The Rogue (6 page)

Uncle
Harold shrugged. "Black-haired girl, the one he quit the game to
dance with."

"I
saw her!" Serena declared, as outraged as if the girl had stolen
Tremayne from under their very noses. "She wasn't even pretty!"

Jane
had seen her as well. The new Mrs. Tremayne was not a classic beauty,
it was true, but Jane had thought her quite arresting and especially
graceful. However, Jane had slightly more pressing questions on her
mind at the moment. "You said the other interesting gentleman
was ineligible?"

"Oh,
Papa must be talking about Mr. Damont," Serena said
knowledgeably. "You remember, the place card?"

"Serena,
that's enough," Aunt Lottie admonished sharply. "We do not
discuss our guests in that manner."

Uncle
Harold grunted. "Don't know why not. It's only the truth. He
won't be a guest of ours again. Bloody piker took the pot!"

"Harold!"
Aunt Lottie gasped.

Jane
didn't know why Aunt Lottie still bothered to object to her husband's
vulgarisms. One would think after twenty-odd years of marriage that
nothing would surprise her aunt.

Unfortunately,
Uncle Harold ran the house, and if he said that Mr. Damont was never
coming back, then it was so.

Unless…

"Quite
right," Jane said stoutly. "You certainly don't need a
fellow like that coming around to beat you so soundly at cards. It
would be much wiser to stay away from anyone so much more
proficient."

Uncle
Harold slid a cold glance in Jane's direction. She blinked in dismay.
Suddenly, she had a deep desire not to be seated at his right any
longer. It would not do to underestimate this man.

"I
never said he was 'so much more proficient,' Jane girl," he
said, his voice low. "And I'll thank you not to tell me whom to
invite to my own house and whom to exclude."

Jane
nodded quickly and looked away. "Of course, Uncle. Forgive me."

Uncle
Harold grunted and turned back to his eggs. "And he didn't beat
me soundly either. I almost had him. I'll bring him back to play
again tonight and this time I'll thrash him, see if I don't."

"Of
course, Uncle," Jane agreed carefully. At least it seemed she'd
had the ban against Mr. Damont lifted—

Abruptly,
Jane caught herself. Why had she done that? Wouldn't it be best if
Mr. Damont never darkened her doorway again? He'd seen—well,
nearly
everything
.

She'd
been particularly counseled by Mother not to call that sort of
attention to herself. "
You
must seem as decorative and demure as possible. Outspoken women are
too often the object of curiosity
."

What
if he spread the tale about? What if even now he was entertaining his
friends with the story of how he'd plucked Lady Jane Pennington—if
he had indeed recognized her—from a tree like a piece of
indecently clad fruit? Mortification heated Jane's cheeks at the
thought of his hands on her, lifting her down, and the way her body
had slid against his, and the way he'd leaned close enough to—

Mortification,
definitely. Nothing else. Pure, unadulterated embarrassment.

He
wouldn't tell,
he
couldn't
—yet
Serena had said he was not a gentleman. He was just an ordinary man,
who could not be expected to live up to the finer code of ethics
demanded by a gentleman's status. He might very well tell the story,
having no idea that he should not. How would he know better, after
all, a man of his background?

And
yet, he'd not pressed his advantage, not exactly. He'd been a bit
fresh, of course, but then again, she'd been very rude not to thank
him more sincerely. He seemed—

There
was no help for it. She truly had no idea what sort of man he was.
She needed to meet him again, speak to him, gain some assurance that
he would never, ever, speak of what had happened.

Of
course, the fact that she burned to look into Mr. Damont's eyes and
see if Serena had been correct about that lonely, soulful gaze had
absolutely nothing to do with it.

Nothing
at all.

«
^
»

Ethan
was bloody tired of being followed.

Although
he himself had never officially joined the private gaming hell called
the Liar's Club, he knew he'd find Collis Tremayne there. Collis and
that bloody intimidating uncle of his—the other one, not the
friendly, stout old sod Ethan had helped rescue—had something
going on in that club. Ethan didn't know what, he didn't want to know
what, he didn't bloody care—but he wouldn't stand for being
watched like this.

He
stormed past the doorman, who merely bowed and opened the door
swiftly—which only fueled the fire more. The doorman knew him,
and didn't the bloke look familiar from that riverside jaunt they'd
all taken to stop that ship? Ethan shook it off. He didn't want to
know. He just wanted to be left alone.

He
let the doorman take his hat. "I want Tremayne," he
demanded brusquely.

"Yes,
sir." The bland-faced doorman nodded, then turned away.

Ethan
stomped into the main gaming room and threw himself into a chair at
an empty card table. The club was just beginning to fill. This sort
of place was dead in the early evening, though if he recalled
correctly it was lively enough in the early morning hours. A drink
was set down before him. He took a sip, just to tell. Yes, his
preferred label of brandy.

Bloody
spooky lot, these Liar's Club blokes.

He
toyed with a pair of dice from the craps table, rolling them
simultaneously through the fingers of one hand, as though they were
traveling from fingertip to fingertip of their own volition. Then he
amused himself by making them disappear and reappear.

They
felt odd to him, so he idly took a throw. They rolled to a stop an
inch before they ought to have. He picked them up again and examined
them closely. He kept track of every make of dice used in the more
popular hells and made sure to bring his own whenever possible.

He
had never seen this particular make before.

Collis
Tremayne slid into the seat beside him, although Ethan's old
schoolmate had not been in evidence before. "Good evening,
Damont," Collis said easily. "I've been expecting you."

Ethan
tossed the dice down and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded.
"You bugger, Tremayne."

Collis
grinned. "Sorry, not to my taste. But in this part of town, I'm
sure we could arrange for it."

"Stop
grinning at me, Collis. I didn't come here because you wanted me to.
I came here because I want your bloke to stop following me."

"Feebles?
He's just keeping an eye on you. We don't want anything to happen to
you, Ethan."

Ethan
narrowed his eyes. "What happens to me is not your business,
Tremayne. Other than past friendship— getting farther in the
past by the moment—I have no ties to you and your lot of—of—
What do you blokes
do
,
anyway?" Then he threw up his hands. "No, don't tell me. I
truly, deeply
don't
want to know."

Collis
looked around them. "Ethan, we cannot talk here. Come with me."

Ethan
raised a brow. "No traps? No dark cellars with chains on the
walls?"

Collis
grunted. "No chains. Besides, if I recall correctly, I was the
one chained, not you."

Since
that was true enough, Ethan let his resentment subside long enough to
follow his old friend. Collis showed him to a small empty private
dining room off the game room, the type where business might be
discussed without interruption. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was
paneled in warm woods and pleasingly lit by a crystal chandelier.

Ethan
turned to Collis. "So, what is it you want from me, Tremayne?"

A
deep voice erupted from behind him. "Not him. Me."

Ethan's
heart nearly stalled. "Bloody hell!" He whirled to see the
other uncle, the imposing one, standing where there had only been an
empty room seconds before.

Lord
Etheridge's lips twitched. "Sorry to startle you."

Ethan
scoffed. "No you aren't!" He whirled and headed for the
door. "I hate this bloody club. The spookiest damned place—"

Collis
held out one hand, stopping him. "Ethan, I think you should
stay."

"Yes,"
said Lord Etheridge. "Stay."

Ethan
would have preferred that the invitation not sound quite so much like
a command. He'd been careful to never put himself in a position to
take orders. A sensible plan in all. He wasn't any good at obedience.
Orders made him twitchy with the desire to do just the opposite.

Lord
Etheridge looked as if he were in the habit of expecting obedience.
Ethan felt jumpy already. Not a promising sign of things to come in
this encounter.

"Your
dice are loaded," he accused bluntly.

Etheridge
nodded. "An inventor friend of mine makes them for us. The fight
against Napoleon is expensive. The Liars pay their own way." He
eyed Ethan narrowly. "You have some objection to cheating the
few for the good of the many?"

Ethan
shrugged. "No. Personally, I cheat for my own good. I only
thought better of a gentleman such as yourself."

"The
needs of the nation overshadow niceties such as personal honor,"
Etheridge responded easily.

Ethan
eyed his lordship narrowly. Etheridge didn't sound like any lord he'd
ever met before.

Unpredictability
could be a bad thing in a situation such as this. Even knowing that
could not have prepared him for what Etheridge said next.

"I've
received approval from rather high up to impress you into our
service, Mr. Damont." Lord Etheridge's lips twisted. "You
belong to us now, such as you are."

Ethan's
jaw dropped. Then he recovered, protesting even as he stood. "That
is impossible. I am a free man!" That was true. He owned his
home, had no debts, currently had enough blunt socked away to indulge
in fine brandy for at least a year—

"I
am afraid you are not," Lord Etheridge said slowly.

Collis
jumped in. "Ethan, listen to us. You've not time to waste."

Ethan
gazed from one to the other, his inner alarms clanging. "I'm not
interested." He turned to go once more. The sooner he left this
madhouse, the better.

"It
seems that you are not a taxpaying sort of man, Damont. Your house
could be seized."

Lord
Etheridge's mild words stopped Ethan in his tracks. He whirled. "You
cannot touch my house. I won it, I own it, free and clear! I can pay
your bloody taxes today, if you like!"

"Then
we shall appeal to your better nature." Etheridge sat at the
gleaming table. "Please sit, Mr. Damont."

Collis
joined his uncle. "Ethan, give us a quarter of an hour," he
urged.

Ethan
wanted nothing less, but he pulled one of the chairs apart from the
others and sat. He watched both men narrowly. "You have thirteen
minutes left."

Collis
looked toward his uncle. "Dalton, convince him."

Dalton—Ethan
decided upon the insolent familiarity with grim glee—steepled
his fingers. "Mr. Damont, we find ourselves, and you, in a
very…"

"Awkward,"
Coins supplied helpfully.

Dalton
slid the younger man a quelling glance. "A very awkward
position. By no fault of your own, you were pulled into a recent
event that you had no right or responsibility to interfere with."

"Oh,
that's nice," Ethan said sourly to Collis. "Saved your
arse, I did."

Collis
nodded in full agreement, but Dalton held up a hand. "It was an
emergency, you were deemed trustworthy by long acquaintance with
Collis, and I'm still trying to decide if Mrs. Tremayne acted
wisely."