Queen of Hearts: Lords of Scandal Page 2

  Drunk.

  Lord Edgemere was completely foxed.

  She gave a shake to her head. Coming here unannounced had been a bad idea.

  She’d known it in the carriage when the three men had discussed pummeling Edge far more than they’d come up with viable solutions for how to extricate the unwanted lord from their business.

  She’d tried to change the conversation.

  But Chance, East, and Clubs had not been swayed.

  Short of threatening them with weapons, she’d allowed them their pugilistic fantasies as she’d settled in to think.

  About Hart’s motivations for asking Edge to join the club. Her own needs.

  And she’d come up with a plan.

  First, she had to acknowledge that Hart might not have gone completely daft.

  Edgemere had not been born a lord and his ability to win at cards was unsurpassed in their group.

  Sir Thomas, their former partner and the thief they’d discovered when money had gone missing, had been quiet of late. But he might try to steal from the club again. And if he did, Edge could help them stop the man with his own skills at the table.

  She had a particular need at the club that Edgemere could fill. At least temporarily.

  Much as she hated to admit it, Hart had been right.

  Did she want the man as a permanent partner? No.

  But could she put up with him for a time until she could find better partners and save up the money to buy out his gifted shares?

  Likely yes.

  She reserved the right to kill him if necessary.

  With that in mind, she charged past the other two men and into the foyer, stepping up to Edge, who had enough intelligence left to take a half step back.

  “You,” he muttered.

  “You,” she returned. And then they stared at one another, neither blinking.

  A game she was more than happy to participate in because she was far more sober and definitely more likely to win.

  Sure enough, he took another swaying step back, his eyes blinking several times.

  “Sit,” she said with a smile to hide her gritted teeth.

  “That’s right,” East started but Arabella turned back to him, giving him a fierce glare.

  His return glance was questioning.

  She’d allowed them to bloviate in the carriage, but now she needed them to be quiet.

  Chance, however, did not get the message as he muscled past her and grabbed Edge’s collar. “This is the last straw.”

  Edge swung his gaze to Chance as he searched the man’s face. “Might help if you were a bit more specific.”

  “Specific?” Chance asked, his face pressing into Edge’s.

  “You know. About which straw was the last straw.”

  Chance’s fist raised up and Arabella reached out, grabbing his hand to keep him from planting it into Edge’s face. “If you break his head, that will be hard to replace.”

  “Everyone’s funny now,” Chance grumped, but he lowered his fist.

  “Apparently, Bella is running this meeting,” East said from behind her. “Let her through, Chance.”

  And that’s why she liked her friends so much. Not only were they some of the toughest men she knew, but they’d always treated her like an equal. And Edge would too, or she’d punch him herself.

  Though it would be a pity to ruin such a handsome face. That was one thing she could give him credit for. Chiseled good looks with the sort of dark and mysterious edge that could make a woman melt if she weren’t careful.

  She let her eyes wander down the hard planes of his face and then lower, to the muscular cords of his neck and shoulders. And then lower over the breadth of his chest and the taper of his waist. An ache formed deep inside, making her shift in awareness.

  Yes. He cut a fine figure. Not that that fact changed her mind a whit.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his voice sounding clearer.

  “It’s not what I want, I’m afraid,” she answered, gesturing toward his parlor. “Shall we?”

  He gave a curt nod and then led the way, offering her a chair that even in the candlelight, she could see had long ago lost its plushness. Threadbare and thin, it was damned uncomfortable as she sat down.

  Which immediately made her shift.

  Not from physical discomfort. She’d experienced more than her fair share.

  But because she’d pictured him living an affluent life, greedy for more.

  But this…

  The neighborhood was nice enough, but the particulars of this home were downright dilapidated. No one had cared for it in a long time. She looked down at the rug under her feet. Even in the dim light, the color looked faded and threadbare. The paper peeled from the walls and the furniture sagged as though it hadn’t been replaced in years.

  She knew Edge hadn’t been raised as the heir, but she’d assumed that he’d inherited money with his title. She also knew he was a gambler; she’d honestly thought he’d lost most of the money himself.

  But this house, it told a different tale. One that didn’t quite square with the picture she’d painted.

  It had been neglected for years and years. Mayhap a few generations. He’d inherited an enormous mess, not created one.

  Then she reminded herself that this was the man who had coldly and callously went about trying to steal Daisy and she squared her shoulders. Her sympathy vanished as she hardened her resolve once again.

  Edge sat across from her as Chance, East, and Clubs filed in behind her.

  “So,” Edge said sweeping his gaze across the group of them, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Right. They were here for a purpose. “Congratulations, Lord Edgemere,” she said as evenly as she could manage without sounding bitter. “You’ve been given a great gift.”

  He blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lord Hartwell,” she clasped her hands, pulling her spine even straighter. She’d remain professional and hope that it would help him to accept her plan. “He’s decided to gift you his shares of our club.”

  Edge’s mouth dropped open as he gaped at her. “You’re jesting.”

  She let out a sigh, as she shook her head, her shoulders slumping just a bit despite her best efforts. “I’m afraid not.”

  She wished that she was. More than anything, she wished that this was all just a nasty trick. Or better yet, a bad dream from which she might wake.

  But as she looked at the handsome earl, she admitted to herself that this was real and that he could help.

  Edge gave his head a good shake, attempting to clear the fuzzy effect of the brandy. Surely, he’d heard incorrectly.

  There was no way life would be kind enough to gift him anything of real value.

  Certainly not a boon like a successful gaming hell.

  “Lord Hartwell. The man who arrived here in the middle of the night not six weeks prior, and attempted to deliver a beatdown to me in my own home, has now gifted me a portion of the Den of Sins?” There had to be a catch.

  “He did.” She lifted her chin in defiance as she said the words, her mouth pressing into a hard, straight line.

  A mouth that lush should never look so forbidding. Her strawberry blonde hair was twisted back away from her face in a style that might almost be considered severe except it only served to highlight just how fine the rest of her features were. Eyes that tilted seductively at the corners sat over a straight little nose and high cheekbones.

  And her dress, unlike her hair style, didn’t attempt to hide her beauty but rather accentuated every luxuriant, beautiful curve.

  “How much?” he asked, trying to decide how he went about exposing the lie. Surely there was one here somewhere.

  “How much what?” she asked, her back so straight, he was surprised something did not snap from the tension.

  “How much are the shares worth and what will they bring in monthly?”

  “You’ve a one-seventh share, which should bring in about t
en thousand pounds annually.”

  “Arabella,” East growled out behind her. “What are you doing?”

  She ignored him, her gaze fixed on Edge. “As you know, we’ve struggled with a thief in our midst, significantly reducing our profits, so currently they aren’t worth near that. Not even close.”

  He gave a quick nod. Even Hart had paid him to help root out the thief. Which he’d done, though the others still hadn’t been able to catch him. “Is he still stealing from you?”

  Arabella shook her head. “No. But he knows how and we’ve yet to catch him…”

  “Understood, but that doesn’t quite answer my question.” They circled about something but he wasn’t sure what yet.

  “We each paid in five thousand pounds, meaning your gifted shares are worth that amount.”

  He sat back in his chair. Lord Hartwell, Hart, had gifted him five thousand pounds? “And how much does it bring in monthly?”

  “At this point,” Chance spoke. “Less than five hundred. Without the thefts it should be more.”

  “Let me be clear.” Arabella jumped in, rising from the chair. “The other owners are not willing to work with you on a permanent basis, so Hart cannot make you a partner without our consent.”

  Ah. He was beginning to understand. There was a catch. The others didn’t want him in the club. But even if they offered to buy him out here and now, five thousand pounds would help a great deal. “What are you suggesting?”

  Arabella drew in a breath. “A counteroffer. Help us catch Sir Thomas. In return, we will buy out your shares plus a year’s worth of profits.”

  His head was working much better, and he knew a bad deal when it was presented. “But if I hang on to them, I’d make a great deal more. As I’m sure you can see.” He swept his arm around to indicate the walls needing a new coat of paint, the threadbare carpet beneath their feet, and the chairs with stuffing peeking out from holes in the aged damask. “I’m in need of funds.”

  Arabella gave him a hard look. “Leave it to you to do the ungentlemanly thing.”

  What the hell did that mean? Did being a gentleman require him to live in poverty? For Lizzie to live in squalor? He stood too, a full head and more above Arabella. “You want me to give up a potential income so that you might be more comfortable, and you claim I lack manners?”

  She didn’t look the least bit concerned as she stared back, her chin held high. “Inserting yourself where you’re not wanted is the only breech of manners I see.”

  He made to growl out a retort, ready to flay her with his tongue, when a voice stopped him cold. “Reggie. What’s wrong? Who are these people?” Lizzie asked behind him, her voice full of concern.

  He whipped around, attempting to block the scene from her view but he likely failed miserably. “Nothing. Go back to bed.”

  He heard one of the men make an unexpected groan or growl. Sweeping a quick glance, he noted that Clubs stared at his sister like a hawk looked at prey.

  Lizzie saw his appraising gaze too and wrapped her housecoat tighter about herself, her long dark hair flowing over one shoulder. “And leave you here with these people? What’s happening?”

  “Lizzie,” he said his voice overly sharp with command. It bit through the air. She stopped, her eyes widening, and he gritted his teeth in regret. He didn’t mean to be harsh. But it wasn’t safe for her here. “Please,” he said his voice softer. “Go back to bed.”

  “Did we interrupt something?” Arabella asked, her voice drawn out and full of snide judgment. He stepped closer to Lizzie and then turned, his arms crossing over his chest. She clearly thought that Lizzie was his lover, not that he cared what Arabella thought. But he’d not have her saying anything vulgar in front of Lizzie and her naïve ears. She might be old enough to wed but she knew nothing of gaming hells, drunkenness, and other forms of lewd behavior.

  “What does she mean, Reggie?” Lizzie asked, touching his shoulder.

  He glared at Arabella, not answering Lizzie. “Mind your tongue,” he said pointing his finger at the other woman. He’d heard the rumors. That Arabella was as deadly as any man, but she was trifling with his family and he’d not have it no matter how beautiful she was, no matter how enticing or how dangerous.

  Arabella opened her mouth to protest when Chance stepped forward, this time he was the one that put out a hand to hold Arabella back. “Is this the lovely Lady Elizabeth that I have heard so much about?”

  The contours of Chance’s face softened, and his voice had taken on a rich, kind quality that Edge had only heard from the man once when he’d spoken to Daisy. Which might have made Edge even more suspicious but then Chance’s gaze caught his. The man squinted back in what looked to be a wince of apology.

  “I am,” Lizzie said from behind Edge. “But I have to confess that I am not so enlightened as to your identity.”

  Chance looked back at Edge and Edge let out a long sigh. “Elizabeth, this the Duke of Danesbury. Daisy’s husband.”

  “Daisy?” Lizzie gushed, coming around him to stand at his side. “Congratulations to you both and please send my regards. I miss her.”

  “You miss her?” Arabella asked, her confusion evident in the soft lilt of her voice.

  Chance looked back at Arabella. “Lady Elizabeth is Lord Edgemere’s sister.” And then Chance turned back to him. “And we have taken up enough of their evening.”

  Arabella gave a tentative nod as she cleared her throat. “Perhaps we can continue this discussion tomorrow, Lord Edgemere.”

  He jerked his chin in assent. He looked forward to continuing this discussion. In fact, he had a great many thoughts and he’d guess Chance and Arabella would like very little of what he had to say.

  They’d been beyond contemptable this evening and if they thought to just dismiss him from their lives, they were about to be very disappointed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Arabella looked around the quiet club breathing in the scent of stale liquor and old cigars as she cleaned a table with a cloth.

  She didn’t mind the labor, in fact, she found it soothing as she worked polish into the wood, making the room bloom with a new cleaner smell of fresh oil and soap.

  Not that the other scent bothered her. Something about it was real, tangible. It meant that she earned money, that she’d conquered this world where only men thrived, normally at least.

  She was proud of what she’d accomplished. A successful club with valuable partners and a way to provide for herself for a good long while. Save up enough to secure her future by buying out her partners. In a way, she loved this place.

  She drew in a shuddering breath as she remembered how she’d managed to attain the property in the first place.

  She kept working the oil into the wood as her mind wandered. Her mother had been the granddaughter of an earl, her father being the third son and impoverished enough to take up mercantilism as a trade.

  When she’d met Arabella’s father, her mother—regarded as a great beauty—had been star-crossed herself. Apparently, she’d fallen completely in love, not realizing the duke was already wed.

  Arabella secretly believed that her mother thought she’d be made a duchess and returned to her rightful place in society. A mistake that Arabella had no intention of making.

  It was only later that her mother realized the man she’d fallen in love with had left a string of broken hearts across England as he casually tossed lovers away. Nicknamed the Demon Duke, he’d impregnated her mother and then abandoned her.

  Her mother was at least well-educated and decently connected, so Chance’s father had hired her as a governess and allowed Arabella to be educated alongside his son.

  Arabella had never known the exact identity of her father until six months prior when two men had arrived at her door.

  The first was a duke himself, having taken over the Demon Duke’s title as the only legitimate heir. Bash, as he’d introduced himself. The second was an earl, though he’d assured her he’d been granted his t
itle for his valor in the Napoleonic wars. The Earl of Baxter, as she learned, was also a bastard. And all three of them shared a father.

  Her hands stilled as she looked down at the now-gleaming wood. She already had brothers. Not real ones, but Chance, Hart, and East had been her family and she’d considered tossing these two men out completely until they’d handed her a slip of paper.

  The deed for the Den of Sins.

  The price had been beyond reasonable, and while she couldn’t afford the entire purchase price on her own, Chance covered Arabella’s share, a sum she had nearly paid him back.

  Arabella still wasn’t certain how she felt about having two powerful siblings in the world that were also complete strangers, but she did appreciate this club. The generous offer was their gift to their long-lost sister.

  They’d tried to make contact with her after the sale but she’d not opened the letters, stashing them in a drawer in her desk here at the club instead. She wasn’t certain what they might contain but she wasn’t ready to find out either.

  While their offer had been generous, she’d never been fond of relationships that had strings attached. Her experiences had taught her to be wary.

  A life of being “less” also made her appreciate what was given to her and to work hard for what wasn’t. She’d do everything in her power to see this place was a success. She had partners now but someday, she’d like to buy them out and call this club her own.

  This was her dream.

  And no one would take it away from her. Certainly not Lord Edgemere despite Hart’s plans.

  The door softly opened, and then closed again. It was likely noon; few windows opened into the main gaming hall so she couldn’t gauge the light, but it was early enough that no one else was about, so she turned quickly to see who entered.

  Edge stood near the door glancing around. “It’s dark in here even in the full light of day.”

  She nodded. “Less windows means fewer prying eyes.”

  “True,” he said with another look around the room. “As I’ve never considered being on the other side of the table, I guess I never noticed.”