A Reputation for Notoriety. Diane Gaston

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘See here, you cur!’ the earl cried, jumping to his feet.

      Ned stood and extended his arms, gesturing for them both to sit down. He had one more card to play. ‘Let us bring Mother into this conversation.’

      ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ his father cried.

      ‘Ned’s right.’ Hugh seized on this idea immediately. ‘Mother needs to know what a sorry excuse for a gentleman you’ve become.’

      Ned suspected their mother already knew what a sorry creature her husband was. But she probably did not know the extent of his debt and the dire consequences that were imminent unless they could begin paying the creditors. This information would certainly shock her.

      She, of course, knew of Rhys’s existence and Ned did feel sorry that she must endure the humiliation of having him welcomed into the family.

      ‘Very well,’ the earl snapped. ‘I’ll go the gaming hell and make nice to Rhysdale. I’ll do that much.’

      ‘You’ll have to do more,’ Ned warned him.

      The earl nodded. ‘Yes. Yes.’ His tone turned resigned. ‘But first I want to see this place and ascertain for myself whether he is swindling us or not.’

      ‘He is not swindling us!’ Hugh said hotly.

      Their father ignored him. ‘If all is as it should be, then we may plan how to divulge the rest to your mother.’

      Rhys wandered through the tables of the gaming house, watching the gamblers, perusing the croupiers at their work. He wished he had more eyes, more people he could trust to check on the tables. To make certain the croupiers stayed honest and the gamblers refrained from cheating. With so much money changing hands every night, it was a rare man or woman who would not at some time or another become tempted.

      Cheating was the great danger of a gaming house. Gentlemen could accept losing huge amounts in honest games, but the whiff of a dishonest house might swiftly destroy everything.

      He also had to admit to watching for the masked woman to arrive. She’d been attending almost every night. Whenever she came, Rhys contrived to spend a few minutes alone with her.

      The mystery of her sometimes filled his thoughts.

      Where had she come from? Who was she? Why had she chosen gambling to make money?

      She had a life outside the gaming hell, a life she wished to protect, that much he understood. Was she married and hiding her gambling from her husband? He hoped not. Married women held no appeal for him.

      He’d had some opportunity to attend the Royal Opera House and Drury Lane Theatre. He and Xavier had joined Xavier’s parents in their theatre box. But Rhys had seen no one who resembled her. He knew he would recognise her without her mask. He’d memorised her eyes, her mouth, the way she moved.

      He glanced up at the doorway, for the hundredth time. But it was not she who appeared.

      He stiffened. ‘Well, well,’ he said to himself, looking around to see if Xavier noticed, but his friend was deep in play.

      Earl Westleigh sauntered in with one of his cronies.

      Rhys had spied the earl from time to time in the two years he’d been back from the war. He and the earl had sometimes gambled at the same establishments. At those times, though, Rhys doubted the earl noticed him. Even if he had, how would he recognise Rhys now from the scrawny fourteen-year-old he’d been when he’d begged the earl for help?

      Rhys watched the earl survey the room in his self-important way. He leaned over to say something to his friend and both men laughed.

      Rhys flexed his fingers into a fist, feeling as though the men were laughing at his youthful self, near-helpless and so desperately alone. He was not alone here. Not helpless. This was his place. Under his control. His to build into a success beyond any of the earl’s expectations.

      He straightened his spine.

      ‘Where is the owner of this establishment?’ Lord Westleigh asked in a booming voice. ‘I should like to see him.’

      Rhys turned to one of the croupiers and asked the man about the play at his faro table. It was the sort of surveillance he might do, but this time, of course, his motive was to avoid responding to the earl’s beck and call.

      Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone point him out to Lord Westleigh. He also saw Xavier looking up from his play, his gaze going from the earl to Rhys. Xavier appeared ready to vault out of his chair, daggers drawn.

      Rhys did not need his friend’s aid. He could handle the earl. He knew he was the better man.

      He deliberately busied himself with checking the faro deck, but the hairs on the back of his neck rose when Westleigh came near.

      ‘Rhysdale!’ The earl made his name sound like an order.

      Rhys did not respond right away, but finished replacing the faro deck in its apparatus.

      Slowly he raised his eyes to the earl. ‘Lord Westleigh,’ he said in a flat voice.

      ‘I’ve come to see what people are talking about. A gaming hell and a masquerade.’ He made a somewhat disparaging laugh.

      ‘What do you wish to play?’ Rhys asked, treating him like any other gentleman—but with a bit more coldness.

      ‘I fancy some faro,’ the earl’s companion said. ‘Haven’t tried my hand at faro in an age.’

      It was a game going out of fashion, but still making enough here to satisfy Rhys.

      ‘I do not know you, sir.’ Rhys extended his hand to the man. ‘I am Mr Rhysdale and, as the earl so loudly announced, I am the owner.’

      The man clasped his hand. ‘Sir Godfrey’s the name.’

      Rhys made room for Sir Godfrey at the faro table. ‘I hope you enjoy yourself, sir.’

      He turned to Lord Westleigh. ‘And you, sir, what is your fancy?’

      Lord Westleigh’s attention had turned to the doorway where the masked woman for whom Rhys had been waiting all night entered.

      ‘I’d fancy that,’ the earl said under his breath.

      Rhys’s fingers curled into a fist again.

      He stepped in front of the earl, blocking his view of the woman. ‘This is an establishment for gambling and nothing more. Do you comprehend?’ His voice was low and firm. ‘The ladies who play here will be left in peace. Am I speaking clearly enough?’

      Lord Westleigh pursed his lips. ‘Meant no harm.’

      Rhys narrowed his eyes.

      Westleigh glanced away. ‘My sons tell me this establishment is making money. Is that true?’

      ‘It is true.’ Rhys guessed the earl wanted his share. Not a damned chance until he met his part of the bargain.

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