Page 36 of Tempting the Scoundrel
“No.” At Morag’s stunned expression, Alexandra tried again. “That is, please tell the other staff that the room must stay as it is. If a note is missing, I’ll know.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Morag said, no doubt thinking Alexandra was a complete nutter.
More hoots of laughter came from below stairs. Alexandra frowned in irritation and shifted her notes into better organized piles. “Is it always this obnoxiously loud?”
Though Alexandra had arrived two nights ago in the middle of business hours, the private suites, kitchens, and staff rooms at the back of the hell muffled noise from below.
“Sometimes louder, if the orchestra is in a mood.” Morag didn’t seem bothered by it. “If not dinner or tidyin’, would ye like help dressin’ for bed?”
Alexandra gave a distracted shake of her head. What was it Nick did during these nights? Was he downstairs now laughing with the other gentlemen? Flirting with Maxine’s girls? Counting his notes and shillings? “I might as well take a look at what my money built,” she muttered, passing the maid. “Goodnight, Morag,” she called over her shoulder. “Take the night off.”
All Alexandra had to do was follow the raucous, which led her to a balcony that overlooked the gaming hell’s ground floor. She stared at the sea of men and women below in amazement. Now she understood why everyone from aristocrats to businessmen patronized Nick’s club. The decor at the front was decadent, everything draped in gilt, gold, and crimson. The ceiling fresco completed the decadence; without the gaming tables, the hell could have been mistaken for a palace ballroom in France. The busy tables were full of men laughing and chatting, with women draped across their laps.
Alexandra leaned forward, resting her elbows against the railing. This was what Nick had betrayed her for, what he had used her fortune to build.
A monstrosity to line his pockets.
Some heavy ache settled in her chest. This had been worth everything to him: a building. Just a mere building covered in gold trimmings, where he ruled as lord and master. His East End palace. This place had been worth destroying her.
A gusty, bitter laugh escaped her. She hoped he felt cold at night, knowing the Brimstone was what he sold his soul for. She hoped it brought him comfort, in the days to come, long after the divorce petition had been settled. It was better for her to see this. She’d remember it when she travelled on a ship and explored the world. It was time she made up for the years she’d wasted hurting over him.
“My lady,” came a voice behind her. “Was there something you needed?”
Alexandra looked over to see Nick’s factotum— the one with the spectacles and the pretty face. She could study him properly now, in the bright light of the candelabras. She had been in such a rush when she showed up on the Brimstone’s doorstep. Few men were more beautiful than Nick, and this one was his opposite: gold in the way of an angel, with tawny hair and the startling eyes the color of a tiger’s. He certainly seemed more predator than angel—or, at least, as fierce as a heavenly warrior. Right now his entire attention was trained on her, and if Alexandra had not grown used to Nick’s scrutiny, she might have been unnerved by him.
“You are Mr. O’Sullivan, yes?” At his nod, she said extended her hand. He stared at it, as if he wasn’t certain what to do with it. “It’s not a snake, sir. I prefer the informality of a handshake.”
Mr. O’Sullivan seemed reluctant, but grasped her hand and gave it a firm squeeze before releasing it. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No. I wanted to see the Brimstone for myself. Assess its value.” She didn’t mention thatvaluewasn’t monetary, but intrinsic.
“It’s a gaming hell, not a stable of thoroughbreds,” he said.
Unlike Morag, Mr. O’Sullivan did not demure. He did not regard her in the way of a staff member faced with his boss’s wife. Rather—behind his cool demeanor—Alexandra had the unnerving suspicion that he considered her an unwelcome burden. Trouble that had shown up on his doorstep and now seemed content to linger.
Well, that was hardlyherfault, was it?
“Mr. O’Sullivan,” Alexandra said calmly, “I have a pair of working eyes. As a married woman, I may not be permitted to own my own property, but I’m nevertheless relieved Nick didn’t waste my money purchasing a stable. If he had, I might have strangled him.”
His lip twitched, and Alexandra wondered if Mr. O’Sullivan were trying to suppress a smile. “You’re blunt for an aristo.”
“So I’ve been told.” She scrutinized him. “I hear you are very close to my husband. I assume this means Nick told you the truth before our marriage went public in the newspapers.”
“Yeah?”
“Then perhaps you will understand why I place a high value on honesty.”
Mr. O’Sullivan stared down at the bustling club. Alexandra wondered what he thought of this place, of the money that created it. What had Nick told his friends once he returned to the East End to build his empire? Had he laughed about her? Called her a fool, a pigeon, a mark? Worse?
“What of loyalty?” Mr. O’Sullivan asked, breaking his silence. At her puzzled expression, he added, “You ought to ask him why he went to Hampshire sometime. God knows every man in his employ owes Nicholas Thorne their lives. One of them even gave it for yours.”
Alexandra flinched at the reminder of O’Malley, the man Nick hired to protect her. He had been murdered in her garden. What had they done with his body? Had he a proper burial? A headstone? God, she’d not thought to ask.
“I’m very sorry for Mr. O’Malley’s loss, and that you had to take care of my . . .” Alexandra bit her lip. What did she say?My murder? My mess?She left behind two bodies for him to clean up. Two messes foisted upon this man and his friends. “I’m very sorry,” she repeated softly. “May I contribute to his burial? To his family, maybe? I . . . I owe him this small thing.”
“Taken care of,” he said, clearing his throat. “But that’s a kind offer.”
“You sound surprised.” At his guarded expression, a realization struck Alexandra which explained his behavior. “You think me unkind.”
