The Viscount Takes a Bride: A Steamy Regency Romance, page 22
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PREVIEW: THE DUKE GETS EVEN
CHAPTER ONE
“The devil take you,” Lord Canersley sneered. “You are no more than a filthy scoundrel.”
Owen had been making the rounds, circulating through the throng of gentlemen, but he slowed his pace when he overheard the Viscount make this comment at the table where a hand of Faro was being dealt.
“What?” Gregory Sheffield, Baron Dawkins, asked, his cold blue eyes narrowing. “Are you speaking to me in such a manner?”
“You know well whom I am addressing, you dirty cheat,” Lord Canersley countered, pounding his beefy fist on the green felt tabletop. He blew a long strand of blonde hair out of his eyes and leaned toward Lord Dawkins.
Owen flicked his gaze toward the man who was dealing the hand. His name was Seamus McLachlan. He was a bruiser of a fellow, with thick arms and a neck the size of a tree trunk. Gentlemen did not generally try to get one over on Seamus.
“Is there a problem here?” Owen inquired, keeping his voice low and placating.
“Got it right covered here, I do, Boss,” Seamus replied, his thick Irish brogue garbling some of the words. While Owen Nash was the Duke of Nicholson, no one referred to him as such here. He was the proprietor of this particular gaming hell, located on the east side of London in the village of Nichols. It was wholly improper for Owen to own and operate such an establishment. Still, he’d secured the property years before becoming the Duke, and he did not intend to give up such a profitable business now. Moreover, he was far more comfortable with the title of ‘Boss’ than with ‘Your Grace.’
He nodded to Seamus and allowed his gaze to float toward the other gentlemen at the table. He knew them all quite well, as they were regular customers. Lord Dawkins was cool and methodical. He, unlike most other patrons, did tend to win often, but Owen liked to think of him as a man who knew what he was about. He had never been caught cheating outright but rather seemed to have more than luck on his side. Owen would have wagered Lord Dawkins was far more intelligent than others which was why his winning ways rankled with them.
Case in point, the man sitting to Lord Dawkins’s left, who was currently accusing him of cheating, was Lord Canersley. He was deep in his cups already, and the afternoon had just begun. It was likely that if Owen did not put a stop to his drinking or his slobbering accusations, he would cause a row before the end of the evening.
“I think everyone has just gotten a little hot under the collar. Perhaps we could have another round of drinks?” The other man at the table, Albert Chant, the Earl of Godwin, avoided making eye contact with Owen at first. He was a well-respected gentleman who occasionally liked to spend his time at the gaming tables.
Owen nodded courteously at Lord Godwin, finding his suggestion palatable, and began moving away from the table. The crisis seemed to be handled for the moment, so he coasted around the rest of the hall, listening discreetly to whispered conversations and watching as Lord Prompshire rolled the dice at the Hazard table.
“Everything coming up Aces?” Lord Banton, Owen’s closest friend, asked as he joined him for a lap around the hall.
“That is a funny expression of yours,” Owen remarked. “Fitting for our present company.”
“Just trying out something new,” Lord Banton murmured as he took a sip from a glass that had just a few drops of amber liquid remaining in it. He nodded toward the Faro table. “A hundred pounds says Canersley challenges old Dawkins to a duel.”
Owen scoffed. “That is not a bet I wish to take. Canersley is endlessly accusing someone of cheating. If it is not Dawkins, it will just be some other unlucky bloke.”
“Yes,” Lord Banton hummed. “But should you allow him to persist? He is making quite the mockery out of this establishment.”
Owen narrowed his eyes and stared across the room at Lord Canersley. The man was leaning forward, tapping his fingertips in an agitated fashion on the edge of the table. As Seamus passed him a card, he gnashed his teeth. “I believe Seamus has got Canersley under his thumb. There should be no…” But Owen did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence. At that very second, Lord Canersley rose from his seat and slammed both palms on the tabletop.
“You cheat, Dawkins! I caught you at it. Empty your pockets or…” Seamus stood then. His tall figure loomed over Lord Canersley, and momentarily, the man shrank in his imposing presence. Owen was already moving in their direction.
“Now, now, Lord Canersley,” Owen began, using a gentle rebuking tone, “you were not about to challenge another man to a duel, were you? We all know that when you have had too much to drink…”
“I…I…” Lord Canersley spluttered, “I know when I am being cheated. I know that Dawkins is rigging the game.” Owen glanced toward Lord Dawkins, as well as Lord Godwin. Lord Dawkins dropped his cards on the table and held up his hands as if he wished to surrender. Lord Godwin shrugged his shoulders lightly, indicating he was clueless in the matter.
“Yes, well, unless you have any proof of that, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” Owen said as he took a step toward Lord Canersley.
“You cannot do that,” Lord Canersley protested. “I have money to spend here. I am a valued patron.”
“You are,” Owen agreed. “But this is my hall, and I have the right to ask anyone to leave when they are causing a commotion.” He paused and stepped even closer to Lord Canersley so he might speak in a quiet whisper. “Do the right thing here, Canersley. Gather your belongings and join me for a bit of fresh air.”
Lord Canersley’s face turned scarlet. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but Seamus took another threatening step toward the man. Between Owen and Seamus, Lord Canersley was practically surrounded. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly, “I do think a walk about the village sounds refreshing. Thank you for the invitation.” He retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair and swung it over his shoulder.
“That’s a good chap,” Owen said as he clapped him on the back. “Lady Fortune was not on your side today, Lord Canersley.” Owen pushed open the exterior door and was greeted by the garish sunlight. It must have been close to the onset of evening, but Owen would not have known as much in the gaming hall, as heavy drapes blocked out the sun and only dimly lit candles illuminated the place. He blinked several times, trying to adjust to the light of day. “I do hope you will have better luck next time.”
“Pah,” Lord Canersley spat. “Luck has nothing to do with it.”
Owen raised his hand to flag Lord Canersley’s carriage driver. “Perhaps everything will be better after a good night’s sleep.”
“Good night’s sleep?” Lord Canersley grumbled. “Do you think getting some rest will make up for the packet I lost in there just now?” He raised his voice as he became infuriated once more, “I will tell you this, I am never coming to this gaming hell again. Captain Sharp lurks about, just looking to steal the money right out from under the nose of the honest gentlemen.”
“I am sorry you feel that way, Canersley.” Owen opened the carriage door for Lord Canersley and motioned for him to step inside. While some might have tried to defend their business or might have even been offended by Lord Canersley’s blathering, Owen knew it was no more than the talk of a man in over his head. Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, Lord Canersley would return. He would lose a great sum of money. And at the end of the day, he would go home again, grousing about how he had been cheated. He was just that sort of man. He securely shut the door to the carriage and backed a step away, waving to the driver to proceed.
Blast!
As Lord Canersley’s carriage moved out of sight, it was replaced by one with which Owen was just as familiar. The black paint gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and the gold and maroon coat of arms emblazoned on the side of the door had been buffed to a high shine. The curtain twitched, and he knew the occupant was watching him.
He approached the carriage cautiously, fearing the tongue-lashing that was awaiting him. He lifted his hand to rap on the side of the door, but that was unnecessary as the curtains parted. The woman who sat inside stared down her long thin nose at him superciliously. Her blue eyes flickered like the flames that danced when a log was first set ablaze. He nodded at her respectfully and said, “To what do I owe this honor?”
“You have kept me waiting, Owen.”
“Grandmother,” Owen begged, “do let me explain.”
“I have no time for such frivolities.” She opened the carriage door, and it nearly smacked him in the arm. He had to bounce a step backward to avoid being hit. “Join us.”
“But, Grannie,” Owen said, standing up taller and straightening his jacket, “I have a business to attend to inside.”
“You have business to attend to in this carriage,” his grandmother retorted. “Now, do not make me wait a moment longer.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the front door of his gambling hall. “At least let me go back inside and fetch my hat and cane.”
She glared pointedly at him and stabbed her cane out through the doorway. “You are already wearing a hat, young man, and if you need a cane, you are welcome to borrow mine.”
Owen swept his hat from his head and mounted the step, ducking as he entered the carriage to avoid knocking his head. He took a moment settling into his seat, and his grandmother clucked her tongue in annoyance. “Are you finished?”
“Quite.” He glanced up to see his grandmother focusing the full power of her gaze directly on him. Violetta Nash, the Dowager Duchess of Nicholson, was a force to be reckoned with and always had been. She wed his grandfather when she was just eighteen years old, and for the last sixty-five years, she had been the mistress of Nicholson Place. It mattered not when her husband passed and her son married Owen’s mother. Violetta was the matriarch of the family, the driving power behind their every accomplishment. So, when she glared at Owen as she did just now, he cowered, most rightfully.
“You will not visit that gaming hell again,” she ordered, getting right to the point. “You are the Duke of Nicholson, and you shan’t bring dishonor to your family by behaving in such a manner.” Owen opened his mouth to argue but quieted himself when she pounded her cane on the floor of the carriage. “Besides, you have more pressing matters that require your attention.” She jerked her head to her right, and Owen spotted his younger sister. She was leaning against the opposite window, nearly sticking her head out of the carriage. He was shocked he had not noticed her initially, but when the Dowager Duchess was around, nearly everyone else became invisible.
“Minnie, whatever are you doing here?” Owen asked. She ignored him completely, so he leaned forward and tapped her on the knee. “Are you all right?”
She was nearly ten years his junior, and while many said they looked alike, the resemblance was not one Owen could place. She was petite, even for her age. Her dark brown hair was curled and woven into a fashionable style atop her head. Tiny gemstones, he believed were rubies, had been placed strategically throughout the ringlets of the updo. When she turned to look at him, her blue eyes were full of melancholy. She sighed despondently, and as she opened her mouth to speak, Owen was suddenly and painfully reminded of their now-deceased brother, Aaron. “I am fine, thank you for asking.” She shot a withering look at their grandmother. “I am just being forced to go to yet another ball.”
“You went to Lord and Lady Faxley’s two nights ago, did you not?” Owen questioned, glancing from his little sister to his grandmother.
“Indeed,” Minnie replied crisply, “but Grannie seems to think I cannot afford to sit around leisurely since it is my first Season. I must attend every single soiree.”
The Dowager Duchess rolled her eyes heavenward, as though seeking some divine intervention. “I never said anything of the kind. You are going to this ball tonight because it is being hosted by Lord Downsend.” She lifted her head elegantly. “He is a dear old friend of mine, and he would consider it a slight if someone from our family did not attend his annual event.”
“But why must I go?” Minnie moaned. She plucked at the fine white silk dress she was wearing. “Surely, Owen’s presence would suffice.”
Her grandmother harrumphed. “You are both going, and that is all I care to discuss on the matter.” Simultaneously, the siblings let out soft groans. “There is no sense grumping about it.” She pointed her cane at Owen. “I am unfit to attend yet another ball this week, but someone must sponsor your sister. Therefore, you will escort her. She must dance with every eligible gentleman and be certain to thank Lord Downsend for the invitation.”
“Yes, Grannie,” Owen murmured, refusing to look his grandmother in the eye. Just then, the carriage gave a gentle lurch, and he swung to glance out the window. “Are we at the manor?” He spied the entryway to Nicholson Place just up ahead.
“I could not very well walk from the village all the way home,” the Dowager Duchess explained. “Richards is just going to help me inside, and then the two of you will be on your way. If you leave now, you should nearly make it on time.” The carriage slowed even further, and she wriggled in her seat, scooting to the edge. She clucked her tongue. “Do try to get that sour puss off your face.” She paused and nodded toward Owen. “None of the ladies of the ton will want to see a handsome fellow like you looking so very glum.”
Owen did not smile, as he did not relish the responsibility his grandmother was thrusting upon him. But as she made to exit the carriage, he did the gentlemanly thing and offered her his hand. “Have a good night, Grandmother.”
Once she was escorted safely away from the carriage, the door was closed, and seconds later, the carriage began to roll, driving them to Lord Downsend’s.
Minnie wasted no time. Her despondent behavior vanished, and her eyes lit with mischief. “Let us skip the ball and go seek out some fun.”
“No,” Owen replied tersely.
“But Grannie will never need to know. Lord Downsend is not nearly as sharp as she is, and he will likely forget half the people who attend the event tonight,” Minnie argued.
While Owen could agree that Minnie was likely right in her description of the old man and his memory, he still shook his head. “Grandmother will know. She has spies everywhere.”
“Agh,” Minnie groaned and lolled in her seat. “But I hate dressing up every night and going here, there, and everywhere. I would much prefer to be in the library, writing my stories.”
Owen tapped his chin pensively. “Yes, but is it not said that writers do their best work when they are able to write what they know? You are only eight-and-ten, dear sister. If you do not get out and experience the world, how will you ever be able to write anything great?”
Minnie smacked her lips in a disgusted way. “Shows what you know. I can write a fantastical story, and I am sure I will be able to enthrall the masses.”
“Mmm…” Owen murmured. He did not wish to dash her dreams, so he kept quiet on that point. “Let us leave your writing adventures for another night and just do as Grandmother wishes now. Besides, we are already in the carriage on our way to the soiree.”
“Yes,” Minnie paused and snorted in a ladylike way. She made her voice a little posher, a tad high pitched as she made an impression of the Dowager Duchess, “And I am meant to dance with every eligible gentleman who presents himself.” She stopped and adopted her own normal voice once more. “Do you have any idea just how tedious that can be? Accepting the hand of every gentleman who offers it?”
“Then perhaps we should make a deal,” Owen said, coming up with a plan in an instant. “You only have to dance with the gentlemen I introduce to you. I give you permission to spend the rest of the night by my side and…”
Minnie scoffed, cutting him off completely. “I have no wish to be some doll passed around from one gentleman to the other when you feel like it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I would prefer to be a spinster than to be treated in such a way.”
“You should not say such things,” Owen scolded. “You are my responsibility, and I must ensure that you make a suitable match and find a husband who will treat you with respect and honor you.”
“Honor me? If you wish to honor me, then tell the driver to turn the carriage around. We can go straight back home, or we can head to your gaming hell. Take your pick.”
Owen heard the challenge in her voice, and he did not like it. He gritted his teeth. “It may be fine that I spend my hours in the gambling hall, but it is no place for a lady like you. I will not allow it. You will do as our grandmother commanded. You will dance and be joyful. And by the end of this Season, you will find yourself a husband.”
He was sorry at once that he had lost his temper with her. He heard her give a soft whimper and knew he had pressed too hard. “Aaron never would have treated me like such a burden. He would not have forced me into this situation if I told him I wanted to go home.”
“I am not Aaron,” Owen grumbled as he dropped his head into his hands. A few tendrils of his long, dark, curly hair sprung free from their ribbon and tumbled forward into his face. “I know I am not kind and honorable as our brother was. You do not have to remind me of my failings.”
Minnie sniffled. “I miss him.”
Owen massaged his temples as a sudden headache came upon him. The carriage rocked and swayed gently for a few minutes, and the only sounds to be heard in the coach were those of the horses’ hooves pounding against the dirt road. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at his sister. “Given the circumstances, which are trying for all of us, I am doing the best I can.”
“Then we shall return home at once?” Minnie urged.
Owen shook his head. “You know that is not a feasible plan. We shall go to Lord Downsend’s ball. You shall dance with prospective suitors. And I…”
