Page 26 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
Mick sat at the desk in his office scouring theTimes, one of a half-dozen periodicals he devoured every morning along with his coffee. While he knew most gents caught up on the news over breakfast, he’d never gotten into the habit of enjoying a leisurely beginning to the day. He awoke, dressed and headed into his office—which was a short walk from his nearby apartment on the same floor.
Of late he’d been giving attention to the Society news, and so it was that he saw the announcement regarding Lady Aslyn Hastings’s betrothal to the Earl of Kipwick. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock, shouldn’t have felt like a kick in the gut from a recently shod horse. He’d known of the earl’s interest; had known of the lady’s, as well. It worked to his benefit that they were engaged to marry. It upped the stakes, made his stealing the lady away even more of an embarrassment for the earl, and, as a result, the duke. His heir couldn’t hold on to his woman. It would portend that the earl was too weak to hold on to much else.
It should have made him glad. Instead it filled him with a sense of loss, made him feel as though something had been stolen from him. Ridiculous, that. Yet the sensation was there, grinding into his thoughts, making everything else seem inconsequential.
“Tittlefitz!”
The door burst open as though his secretary had been standing with his ear pressed against the thick oak. But then the man always seemed at the ready to serve. “Yes, sir?”
“The gathering we have planned to celebrate our opening of the hotel for business . . . the grand salon . . . I want an area of it made available for dancing.”
The slender young man blinked. His hair was a harsh red, his face covered in a constellation of freckles. Like Mick, he was born a bastard. Unlike Mick, he’d not been abandoned by his mother, and both had suffered because of it. The government aided the poor, but not the poor with illegitimate offspring. While there was finally an interest in reforming theBastardy Actand protecting infants, Mick doubted the negative opinions or behavior regarding those born on the wrong side of the blanket was going to be changing anytime soon.
“We’ll have to hire an orchestra,” Tittlefitz said.
“Then hire one.” He had the means to hire a dozen.
“What of the harpist who was going to perform?”
“Move her to the lobby. I don’t care. Your job is to make happen what I ask, and not bother me with the details of how you manage it. If I have to think about it, then what service am I paying you so well to provide?”
“Quite right, sir. I shall see to it posthaste. Anything else, sir?”
“No, that’ll be it.” He shoved back his chair stood, and strode over to the coatrack. He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat. “I’m going out. Don’t let things fall apart while I’m gone.”
“When will you be returning?”
When his mind was no longer filled with images of Aslyn saying yes to Kipwick’s proposal, of looking up at him with joy wreathing her face. She was a means to his gaining the acceptance he required. He should be bloody grateful things were progressing as quickly as they were.
Only he wasn’t. As he walked along the street where buildings were in various stages of being completed, he imagined she experienced the same sort of happiness when she received the earl’s proposal as he did when he watched the structures arise from the rubble of what had once been a vermin-infested area of London. He’d gotten the property cheap, acres of it. This street and the next, he’d mapped out for shops. The remaining area would be town houses where only a single family would reside. The rents wouldn’t be exorbitant. He doubted he’d ever break even.
The shops and his hotel were another story. They would provide employment for those who lived in this area. He was going to employ proper street sweepers who received a salary, not lads who were tossed a coin after clearing a path for the posh. His streets would be free of horse dung and rubbish. He had grand plans, plans that would create pride in the folk who lived and worked here, plans that would allow ladies to walk about without fear of ruining the hems of their skirts.
Thinking of skirts had him thinking about Aslyn again. He wanted her to attend his celebration of success. He wanted her to witness his accomplishments, to give her a chance to compare him against Kipwick. He wished every building would be finished when he opened the hotel, but there was no reason to hold off making money on it. Besides, he needed to find tenants for some of the shops, and some potential ones would be there during the festivities. Although, perhaps she would see the potential here as he did.
He realized, much to his consternation, it wasn’t his need to lord his achievements over Kipwick’s that had him contemplating how he might ensure she attend his affair, but a desire to share all this with her, to catch a glimpse of it through her eyes. To see if she took as much delight in it as he did.
All foolishness on his part. He couldn’t lose sight of his ultimate goal or the fact that when it was achieved, Lady Aslyn would despise him.
“I need him to win tonight.”
Standing in a shadowed corner beside Aiden, Mick watched as Kipwick finally strolled through the entrance of the Cerberus Club and shrugged out of his coat, handing it off to a young fellow who was tasked with seeing to each visitor’s possessions. He’d expected him to be here tonight as his appearance had become a habit, and each morning Aiden sent over the earl’s markers.
“That seems to be contrary to your plans,” Aiden said, his tone neutral, yet Mick heard his brother’s silent question:what are you about?
“I want him in a jovial mood.”
“Not a bad idea to let him win. He’s had a string of losses the past few nights. To be honest, I’m surprised he returned.”
“He lost his membership in yet another club, the last of any reputation that would have him. He has nowhere else to go.”
“There are plenty of places—less reputable to be sure, more dangerous certainly—for a man with an addiction to appease his demons, and your earl is addicted to wagering.”
“He’s not my earl.”
“I saw in the newspaper that he ishers.”
The words struck hard and quick, a solid blow that knocked him mentally off balance. His teeth clenched of their own accord, his gut tightened, his hands balled into fists at his side, but his face reflected no emotion whatsoever. Nor did his voice when he finally found the wherewithal to speak. “The reason I need him in a jovial mood. If I keep accidentally crossing paths with her, she’ll become suspicious. It’s to my benefit for him to arrange the next encounter.”
