He sighed. That blighter again. “Is he correct?”
“Not a bit,” said Louis promptly. “Though he is uncanny at the races.”
“Oh?”
“He’s up nearly eight thousand this year, after some brilliant luck at Newmarket.”
Nick nodded. “Invite him to take his wagers elsewhere, if he finds the odds at Vega’s not to his liking—allhis wagers, mind you.” Vega’s had two rules for members: hold your tongue, and pay your debts. The latter covered any wager entered in the turf book, and violating it would see a member expelled.
Louis grinned. “Right, sir.”
Forbes came up as Louis strode away. “Trouble?”
Nick’s gaze swept across the room again. “A baron with a taste for the turf disagrees with our odds, and believes that is enough to make us change them.”
The manager grunted as they began walking. “All the intelligence gets bred out of these swells.”
Once upon a time Forbes had been head footman in an earl’s household, primed to become a butler. He knew every intricate rule and nicety valued by the aristocracy. But then he’d been dismissed from his post—unjustly, from what Nick could see—and it had soured his mind against the whole class. He didn’t like them, but he knew them, and that was why Nick had hired him.
For a moment Nick wondered how Forbes would react if he knew Emilia Greene’s true mission. If he knew that she’d dangled not herself, as Forbes clearly suspected, but a title in front of Nick. Would Forbes stand by him still, or turn on him?
“They would be the last to admit it,” was all he said. “But keep an eye on Fitchley, will you? I believe he’s testing Louis, and Vega’s, to see what he can get away with.”
“Right. Anything else?”
Nick paused in the doorway of the main salon. The hazard tables were behind him now. Card tables were arranged through the rest of the room, just far enough apart to permit some pretense of privacy. Strategically placed potted trees offered a bit more. But from this vantage point, one could in fact see the whole room. This was his world, his kingdom, where he was lord and master and no one could ever tell him he didn’t belong. He had worked for over fifteen years to be standing here surveying it.
For the first time he wondered if he wanted more.
“That’s all,” he said, and resumed his rounds.
A dispute broke out over one of the faro tables, and Nick had to suggest the two gentlemen take their quarrel elsewhere if they wished to retain their memberships. Someone drank too much wine after losing a large sum and cast up his dinner along with all the wine on the hearth in the dining room. Two young bucks got impertinent with Lady Rotherwood, and Nick had to send them away, and then listen to Her Ladyship’s indignant tirade on what crass good-for-nothings the men of Britain were becoming.
By morning he should have been exhausted. Normally he would take breakfast with Charlotte, then get some sleep and have a soak in a hot bath, or an invigorating ride on Primrose Hill, before another evening at the club. But today he had promised to call upon Miss Greene and see her alleged proof, and he wasn’t remotely tired.
He went to the kitchens, where Guillaume had just set out a tray of strawberry tarts. Impulsively he took one and bit into it, still warm from the oven and sticky with jam.
“I’ll wrap these in a trice, sir,” said Betsy, spreading a fresh cloth in a basket.
“Divide them,” he told her. “Have Rudy take half to Queen’s Court. I’ll take the other half.”
“Very well,” she said with a flicker of surprise, reaching for another basket.
He took his basket and left. There would be speculation about where he was going, if not to Queen’s Court. Nick told no one about his personal life, but Forbes had once told him people believed he kept a mistress in Queen’s Court. Nick did nothing to discourage this rumor. He didn’t care what people thought, and it kept Charlotte shielded from his world.
It was a much longer walk to Charles Street. The house was narrower than its neighbors and its brickwork was in sore need of repair. He climbed the single step and rapped at the knocker. The door flew open almost immediately. “Good morning, sir!”
In the morning light Miss Greene was fresh and lovely, wearing a yellow dress that made her eyes brighter. A wisp of dark hair fell loose beside her cheek, tantalizing. Arm still upraised, Nick felt that premonition of alarm again, louder this time. There was an air of determination about her that hadn’t been there the previous evening. Miss Greene’s confidence was up.
“Please come in,” she added with a bright smile. “We’ve been expecting you.”
We?Silently he stepped into the house.
“I hope you don’t mind joining us for breakfast,” she said as Nick took off his hat and gloves. “I meant to get up early but there was so much to do. This way.” Beckoning him to follow, she led the way down a corridor so narrow, he didn’t think two people could pass in it. The dining room was similarly small, and dark to boot. But the girl standing beside the table caught his attention.
“Good morning, sir.” She gave a careful curtsy.
“Good morning.” He bowed.
