Page 44 of From Duke Till Dawn
“I ain’t helping if they rip off your hide,” Sam spat, stepping back from the door. He was craggy-faced and stoop-shouldered, and utterly uninterested in her welfare.
Cassandra didn’t answer, but took a step inside. Alex immediately followed. He exhaled in surprise.
“Weren’t anticipating this, were you?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“I’m learning more and more how appearances are deceiving.”
She snorted at both the unspoken insult as well as its understatement. Nothing in this world was what it seemed. Everything was a surprise and a disappointment.
Cassandra used to love coming here. She loved the contrast between the outside and the inside, and reveled in this private place reserved only for people like her—professional liars and frauds. There wasn’t anything better than coming to the hall and trading stories with her fellow swindlers. It was a place she could be herself.
The Union Hall was, for newcomers, unexpected. In contrast to the shabby neighborhood and the run-down look of the warehouse from the outside, no expense had been spared to create a luxurious retreat inside. Fine mahogany chairs and sofas boasting silk damask cushions dotted the huge space. Mother-of-pearl and ebony-inlaid cabinets served as dividers, creating “rooms” within the cavernous warehouse. Plush carpets from the Orient covered the warped floorboards, and pieces of marble statuary and china vases served as decoration. To combat the gloom, gilded candelabras bore lit beeswax candles, and someone had hung chandeliers from the ceiling beams. A large orange tabby cat slept on a velvet pillow on a sofa.
But as she walked slowly forward, Alex beside her, conversation between the men and women filling the hall stuttered to a stop. Outright hostile glares greeted her, along with oppressive silence.
“Old friends?” Alex asked lowly, glancing toward one couple. The woman stared directly at Cassandra and spat on the ground.
“Once, we were comrades of a sort. Some of these people even invested in the gaming hell. But word’s out about Martin, and me. We broke the swindlers’ code to be on the level with each other.” She looked at an adolescent boy, who flung an obscene gesture in her direction.
A man with pockmarked cheeks stepped in her path and scowled at her. People nearby craned their necks, intrigued.
“Sutcliffe,” she said warily.
“Never trusted either of you,” Sutcliffe sneered. “Not Hughes. Not you.”
“Hetook the money,” she answered tightly. “I knew nothing until yesterday.”
Sutcliffe made a rude noise. “That’s shit and you know it.” He took a step toward her. “Where’s the goddamn blunt, bitch?” He raised his hand, threatening.
Then, suddenly, Sutcliffe was on the ground, cradling his jaw. Alex stood with his hand knotted in a fist, his expression cold and brutal. Everyone nearby sprang to their feet, their faces glazed with shock.
Cassandra looked from Alex to Sutcliffe and back again, disbelieving. The reserved duke had actually hit someone—to protect her.
“No one touches her,” Alex said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the hall.
Shocked murmurs drifted up from everyone. A few asked, “Who’s the tall toff?” but most were agreeing to keep their distance.
Cassandra walked around Sutcliffe, still lying on the ground. Her heart thudded. She’d asked him to lend her the protection of his highborn presence, but she didn’t think he’d physically hurt someone when fulfilling his duties. It was so un-ducal.
Alex remained a steady, large presence beside her as she picked her way through the hall. At last, they came to one corner of the space, where a burly man stood guard, arms folded across his huge chest. He bore a shock of black hair that stood at odd angles from his head.
“It’s alright, Dabbs,” came a woman’s voice. “Let her and the pretty aristo by.”
Though Dabbs looked unhappy with the order, he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped to one side, allowing Cassandra and Alex to come forward.
This part of the hall was decorated like a lady’s sitting room, with pretty chintz cushions on the delicate furniture, and porcelain shepherdesses lined up atop tables.
Cassandra had seen the pretty gewgaws many times. Now, she focused on the gilded chaise that took up most of the area, and the older woman in smuggled French silk reclining upon the chaise.
“Mrs. Donovan,” Cassandra said, nodding toward her. The swindling Queen.
“Only my children call me that,” Rose replied with a curl of her lip.
Cassandra waved toward Alex, “This is—”
“The Duke of Greyland. I know.” Rose surveyed a stiff-shouldered Alex with an appreciative eye. Hedidlook damned handsome, despite—or because of—the fact that he’d recently punched someone.
“Madam,” Alex said coolly.
