Page 27 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
He gave his gaze the freedom to roam over them, to judge how loosely they were playing, to—
He came up short at one of the poker tables. What the devil was Lord Somerdale doing here? Why wasn’t he out searching the streets for his sister? Yes, it was dark, but lanterns were invented for a reason and a good many gaslights warded off the dark throughout London. Even if it were impractical to search at night, especially if fog was rolling in, shouldn’t he be at home worrying rather than here gambling what he could ill afford to lose?
“I’m of a mood for a private game. With Lovingdon off on his marriage trip, I might actually win a hand or two.” The Duke of Avendale came to stand beside Drake, wrapped his fingers around the railing, and leaned forward.
“We’d rather not bring attention to the fact that we observe them,” Drake said.
“They are well aware they are watched. I see no point in trying to be so secretive about it. By the by, what’s holding your attention down there?”
He didn’t want to explain, because he would have to explain too much. He’d never been particularly close to Avendale. The man tended to keep himself apart from the others. “Simply watching the money coming into our coffers.”
“Hmm.” He looked at Drake with brown eyes, his dark brown hair falling across his brow making him appear like Lucifer himself. “Going to join us for a private game?”
They had a secluded room where the sons—and on occasion the daughters—of the owners and their closest friends played cards. Avendale came to the group through William Graves—another former street urchin—who married Avendale’s widowed mother.
“Invite Somerdale to join us.”
Avendale’s eyes widened at that. “The man’s pockets aren’t flush enough for him to play on our terms.”
Their games tended to be high stakes and ruthless. And very often involved cheating. The street influenced them all.
“I’ll extend his credit.”
“Trying to find a way to get even with his sister for her treatment of you at the wedding ball?”
At every turn more like. “I barely gave her any notice.”
“Bollocks. The little chit was very deliberate in her insults, and you didn’t discreetly signal for us to take the other ladies away without some plan in mind. What exactly happened in the alcove?”
He discovered her tongue wasn’t nearly as tart when engaged in something other than speaking. Again, not something he intended to share. Like the ink on his back, his ruination of Lady Ophelia Lyttleton was a private affair. It was enough for her to know that he’d won.
“We’re short a player. Somerdale will suit. I don’t know why you’re objecting. You’re bound to win with him at the table.”
“I’m not objecting. I’m simply striving to determine your motive.”
“Money, it’s always money.”
“Not with you, it’s not. Just as it isn’t with me. I know we’ve never been particularly close, but we’re more alike than you think.” As though he’d sliced open his soul and revealed something blackened within, Avendale scowled and looked back over the gaming floor. “I’ll see that he joins us.”
“Good.” Drake felt as though he needed to say more, as though he needed to acknowledge the confession. He and Avendale were nothing alike. The man lived for sin. While it might be Drake’s purview to encourage it within these walls, he’d never fancied himself a sinner. The son of a sinner, without a doubt, but it was his father’s darkness residing inside him that gave him pause. “If you ever want to talk—”
Avendale laughed, dark and low. “Talking is for ladies. Drinking, fornicating, gambling are all that interest me.” Then he was storming down the hallway as though he needed to escape the words spoken.
It occurred to Drake that they were all striving to escape something. He dropped his gaze back to the floor, back to Somerdale, and wondered what Lady Ophelia Lyttleton might have been trying to escape.
The backroom of Dodger’s Drawing Room was legendary. Entrance required an invitation. The giant at the door opened it only if the carefully guarded password was given. The inner sanctum was divided into two distinct parts. In the front, a lounging area where the losers could nurse their pride with liquor. Beside it, behind heavy drapes, the heart of the sanctuary, where exorbitant amounts of money—and sometimes nonfinancial wagers—exchanged hands on a regular basis. They played at a baize-covered table. The linen-covered sideboards along the wall sported crystal decanters, overseen by half a dozen footmen who were quick and silent when providing refreshment.
As he shuffled the cards, Drake acknowledged that they didn’t require so many to attend to them, but then Dodger’s had always been generous when it came to providing work to those in need. None of those employed came with references. They came from the streets or prison. Some as orphans, some sold by those who claimed to be parents in want of coin. They grew into adulthood and remained.
New names were given, new lives were begun. It had always been thus, and Drake had carried on the tradition begun by the owners. But Dodger’s also had the reputation for never forgiving a transgression, not that there had ever been one as far as he knew. Those who worked here were a loyal lot, their loyalty bought with handsome salaries. But then considering how much money the club raked in each night, it was no hardship to pay their employees well.
Jack Dodger had believed that a man had no cause to steal if enough coins lined his pocket. But Drake had to admit that the man’s ruthless reputation had no doubt also contributed to well-behaved employees.
Those standing at attention within this room were trusted not to reveal anything that was discussed. Those seated at the table were equally trusted. Well, except for Somerdale. They would all no doubt be watching their words tonight. He did not share their knowledge of the streets. He was not raised by someone who had once engaged in questionable activities that skirted the law.
Drake dealt the cards to Langdon, Somerdale, Avendale, and Grace’s older brother—the Marquess of Rexton. The game was stud poker. He didn’t deal himself a hand because his mind would not be on the game, but rather on Lady O’s brother.
He waited until they were several hands in and luck was running with Somerdale before asking, “So how is your sister, Somerdale? Recovered from all the activities involved in Grace’s wedding?”
