Page 86 of The Baron Takes a Bet
Opening the door, Gavin was surprised to see a very plain brick building in an unassumingly quiet neighborhood. Though the cobblestone streets were barren, Gavin felt an unnatural chill. This wasn’t like the gaming spots by the docks, where taverns and streetwalkers lined every sidewalk, creating a bustling nightlife of danger. Nor was it the pristine, wide windowed buildings he was used to, such as White’s, where only the finest of London’s elite went.
This place was dangerous.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin saw two silhouettes at the end of the street, standing there unmoving as he followed Derek up the steps, where another tall, dark figure lurked in front of the door. It seemed there were men at every turn around here, and Gavin suddenly realized just how perilous it would be for someone trying to escape with unpaid debts.
Derek spoke to the figure only to be rebuked immediately.
“Piss off,” the thick cockney accent bellowed through the night at them while Derek squared his shoulders as if ready for a fight.
“Now, see here—” he started, but Gavin held his hand up and pressed it into his friend’s chest.
He had been to similar places in Greece, where talk could do little to persuade people. The only thing anyone generally understood was a coin.
Pulling out a five-pound note, Gavin squashed it into the man’s fist.
“We want in.”
“Don’t you dare give him that,” Derek warned as the man tucked the money away.
“It’ll cost you. Kilmann don’t like wasting his time on pigeons.”
The derogatory term for tight-laced dupes nearly made Gavin smirk while his friend began to shake.
“What’s the buy in?” Gavin asked.
“Two hundred.”
“Absolutely not,” Derek spat, but Gavin nodded.
“Fine.”
“No.” The earl placed his hand square in the middle of Gavin’s chest. “Don’t you dare give him so much.”
“You don’t have to come in,” Gavin told his friend. “But I do.”
Derek seemed to think about it for a minute and then, sighing loudly, nodded as the man turned and opened the door.
Clemet Club was not a place of grandeur or splendid things. It was dark and smelled heavily of smoke and gin. While White’s had all the decorations and magnificence of a fine establishment with tall walls and high ceilings, Clemet Club was decidedly darker, with few furnishings aside from several tables lined against the walls in a part-open ballroom, part parlor. It hadbeen refurbished to accommodate gambling tables, and there, against the wall, near a black marble fireplace, stood Kilmann.
Wearing a vest and beaver top hat, Kilmann stood a foot above everyone, scanning the tables from his post as Gavin and Derek entered. Kilmann was older than everyone in the room but sharper than most of London. His wrinkled, worn face seemed to be carved from ice. Gavin saw several men he knew, all sweating and focused on the games at their tables.
And there, at the faro table, sat Jasper. He hadn’t even realized that Gavin and Derek had entered; he was so focused on the cards in his hands.
The scent of desperation and greed filled the air, and when Kilmann approached, he noticed the flicker of a predatory gleam in his eyes. They were new meat for him.
“Ah, Lord Trembley. To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence at our humble establishment?”
“We’re searching for—”
“A game to play,” Gavin said, unwilling to drop any unnecessary connection between them and anyone else. It seemed dangerous to let this man know too much about them.
Kilmann’s gaze flickered to Gavin.
“Indeed. Well, we’ve a faro table set up, hazards just over there and vingt-et-un if you’re feeling daring.”
“Faro.”
“Very well. Two hundred, all in coin. No other form of payment is accepted.”
