Page 90 of From Duke Till Dawn
I’m sorry,his eyes seemed to say.
I don’t care,her own gaze answered.
Then the moment was over.
Instead of trying to slam the door to keep them out, he pushed past them.
Cassandra stumbled backward, but Alex snared Martin by his collar and dragged him back. Staggering, fighting to right himself, Martin threw a wild punch at Alex. His fist clipped Alex’s temple as Alex sidestepped the brunt of the blow. A ring on Martin’s finger scratched a shallow cut at the corner of Alex’s eyebrow. Alex launched a punch of his own. His fist collided with Martin’s jaw, and Martin fell backward onto the crumbling stair railing, his expression dazed.
“Damn,” Alex growled, shaking his hand. “Got a jaw of iron.”
“Shut up!” someone in a nearby flat shouted.
With no ceremony, Alex grabbed Martin’s arm and half dragged him into Becky’s flat. Cassandra shut the door behind them and locked it so no prying eyes could watch.
Becky’s flat consisted of two chambers, one that served as a modest parlor and another that held the bed. The rooms were run-down, but clean and tidy. Here and there were pictures torn from periodicals, tacked up on the walls for color and cheer. Martin’s belongings were heaped in an open trunk in the bedroom, his prized shaving set on a table with a ewer and basin.
Martin himself lay sprawled on the floor, partially on a threadbare rug, cradling the side of his face. He glared up at Alex, who stood over him, but when his gaze fell on Cassandra, his look softened and his eyes pleaded.
He swayed to his knees. “Cassandra, Cassie,” he implored as quickly as his swelling jaw would allow. He held out a beseeching hand. “I meant to, you understand. I meant to include you all along.”
“Was that the plan the whole time? To take the money and leave me hanging?”
His shamefaced expression said that that had been precisely his intention. “You’re like a daughter to me. I’d never leave you in the cold. Cassie, please—”
“Stow it,” Cassandra said through clenched teeth. “If my heart has hardened against you, there’s no one to blame but yourself.”
Clearly sensing that his pleading was getting him nowhere, Martin tried another tactic. His expression turned stern and commanding. “You owe me, Cassandra.” He reeled to his feet, and Alex widened his stance, his hands loose and ready. But Martin didn’t try for another attack. Not a physical one. “Look around you. Look at this filth.” He flung a hand toward the window and the poverty beyond. “This is where I found you. And this is where you’d still be—if you weren’t dead from the pox already—if it wasn’t for me.Iwas the one who saved you.Irescued you and made you into a fine lady. Everything you are is because of me and me alone.”
Heat rushed into her face, but she pushed on. “Whatever debt I owed you has been paid in full. It was forfeit the moment you walked out that door in Piccadilly with all the money and without a word. Your betrayal wiped the slate clean.”
Martin dropped his imperious look and once again played the pitiful wretch. “Be kind, Cassie. Be kind to an old man.”
“Enough,” Alex snapped. “You’ll find no mercy here. Cassandra was almost killed because of you, and for that,” he went on, his voice deadly and low, “I’ll never show you a thimbleful of compassion.” He took a step toward Martin, who flung up his arms to shield himself. “Either you pay up now,” Alex continued, “or else I’ll have you transported.”
“You transport me, and no one will see a ha’penny,” Martin flung back.
“Then you’d better produce the cash,” Alex said coldly.
Martin looked quickly between Cassandra and Alex. She saw the calculation in his expression, running through the different tactics to take. Pleading, fighting, begging for sympathy. But what he saw in their faces must have convinced him that they both spoke truly. Neither would show him kindness or sympathy.
At last, he slunk toward the bedroom. Cassandra and Alex followed, standing in the doorway as Martin went to a portable writing desk sitting atop a table. He opened a drawer, and then pressed on a panel. The false bottom of the desk popped open, and a sizable bundle of cash fell out into his waiting hand.
He shook as he handed the wad of bills to Cassandra and winced when she snatched it up.
“Some has been spent already,” he said mournfully.
Quickly, Cassandra counted the bills. Then counted again. It was the most amount of money she’d ever held in her life. Once, she would have thought of keeping it all for herself.
But she wouldn’t now. That chapter had ended.
After counting the cash once more, she found that everything they needed to pay the rest of the investors was there. For the short time it had been operational, the gaming hell had turned a good profit.
After tucking the money into her reticule, she turned to Martin. “Pack. Now. Whatever you can carry.”
“Where am I going?” he cried.
“We’re putting you on the next coach to Dover,” she said. “Then you’re taking the first foreign-bound ship you can find. People are looking for you, so you’ll have to stay hidden and not draw attention to yourself.”
