Gone with the Rake (Inglorious Scoundrels #1)

Chapter 1

London 1821

L ydia Lawless was a lady of her word. Granted, most of the time, her words were pure lies, but when she struck a deal with someone, she always delivered on her promise.

One of those promises was the reason why, at the moment, she stood in the shaded, dark corner, watching the front door of the most notorious gaming hell dressed as a man.

She hid her bright copper curls beneath a tall hat that pressed uncomfortably against her scalp, a black cloak heavily draped around her shoulders. The borrowed men’s boots fitted with the tallest heels she could manage, in her quest to appear taller than her diminutive five feet and two inches, pinched her toes mercilessly as she stuffed them too tightly with excess cloth.

The night air bit at her cheeks, the wind carrying the acrid smoke from nearby chimneys and the fetid stench of the Thames. Wrinkling her nose against the smell, Lydia thanked the stars that it wasn’t raining. The last thing she needed was to get soaked while standing on that corner, unsuccessfully trying to figure out how to get into the disreputable establishment undetected.

It wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it’d be. Gentlemen who walked into the hell all performed a secret knock and then were questioned by the guards before signing a heavy-looking, leatherbound book. In order to get into the place, one had to know exactly what to do, what to say, and who to say it to. Add to that the complication that Lydia was in fact a woman—which would not be difficult to ascertain under the harsh light of torches hanging by the entrance—and all plans of sneaking in seemed futile.

Lydia had noticed a few side exits while circling the building earlier. But those doors lacked doorknobs on the outside to be deemed entrances, so unless some drunken chap left the door wide open upon exiting the establishment, allowing Lydia enough time to slip through, those doors were useless to her.

Besides, she’d already been stalking this building for over an hour, and in that time, only one person had used that side exit. The door had shut instantly after him, shattering all Lydia’s hopes of gaining entrance that way.

How was she supposed to get into the owner’s offices if she could not even get inside the building?

Lydia shivered and drew the corners of her cloak closer together. She needed to get in and soon, or she’d catch a cold and die outside without getting what she came for.

No. She would not let that happen.

Her very life depended on the success of this mission, not to mention Honoria’s. And she couldn’t let her friend down… not again.

As if summoned by her desperate thoughts, two carriages clattered to a stop a few feet from the entrance. The carriage door flew open and a few gentlemen stumbled outside, tripping over their own feet, chattering and laughing loudly while slurring their words.

A group of drunken gentlemen was exactly what Lydia needed. She slowly made her way toward them, and silently attached herself to the back of the group, careful not to draw any attention to herself. One of the men performed the secret knock, and then the entire group filed inside the notorious hell.

“Yes, my dear man, I can cert”—a hiccup—“certainly sign this!” With a loud declaration, one of the men knelt over the heavy book.

As the gentlemen shed their coats, Lydia slipped beneath one man’s arm, using his half-discarded cloak as cover before twirling past the guards and into the shadowed corridor beyond.

She pressed her back against the wall as soon as she reached her salvation, breathing deeply. Quickly raising the collar of her cloak and lowering the hat down to her eyes, she made her way down the corridor.

Lydia tensed as two men approached from the other side, but aside from drunkenly shouldering their way past her, they did not pay her any heed.

Lydia stepped out of the corridor into a wide, crowded room and stopped cold. Thick smoke wrapped around her like winter fog as the loud buzz of conversation overwhelmed her senses. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of tobacco, spilled spirits, and cheap perfume. She squinted, trying to see through the haze, but it was difficult to make out anything but shapes past a few feet. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped forward, willing herself to move with the casual confidence of someone who belonged in this den of iniquity.

Lucky for her, everybody was too preoccupied with their own pursuits even to notice her presence.

Men hunched over the large, round tables, clasping a fan of cards in their hands, fisting a glass of drink in another. Some were leisurely smoking and drinking, while scantily clad women bounced on their knees or draped themselves across shoulders, whispering something in their ears.

Was this all there was to it? This place was notorious!

Perhaps for an average man this smoke-filled atmosphere might have seemed rather enchanting, but for Lydia, this depraved room enticed nothing but disgust.

The sight of young drunk dandies in their wrinkled silk waistcoats and old, sweaty men with spirits-soured breath openly caressing the harlots was not Lydia’s idea of a perfect evening.

She was surprised, however, that England’s brightest minds couldn’t find anything more exciting to do than this! More than half of the men in the room were likely married. Many of them were in substantial debt if the rumors Lydia had heard were to be believed. Yet they returned to this Godforsaken place to lose more money and embarrass their wives.

Lydia wrinkled her nose. Good thing she hadn’t married a lord, or anyone for that matter.

Once upon a time, she thought it to be her dream. She was even betrothed to a viscount—not that he was ever serious about marrying her, as she had found out later. After all, he had left her to pursue a life just like this, filled with vice. Lydia pushed the wayward thought away.

She needed to concentrate on the job.

Moving with the confidence she didn’t possess, she silently crossed the hall to the southwest corner. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the hell’s owner lounging on the balcony, overlooking the entire hall. Perfect . It meant that the owner’s offices stood empty.

Lydia quickened her pace, crossing the hall to the winding staircase.

Lydia had meticulously memorized the hell’s layout, cross-referencing maps drawn by three different regular patrons. She needed absolute certainty about the location of the owner’s office. While each map contained inconsistencies, they agreed on one crucial detail—the path to the owner’s office led through the private chambers.

But that was where all maps stopped. From the men’s words, she knew a guard would be in front of the nook leading to the owner’s wing. Other than that, she had no idea what to expect.

Lydia paused at the second landing, right in front of the crimson velvet curtains. She stepped forward when a woman with a softly defined figure in a white wig and a garishly painted face appeared from behind the curtains. A harlot.

“How may I help you?” she breathed.

Drawing herself up to her full borrowed height, Lydia cleared her throat and affected her best impression of a low baritone, adding some drunken slur. “I need an entry to private chambers.”

The woman’s kohl-rimmed eyes swept over Lydia’s short form from top to bottom, causing sweat beads to appear on her forehead, before she inclined her head. “Follow me.”

Lydia slowly let out a breath. Thank God for poor lighting.

“Is this your first time here?” the woman called over her shoulder as she led Lydia down a maze-like corridor.

Lydia tried to count the steps to memorize the path, but it was difficult to do in complete darkness. Her voice trembled slightly as she answered, “Y-yes. Is it that obvious?”

“I recognize many who come through here.” The woman’s shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “For your first time, would you like the observing chambers? Or are you interested in participating?”

Participating? In all her meticulous planning, she hadn’t even considered the possibility of being thrust into a private chamber where a scantily clad woman would be waiting, expecting to perform her duties on what she believed to be a gentleman. Lydia pressed her lips together to suppress a hysterical laugh that threatened to bubble up. “O-observing chambers, please,” she muttered when the woman paused and turned toward her in silent question.

“Very well.” The harlot produced a key and unlocked a creaky, wooden door to a cramped, dark chamber. The tiny space was dominated by a single chair and tiny table, a pristine cloth and pitcher of water on top. “Somebody will be there shortly, do not despair,” she added with a knowing wink.

As the door behind her closed, Lydia turned slowly in the confines of the tiny room. With her back pressed against the rough wall, her outstretched fingertips could easily brush the opposite side. Good thing Lydia wasn’t scared of tight places.

The wall before her was punctured with several peepholes. She crept closer, eye pressed to one of the openings. Through the darkness, she could make out the shadowy silhouette of a bed in the adjacent room.

Ah. Observing chambers. It made sense now. People came here to observe the coupling going on in another room without disturbing the love birds. How curious.

Curious that anyone would be interested in such an activity. Not curious in a way that Lydia was tempted to actually experience this… No, she was not curious about that at all. She shook her head to dispel the image that strangely made her tingly.

Her traitorous mind conjured a scene—a woman’s hands exploring, caressing a strapping young man, peeling away his clothing to reveal sun-kissed skin, corded muscles bunching beneath her touch. Heat crept up Lydia’s neck, her skin growing damp under the stifling layers of her disguise.

And then the woman in the image transformed from a random, painted harlot into herself, and a man from a random, strapping young lad to him —the only man who’d ever claimed her heart. Lydia shook off the thoughts from her mind. Focus, Lydia! You’re not here to fantasize about him .

The door creaked open at that precise moment, and Lydia muttered a thanks to the universe for providing a distraction and bringing her back into reality. The light of the candle illuminated the ghostly white skin of a woman who entered the room. She was as scantily clad as other harlots in this establishment, except that her dress was already disheveled, and her wig lay askew.

Following her steps was a middle-aged, balding gentleman with a pouch-like stomach. Gray, curly hairs peeked from beneath the open V of his shirt.

Lydia averted her eyes, her previous tingly feeling quickly leaving her body. Good thing, too, as she was not here to observe the salacious tryst. She was there on a mission.

Turning on her heel, she opened the door and squinted into the dark corridor.

It was empty. Or at least, it appeared to be empty.

Moans and heavy breathing penetrated the thin walls from the adjacent room, forcing Lydia to clap her palms over her ears. She needed to get out of this rotten place as soon as possible. Because even though she was quite repulsed by the idea of what was going on in the other room, her traitorous body responded favorably to the primal sounds. She felt quite hot and flustered, and this was the last thing she needed to feel at the moment.

So she slowly stepped out of the tiny room and silently made her way down the dark corridor, which was filled with twists and turns. She ran her finger against the wall so as not to miss a turn.

Faint voices came from somewhere down the corridor, growing louder with her every step.

A sharp sound pierced the air, and Lydia plastered her back against the wall. There it came again.

Was it a… giggle?

Straining her ears, she finally recognized the sounds to be female chatter and laughter. Probably the working ladies tittle-tattling in the absence of customers.

Lydia let out a breath and continued her way down the corridor.

She paused again as a dark shape peeked out from around the corner. A man. A large, stocky man who looked left and right before stepping back into his hiding place. This must be the guard of the private offices.

Now she needed to bypass the guard without being noticed.

Her fingers found the coin she’d brought for precisely this moment. She crimped it between her fingers then crouched low. With an expert flick of her wrist, she sent it sailing across the floor away from her position. The coin traced a perfect arc through the air before landing with a loud ping then spinning in circles.

The guard rushed out of the corner and quickly stalked toward the coin, his hand on the sheath of the knife. Lydia seized that moment to slip into the nook the guard had vacated.

Her gamble had paid off as there was indeed a door hidden inside the nook, and it was unlocked. Lydia slipped inside and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could while loud voices joined the guard’s confusing ramblings.

Lydia’s palms perspired inside her gloves and her heart beat furiously against her chest as she stared into another dark corridor.

Lydia blinked a couple of times, silently waiting for her eyes to adjust to complete darkness.

Spreading her arms wide, she ran her fingers along the walls, trying to decipher which door led to the offices of the owner of the hell. As her finger caught on the elaborate door knocker, Lydia paused and squinted at the door before her. The knocker felt like—she ran a finger along the edges—a three-headed beast with his sharp teeth bared.

If this wasn’t Hades’ office, she didn’t know what was.

Lydia pressed her ear against the door, listening to the silence within. She tried the handle and was not surprised to find it locked.

Taking out her lock-picking tool from the satchel tied around her waist, she made quick work of the easy lock.

With a smile, Lydia jumped to her feet and entered the room, closing the door behind her.

Unlike the pitch-black corridor, the room was awash with a warm light glowing from the tiny hearth. Lydia stepped farther inside the room.

It wasn’t what she’d expected from the owner of a hell called Hades. She’d imagined a throne or chains along the wall, something extravagant. Instead, the office was small, cozy, and quite ordinary.

A small desk stood in front of the hearth. Two windows were covered by thick curtains, not letting in even a speck of moonlight.

Right across from the desk, a bookshelf filled the entire wall. In the corner was a dark chest. The same chest that was supposed to contain exactly what Lydia was looking for.

Lydia approached the chest and carefully studied it. It was surrounded by chains and sealed by a steel lock at the center—just as she’d been told. There was a reason she was recruited for this job and not anybody else.

Lydia was the only thief in town who could pick any lock. She fiddled with her satchel and took out the implements to help her unlock the chest. There was a soft sound behind her, and Lydia turned quickly. Fire cracked in the hearth, the flames dancing, and licking the walls, but there was no one in the room.

Lydia spotted the candle on the cluttered desk and contemplated lighting it for one short moment but then shrugged the idea off. It wouldn’t do to attract attention to herself by creating a shifting light behind the door or alerting someone with the scent of a freshly lit candle. No, she would unlock the chest and get what she came for all in the dark.

Frustration mounted in her chest as she couldn’t get the lock to open. It was either very old or not working properly. Sweat started running down her forehead and temples, so Lydia took off her hat and wiped the loose strand of hair away from her face.

She leaned closer to the lock and poked at it from different angles, trying to work out the system by which it was locked. She needed to press left, right, and down at the same time and then turn the middle part. Easy.

Taking a three-edged tool from her satchel, she pressed it against the lock, turning it slightly this way and that. The mechanism gave way, and with a soft click, the lock was opened.

Lydia was bursting with excitement. She’d done it. And it wasn’t all that difficult either. A proud smile curved her lips as she carefully lifted out stacks of papers, laying them on the floor with trembling fingers. There, at the bottom, just as described, lay a soft, yellowed map.

With a little dance of victory, Lydia pulled out the map, folded it, and thrust it inside her boot. She returned the papers back into their place and locked the chest.

All done!

She stood and dusted her hands before tiptoeing toward the exit.

She placed her ear to the door but heard nothing except for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The corridor was completely quiet.

She cracked open the door and… was greeted by the barrel of a pistol aimed at her face.

Lydia’s hands rose to the air of their own volition. Her mouth opened but her voice failed her and her mind froze.

“Very well done,” a soft feminine voice said from behind the gun barrel.

Lydia didn’t have the time to contemplate who was threatening her as her mind cleared and the blood returned to her limbs.

She spun and lunged for the windows, yanking the heavy curtains apart with desperate hands. But instead of finding the cloudy London night beyond the glass, her stomach plummeted as she found herself staring down at the main gambling floor of the hell.

Tears pricked at the back of the eyes. She was caught. For the first time in years.

Lydia took a deep breath to compose herself and then slowly turned toward the woman who was still pointing a pistol at her.

The woman was already inside the room, the door behind her closed. Now that Lydia looked at the woman calmly, she could clearly make out her sable black hair and the expensive silk gown. She’d seen that woman lounging on the balcony overlooking the hell’s main floor just a few moments earlier, but she’d never seen her up close.

Miss Melissande Monroe, the owner of Hades’ Hell.

Miss Monroe was studying Lydia in turn. “Glad to finally meet you Mr. Mist … Or should I say Miss? Not much of a disguise you have on. I have to say, I am truly disappointed.”

Lydia sniffed, her eyes darting to the hat she’d left on the floor. Today was not her day. “The pleasure is all mine.” She was pleasantly surprised to find her voice wasn’t shaking.

“I’d heard rumors about Mr. Mist, the slickest thief who could con the smartest of men… Should have known you were a woman; it’s so obvious now. But you have to be slightly more cunning if you want to outsmart me.” Her lips moved in the widest of smiles, but her dark eyes remained cold. “Nevertheless, I am impressed all the same. To get into the heart of Hades’ Hell undetected is not an easy feat. Especially in your poor excuse for a disguise.”

Lydia tossed her head back defiantly. She didn’t care for Miss Monroe’s insults. After all, Lydia had gotten what she came for, and she was not about to roll over and let this arrogant woman do with her as she pleased. From the periphery of her eye, she studied the dark chamber, trying to figure out if there were more exits she could use.

“There is no way out of this room except for the door I am blocking, Mist ,” Miss Monroe said as if reading Lydia’s mind. “So please, hand me the map.”

Blast . She knew. “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“Miss Mist, I am the one holding the pistol, so I would strongly urge you to comply. I’d hate for my maids to end their day by cleaning your blood off my carpet. And it is not my intention to kill you, although, it doesn’t mean I shall not. My only intention is to… talk. Please, sit.” Miss Monroe waved a pistol toward the desk. “And be so kind as to light the candle on the desk. I want you to see what you’ve attempted to steal.”

Lydia slowly moved toward the desk, not taking her eyes off Miss Monroe. She sidestepped the chair to get to the candle and eyed the tinderbox. Instead, she reached for the candleholder and threw it in Miss Monroe’s direction.

As the hell owner ducked, Lydia rushed toward the door and threw it open. But her plans of escaping were instantly thwarted by the tall and rather wide man showcasing his toothless grin as he blocked the door.

He stepped forward, a knife in one hand and a rope in another. Was he going to tie her up? Lydia froze, uncertain what to do next.

Miss Monroe picked up the candle holder and dusted her skirts unhurriedly. “Right,” she said as she walked toward the desk, placed the candle holder with a loud thud, and then unhurriedly lit the candle. “Now that that’s settled, do you mind taking your seat at the desk, please? We have a lot to discuss.”

“Do we?” Lydia gritted through her teeth, not taking her eyes off the huge guard at the door.

“The map you stole, please. And no sudden movements. Gerald is not the only person waiting outside of my doors.”

Lydia stood still for one long moment before she finally walked toward the desk, passed the hell owner, and plopped into the seat. It seemed like she truly had no choice. She reached into her boot and took out the worn piece of paper. Throwing a begrudging look at Miss Monroe, she passed her the map.

“No.” The hell owner smiled and crossed her arms across her chest, leaning her side against the edge of the desk, the pistol still in her hand. “It’s not for me. It’s for you. Please, take a look.”

Lydia directed her eyes heavenward before studying the map. “A beautiful map, I suppose,” she said, twisting the piece of paper this way and that. “What do you want me to do? Travel to the ends of the earth in the hopes of retrieving a mythical treasure?”

“No.” The hell owner’s words were slow, precise. “I want you to get the jewel that is drawn in the corner of the map.”

“By using this map?” Lydia lifted the parchment closer to the light of a candle. The map looked as ancient as it felt. She leaned closer to examine the jewel she was to steal, and… her blood turned to ice.

It couldn’t be!

“Do not be ridiculous.” Miss Monroe scoffed. “The jewel is no longer there, or I would have hired pirates to do this job. No, it is on English soil and has been for a long time. Currently, it’s in the hands of one scoundrel viscount. But it belongs to me . Or at least, it’s supposed to.”

“You want me to steal it for you,” Lydia murmured more to herself than to the proprietress of the gaming hell as she gazed at the sketch of the jewel—a ring—with the ruby nestled within an intricate weave of Celtic knots.

“Yes. And I want you to do it before the grandest masquerade in London,” came Miss Monroe’s voice as if from far away, while Lydia’s eyes traced the patterns of the ring—endless, unbroken, and all too familiar.

Familiar because she had seen them before.

Miss Monroe continued telling Lydia about the jewel’s location, but Lydia didn’t hear her. She didn’t need to.

It’s in the hands of one scoundrel viscount.

And Lydia knew exactly which one.