Regency Reputation. Diane Gaston

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СКАЧАТЬ invested to get the place started. But he will not release the money until you do what you are honour-bound to do.’

      ‘Honour?’ His father’s voice rose. ‘Do you call it honourable that he is holding my money? It is more like extortion, I’d say.’

      ‘I’d say it is more like sound business,’ Ned countered. ‘Rhysdale is no fool. The money is his leverage. You must do as he says.’

      ‘I do not have to do anything I do not wish to do.’

      Good God. The man sounded like a petulant schoolboy.

      Ned would not put up with it. ‘Father. You must do this. We are running out of time. No one will advance you more credit. The fields need tending. The livestock need feed. Our tenants need to eat—’

      At that moment Hugh entered the room. ‘Your voice is carrying, Ned.’

      So much for keeping this private from the servants—not that one could keep anything secret from servants for long.

      ‘Where were you?’ he asked Hugh.

      Hugh looked apologetic. ‘I was going mad waiting for Father. I just took a quick walk outside.’

      He sat across from Ned and poured a cup of tea.

      ‘Father is reneging on his word.’ Ned inclined his head towards their father.

      Hugh took a sip. ‘I presumed.’ He slid his father a scathing look. ‘Your bastard son has more honour than you, you know. He’s kept his part of the bargain.’

      Their father straightened in his seat. ‘I’ll brook no disrespect from you, you ungrateful cub.’

      Hugh faced the earl directly, his face red with anger. ‘Then be a man I can respect, sir! Do what you agreed to do. Introduce Rhys to society as your son. You gave your word.’

      ‘Only to the two of you,’ their father prevaricated. ‘I never gave my word to him.’

      Ned lowered his voice. ‘Your word given to your sons means nothing, then?’

      Hugh rose from his chair. ‘Let him go, Ned! He is not thinking of us. Nor of the Westleigh estates. Nor the Westleigh people. Let him watch his creditors come ransack the house, carrying away our heritage and that of our own sons. He cares nothing for nobody. Only for himself.’

      ‘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.

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