Page 3 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“He is a scourge on this place,” he muttered, shaking his head. Sipping his drink, he let the rum try to neutralize some of his darker thoughts.
“Men like Hargrove…” He sighed. “We get honorable men in here, honest men, who wish for a friendly game. And then men like him—he did not get the outcome he wished for, so he simply pulls out a knife to get his own way. Entitled men,reckless men, like him, should be barred from the Raven’s Den.”
“I’ll take that into consideration, Your Grace,” Horace said, shuffling papers to tidy up his desk.
He had been the manager for more than five years, and had done a fine job with his position as Alexander’s placeholder, so he could maintain his secrecy.
Alexander nodded solemnly. “It is simply that he is weak. He cannot shamelessly accept his loss—no doubt because themoney he bet on the game was not betting money at all, but for something he could not afford to lose—so he takes it by force. You know, Hargrove is a perfect example of what I despise about the aristocracy.” He shook his head again, deeply drinking as he loosened his cravat. “I swore a long time ago to never be like that.”
“And you ain’t,” Horace assured him, his more common accent coming through in the less fine speech he had been raised with. “But I know you know that.”
“I take no pride in profiting off patrons like him,” he muttered.
He tried to shake himself off, tried to detangle the claws that his revulsion had in him.
Deeper down, he knew that every man like Hargrove reminded him of his father.
“Regardless, tell me what is new with the business. While I am disgusted by one lord, I may as well be disgusted by many.”
Horace gave a short laugh, his smile falling into place amidst the wrinkles that had long aged his face.
“All right,” he sighed heavily, picking up some glasses and letting them perch on his nose.
Alexander felt some of his tension leak away at the familiar way Horace squinted at the papers he picked up.
“I excused the most recent light-fingered barman who was caught with light fingers when it came to the coin that was stashed behind the counter.”
“Business, as usual,” Alexander muttered sarcastically.
“And then we have the gentlemen,” Horace tossed the papers onto the desk, letting the Duke lean in to have a better look.
“I have been reviewing a few aristocrats, and they are all trying to run from their debts, but there is one man who is doing so quite audaciously. As you know, we can attempt several times to settle the debts before the unfortunate bastard finds some way to pay. But this man…” He winced. “I believe you might know of him. The Earl of Kinsfeld.”
The name immediately rang familiarly in Alexander’s mind. He leaned forward, his hands braced on the arms of his chair.
“I am listening.”
“He has amassed quite a staggering debt with us. Somehow, he has dodged the collectors we have sent to his residence. Of course, we are not strangers to frequent patrons who return with debts in their name, but his is… well, Lord Kinsfeld is something else.”
Alexander nodded at him to continue.
“He has debts to gamblers, where he lost and simply ran out of the hall. He has debts to us directly—his tab at the bar, for one. There is also the delicate matter of the unpaid private rooms here.” He cleared his throat, eyeing Alexander over the desk.
“I see,” Alexander answered thoughtfully, his disgust turning into something far more dangerous. “Yes, I know the earl. I know of him well enough.”
His voice was hard, cold.
Donald Cluett. He had married John’s—Alexander’s closest friend—sister.
Alexander’s fist clenched.
John would not stand for such a thing if he were present.
But John wasn’t. He was away with the army, losing himself on the battlefield rather than the aristocracy.
“Well,” Alexander said slowly, calculatingly, “if our runaway gambler will not answer our collectors, then I shall confront him personally. He will not refuse me.”
Chapter Two
