Page 53 of A Lady Igniting Wicked Passions
Chapter 31
The carriage stopped at the end of Gloucestershire Street after a sharp rap by Aaron on its roof. It was a narrow side-street with tall buildings on either side, appearing to lean towards each other. The ground was mud, constantly being churned by wheel and foot.
The busy thoroughfare of Whitechapel Road was behind and the London Docks not far in the opposite direction. The air was a miasma of animal, tar, old rope, and stagnant water. The people on the street were dirty, with plain clothes much patched and repaired.
As Aaron stepped down, he was met with a call for alms from a beggar, to which he responded with a coin. He stepped to the doorway of a building directly opposite.
It looked as though it was a relic from before the Great Fire. A timber front with black beams and white paint. A bay window, showing the glow of firelight inside. A large man lounged on the doorstep, glancing up as Aaron approached and rapping on the door with the heel of his boot.
He gave Aaron a nod and was rewarded with a coin of his own as the door opened and Aaron stepped inside. The main hallway of Irons was dark, panelled in ancient wood and unpainted. A staircase at the back of the hallway led into deeper shadows. A murmur of conversation was coming from a door to the left. Aaron went into the room.
It was like stepping through some kind of magical portal. The gaming room at Irons was panelled in clean, white wood. Mirrors reflected the light from candles and gave a sense of space. Gaming tables hosting a variety of card and dice games were spread throughout the room. An archway extended from one wall to the other separated the room from another, almost identical.
This was the front room of the next-door building. Blakehill had knocked through to extend the capacity of his club, having purchased the adjoining building. Irons was named for the now famed commander of the British Army during the recent unpleasantness with the French.
Blakehill had considered it a fine joke, to name a disreputable gaming hell after a lauded duke and national hero. The Iron Duke, as he was known, Wellington. The name had stuck and now Irons had a fine reputation amongst the gentry, though concealing itself in London’s East End.
Aaron walked through the room to an empty table at the back. A serving maid approached, and he ordered a flagon of wine. A man in a black coat and white cravat, the uniform of Irons, approached next as were the rules of the house.
“Are you looking for a game, my lord?” he said politely and with the impeccable accent of the well-educated.
“I am. Loo perhaps. Cards anyway,” Aaron replied.
“I will see what I can do for you,” the servant replied before moving away.
By the time Aaron’s wine arrived, the man had produced three others interested in cards but not yet engaged, a deck of cards and introductions had been made. Aaron took an unhealthy swallow of a truly excellent Bordeaux and sat back, allowing one of companions to deal. The men’s names had immediately flitted out of his mind. He didn’t care.
The journey across London had been spent examining his problem from all angles. The amount owed to the Eel was more than his bankers would give and more than he could raise from his estates in the time given. Eversden could likely provide sufficient funds, but Aaron did not think it likely he would be willing to clear his new son-in-law’s debts after being made a fool of in front of the entirety of London society.
At the time, it had seemed gloriously irrelevant to Aaron. All that had mattered to him was making Arabella his. And, of course, ending the threat of blackmail that was hanging over him. That problem was now ended and replaced by another, even larger.
“Room for one more?” Ethan said breezily, appearing at Aaron’s shoulder.
The other men looked to Aaron who waved a hand. He was the most senior man at the table, and they deferred to him. Ethan dragged a chair from a nearby table and sat, casually dropping a purse onto the table with a heavy clink of many metal objects.
“I have been lucky. “You look as though you have not,” Ethan said, clicking his finger in the air for the serving maid.
“We have not yet begun to play,” Aaron told him.
“I was not referring to the cards, old boy,” Ethan remarked.
He requested a goblet and was soon helping Aaron with his bottle of Bordeaux, smacking his lips loudly.
“Then I do not know what bad luck you may be referring to,” Aaron replied, looking at his cards.
“Why, your damn fool stunt with… what’s her name? Anna?”
“Arabella. As you know fine well,” Aaron growled.
“A handsome dowry from that frightful oik, Eversden, pissed away for the sake of love. Clumsy at the very least. You could have married the sister and continued your affair behind her back. That’s what I would have done,” Ethan said, shaking his head at his own cards.
“I did not want to skulk around, and my actions had nothing to do with money. I do actually love her.”
“Love? Damned inconvenience if you ask me,” Ethan replied. “Eat it and starve. Seek it and go mad.”
“Shakespeare?” Aaron asked, mockingly.
Ethan barked a laugh. “Bredwardine, actually.”
