genteel than the dingy backrooms of public houses where a man could lose more than just his money. Even he had his standards. He was the man of business for a duke, after all.

“Don’t wait for me. I’ll hire a hackney when I return,” he called to the driver. Even the location was strategically placed—far enough from the East End, but also not close enough to St. James Street to not create a stir of competition with the more elite clubs. Whoever owned the club was clearly a man with vision.

A burly man stood at the entrance, his hands crossed and clasped in front of him. He eyed Simon from head to toe and back up again. “Ain’t seen you here before, gov’nur.”

“First time, my good man. I’ve heard many good things.” Simon flashed his signature smile, hoping his teeth caught the glint of the moon. Itmighthave been aslightprevarication.

“Such as?”

Uh-oh. Perhaps the man had more between his ears than Simon had given him credit for. “Well, that the owner is a gentleman, and he tolerates no riff-raff in his club.”

The giant barked a laugh. “Wait till the Cap’n gets wind of that one!” He eyed Simon again. “Very well. You look like you have some blunt to lose.” With an arm the size of a tree trunk, the man pushed the door open, then gave a bow, his lips curlingin irony as he motioned Simon forward with his other massive limb. “Your lordship.”

Simon stepped through, vowing to be on his very best behavior lest the man break him in half like a twig.

Although White’s wouldn’t welcome Simon on his own, he had been there once as Drake’s guest. He’d never been so anxious to leave an establishment—except perhaps Pendrake House a short half hour before. Fear of reprisal for laughing a bit too loudly or failing to followthe ruleshad made him jittery and longing for the door.

But as he took in the scene before him atThe Knave, the dreaded pressure around his chest failed to manifest. Voices weren’t hushed into submission. Raucous laughter and shouts of disappointment as men won and lost at the tables drowned out the sameclinksof glasses that broke through the oppressive silence at White’s.

The unrestrained vocalizations contrasted with the elegant decor in a strange juxtaposition that somehow seemedright. Appointed well, with fine furnishings and wall coverings, the gaming hell was unlike any other he’d been in. Simon scanned the room, taking in the patrons.

Well-dressed, all of them, Simon was unable to discern who was a lord and who was a Cit.

Ah! Lord Montgomery occupied one of the tables. When Simon had met the man at Drake’s house party the previous summer, he’d immediately liked him. Quiet and serious, he reminded Simon of Drake. Especially considering how besotted he was with his red-headed wife. Next to him sat Andrew Weatherby, also a guest at Drake’s party and brother of the impossible flirt, Miss Anne Weatherby. Simon shuddered at how close poor Drake had come to being leg-shackled to the wrong redhead.

Simon strode toward them. “Gentlemen.”

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