Page 3 of Pride: The Rogue
He masked his surprise. “Have you?”
“Yes.” The earl gestured for Latimer to sit. “I make it a habit of learning everything I can about my rivals,” he explained after Latimer reclaimed his chair.
Masking his surprise, he took advantage of a short quiet while Dynevor availed himself of the open seat across from him.
Struggling as it’d been for years, The Devil’s Den hadn’t even merited his and his former partners’ attention.
“Didn’t give my club any thought, did you?” the hard-eyed earl asked, accepting an empty glass and new bottle from a big-breasted beauty. She put a new empty snifter before Latimer. “That kinda carelessness ain’t good, Latimer,” he said, when the plump woman had gone.
“No,” he acknowledged, cagily eying the proprietor. “You have the right of it there.”
Dynevor put all his attention into his pour; Latimer didn’t believe that absorption for one minute.
“For years, I’ve been waiting for one of you or your men to send one of their lackey’s here.” He lifted his bottle of whiskey.
Latimer quietly declined.
Dynevor lifted shoulders, surprisingly broad for one so young, served himself a drink and reclined in his chair. “I expected it’d be you, as our clientele is oneyoucould relate to.”
“Because I’m street-born?” he said bluntly.
“Yes, Craven and Argyll wouldn’t dare sully their aristocratic roots in this place, which is why they sent you.”
Casually sipping his drink, Latimer swept his gaze around the still uncrowded floors. This place had the look of the lost city of Atlantis, once great, but now buried and decaying.
“Ah, you see the fade upon it,” Dynevor noted.
“I didn’t say that,” Latimer remarked.
The earl snorted. “You didn’t need to.” He pointed a finger Latimer’s way. “That, Latimer, is what allowed you and your partners to stay in the dark while we studied you.”
He donned a grin. “Well, I’m here now.”
“Yes, I knew the day would come,” Dynevor spoke contemplatively. “The question is why? Whynow?”
Clever lad.He’d expected Latimer. The earlwouldn’t, however, have gathered his reason for doing so. No one knew of Latimer’s separation from Forbidden Pleasures. Nor would they until the split was formally authorized and Latimer had his equity stake in hand.
Dynevor stopped his drumming. “Couldit have something to do with,” he dropped his voice, “your split with Forbidden Pleasures.”
Too impressed to be annoyed, Latimer inclined his head in acknowledgment. “You did your research.”
The young proprietor narrowed his eyes. “Let’s not mince words. What do you want?”
Latimer appreciated that blunt directness which was so foreign to the other priggish lords who ruled the world.
“I believe we would make each other good partners, Dynevor.”
“I don’t want a partner,” the earl snarled. “I’m rebuilding this club in my vision.” That deep, guttural statement bore the harsh quality of one who’d survived more fires than a cat and his voice told the grisly tale. “And I certainly don’t need you.”
Latimer kept his features impassible. “I believeyoualmost believe that, but I also know you’re far more clever than prideful, and want to hear what it is I’m proposing.”
Dynevor gave another one of his grunts.
Taking that as leave to continue, Latimer went on. “You and I, weren’t raised by the peerage.”
The whole world knew the story of Dynevor abducted as a babe, raised by Mac Diggory—the most feared gang leader in England—only to be discovered and returned to his father, the Marquess of Maddock.
“Yes, you werebornto it,” Latimer continued. “But we both know you spent most of your years, thus far, in the harshest streets. Your being an earl isn’t the same as Argyll, Craven, and Rutherford, who were born with a silver spoon in their pompous mouths.”
