Page 15 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
The earl ofKipwick was a reckless gambler. Mick knew it within fifteen minutes of sitting him down at a table within the Cerberus Club. They’d met at the entrance to Cremorne Gardens and ridden together in the earl’s carriage, not a word spoken, as though his new friend were distracted by the possibilities of the night’s adventures.
Before long, he was going to be distracted by the lightness of his purse.
The club was dark, loud, filled with smoke. Commoner and nobility alike frequented this place, played against each other. The tables made disparate men equals.
Aiden Trewlove had strict rules governing behavior at his club. Cheating wasn’t tolerated. He’d been known to break fingers, had taken great pleasure in snapping a duke’s once. Titles were left at the door. They had no place in the world Aiden had created within the confines of these walls. Mick often wondered what would happen if Aiden’s father or one of his legitimate sons walked through the door. He suspected a good many fingers might be broken.
Odd how little care those who had brought problems to Ettie Trewlove’s door had taken to hide their identities. But then what weight would her words carry when compared against those spoken by someone of means, influence and power? They’d all thought themselves safe against a desperate widow in need of coins in order to survive, willing to do whatever necessary to ensure her continued existence.
His father, at least, would soon learn he’d been wrong to believe himself protected from his sins.
“Does your sister come here?” Kipwick asked, lifting his cards from the table to study them.
Mick felt a jolt of protectiveness shoot through him. A few women were gambling—not a one of them noble or even giving the appearance they had a farthing to spare, but then their currency usually involved a hiking of the skirts. “No.”
Kipwick lifted his gaze to Mick’s, no doubt taken aback by his curt response. “I assume she is well.”
“She is.”
The earl grinned. “You don’t like me asking after her.”
“ ‘E’s protective of ‘is sisters ‘e is,” the bricklayer to his right offered.
“Sisters?”
“ ‘E’s got two of ’em. One’s the daintiest thing ye’ve ever seen. The other not so much. Tall as a lamppost.”
“I’d hate for Gillie to stop serving you gin, Billy,” Mick said, his low voice directed the bricklayer’s way.
“Didn’t mean nuffin’ by it. She’s a fine woman, she is, your sister. Just not to me tastes.”
“Button your lip while you’re ahead.”
The man gave a brusque nod and studied his cards as though his life depended on them adding up to twenty-one.
“She sounds fascinating,” Kipwick said. “She wasn’t with you last night?”
“She was otherwise occupied.” While he hadn’t liked the inquiries regarding his sisters, he was well aware it would make his own less suspicious. He signaled to a nearby lad to fill Kipwick’s glass. “The woman on your arm—I assume you have an interest in her.”
Kipwick downed the swill. The glass was immediately refilled. The earl seemed to have an equal interest in drinking and wagering. “We’re expected to marry.”
Odd phrasing that. Before Mick could contemplate further, Kipwick smiled wistfully. “I’ve adored her since we were children.”
So there was an investment there. Always more satisfying to take from a man when he’d given part of himself into that which was being taken.
“Our parents were close. From the moment she was born, they saw us as a match. Ancient families, political allies and all that.”
Ancient families who fought to keep their bloodlines pure by ridding themselves of the impure who littered their dynasties. Mick had no plans to be gotten rid of so easily. Satisfaction was to be found in rising from the ashes.
Kipwick lost the hand with relaxed aplomb. He even laughed about it, as though money meant nothing to him. Easy to do when a man had never done without, had never been forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for sustenance, had never felt hunger gnawing at his belly, the frigid winds taking up residence in his bones, or the ache of muscles pushed beyond their limits.
The earl signaled for more whiskey, then met Mick’s gaze. “I have an interest in investing with you.”
“I’m not currently in need of investors.” He took satisfaction in his words, in the disappointment washing over Kipwick’s face before he downed his whiskey in one long swallow and gestured for another pour. After the lad filled the glass, the earl simply claimed the bottle and banged it on the table, obviously determined to finish off the contents himself.
“You must have some sort of business opportunity on the horizon. You’re not known for being idle.”
“Gathering information about me?”
