Page 4 of Pride: The Rogue
“By that admission, why would I needyouto guidemeon the debauched experiences the peerage craves?” Dynevor asked, more curious than angry. “You can’t offer me something I don’t already have knowledge about.”
“No,” Latimer agreed. “On the surface, I can’t.”
“Go on,” he said.
“In my case, I’ve been taking orders from three dukes. In your case, you’re taking over something that’s been established by your brother-in-law, Broderick Killoran. Killoran, who the world over knows sought to build a grand gaming empire for the nobility, and my former partners who were nobility, and who offered clients the same services and pleasures they enjoyed.”
Encouraged by the intent way Dynevor attended him, Latimer dragged his chair closer and pushed the best point of his sell.
“Killoran was…is…like us. But you and I?” He motioned between the two of them. “We have all the street’s sins in our souls. Our clubs, my former one,” he amended, gritting his teeth at the reminder of that still fresh betrayal. “The Devil’s Den, both focus exclusively on carnal pleasures. We can bring them that which they clearly crave, and more…events and activities associated with London’s underbelly.”
An eager light blazed to life in the young man’s eyes.
Following his train of thought, Latimer finished for him. “Fighting. Tattoos. A music hall. Ritualistic shows. A place where the nobility with a taste for sharing their partners can happily do so and have the audience they crave.”
The Earl of Dynevor practically drooled.
Catching Latimer’s eyes on him, the young man transformed his features into a scowl. “Wot’s to keep me from taking your idea and building it all myself?”
Not unlike Latimer once had, the young man’s tones moved between Cockney and King’s English. But then, Latimer had about a decade plus more of practicing his speech.
“Because in addition to sizeable wealth I have in hand from the success of…of my club, I have even more funds coming in once the sale of my portion of Forbidden Pleasures is finalized; money which we can use to fund the vision,” he said matter-of-factly. “Which would be helpful as your father, the marquess, is not permitting you to investhisvast wealth in businesses such as,” Latimer looked about, “this.”
Dynevor stared at him for a long while and Latimer couldn’t make out what the young man was thinking.
“I’m not reliant on the marquess,” he finally said, without anger, and only a boy would be insulted by Latimer’s statements of fact.
“Oh?”
“There’s a woman who’s…investing in me.”
“In you?”
“Not in that way,” Dynevor barked. His cheeks went red. “I’m not a whore.” The younger man visibly struggled to rein in his volatile temper. Lord Dynevor gave his midnight black lapels a tug. “She is a sort of friend of the family…a lady,” he added that last part almost reluctantly.
“A lady?” he asked, seeking clarification.
“She is an earl’s daughter,” the earl added with clear reluctance.
Latimer’s interest flagged. “Not interested in doing with fancy ladies.” Or lords. Hence the reason he’d sought out this nob raised on the streets.
“She’s not like other fancy ladies.”
Latimer snorted. He’d heardthatbefore. Two of the times being from his former friends who’d sold him out for their fine mannered ladies.
Latimer stood. “You have your mystery lady. You don’t require a partner.”
Dynevor scrambled to his feet. “Oididn’t say that!”
The earl had tipped his hand. The mottled flush splotching the young man’s sharply too-defined cheeks said he knew it, too.
Dynevor explained after they’d both sat down again. “She cannot openly fund the investment.”
“Ah,” Latimer sneered. There wasn’t a thing in the world worse than a bloody nob, except, a fine lady. “Too fine and fancy to dirty her fingers.”
“Too loyal to moi bloody family to openly go against their wishes,” the young man muttered.
That’s why The Devil’s Den fell from its once great, but very brief, reign of glory.
