Trapped with the Forbidden Duke (Forbidden Lords #5)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“ C an I get you anything else, Your Grace?”

Lucien Fitzgerald, the Duke of Stormhold, looked up at the waitress who had seductively leaned against the arm of the chair opposite him.

He looked away, bored. She did not sit, did not leave, but hovered in the most annoying of ways.

“No.”

“Are you certain? I am sure I can?—”

“ No .”

His growled response finally sent her scurrying after her persistence over the last hour.

She had kept invading his space—a private alcove at the back of the Raven’s Den, a gambling hell—and he was rather tired of her not-so-subtle attempts at seduction.

He had not come to the Raven’s Den for entertainment—he would not have left his townhouse at all if business had not dragged him out of his study—but for a meeting with a certain, thieving lord.

From his place at the back of the main hall, Lucien simply watched, biding his time. The lord knew he was there. That was all part of business, of course—letting those who knew they were in trouble stew in nervous anticipation.

Throughout the evening, more eyes swiveled towards him, his presence alone commanding attention. But no nobleman approached him without cause.

Lord Herrington, a young, pretentious man who had inherited a barony far too soon to manage his affairs, had his elbows braced on the backs of the seats next to him, only one of them empty. He took up space as if he owned it, and his whole demeanor reeked of arrogant affluence.

I would, too, if I thought I was getting away with swindling a duke out of his money and thought I could hide away in a gambling hell.

Lucien’s eyes tracked Lord Herrington’s hands as he tossed down his deck of cards.

Lord Herrington had noticed him already. There wasn’t a man in the room who hadn’t seen the Duke of Stormhold enter the gambling hell. Yet, the lack of concern, when Lucien wanted nervous trepidation, only irked him more.

Finally, Lucien stood up, aware of the eyes on him as he moved through the main hall. He strode over, and, finally, Lord Herrington looked up at him.

A hint of worry flashed across Lord Herrington’s face before it was quickly replaced by that nonchalance again. Several other noblemen at his table tried their luck with another round of cards, finding themselves losing constantly.

Lord Herrington was making more money off Lucien’s money.

Lucien’s jaw clenched, but he remained visibly unruffled.

Lord Herrington smirked up at him, no doubt already knowing why he was there.

“Ah, Your Grace. I did not expect you to join the festivities,” he joked, eliciting laughter from his friends, before tossing down another card.

Lucien watched with a raised eyebrow as the game continued, even as he loomed over the table.

“I have a debt to settle.” His eyes landed on Lord Herrington knowingly. “I am not here to gamble.”

He cocked his head, making the double meaning in his words clear—the Baron was not gambling with his own business or his own money.

“A debt?” Lord Herrington gasped dramatically. “Heavens, I do hope the poor man knows what he is in for if he is indebted to you.”

“Oh, I believe he does,” Lucien drawled, his voice low. “Is that not right, Lord Herrington?”

“I do not know what nonsense you speak of. Lord Graham, it is your turn to deal.” Lord Herrington glanced at another man—an earl’s son if Lucien remembered correctly—and then looked back at Lucien. “Truly, Your Grace, I do not know?—”

“I warned you about your part in the business we invested in,” Lucien hissed. “So, you may do this in front of your friends and have them see what a spineless coward you are while you cheat them out of money as well, or you can dismiss them, and you and I shall discuss.”

“I do not cheat ,” Lord Herrington scoffed. “And my friends shall stay.”

“So be it.” Lucien braced his hands on the edge of the table, leaning towards the young Baron. “You have been holding out, taking more money than you are owed, and if you thought you would not be found out, then you are mistaken. It is time to explain yourself, Lord Herrington.”

“Explain myself?” Lord Herrington scoffed. “The only explaining I need to do is make you understand that I am inno?—”

“Do not insult me,” Lucien growled, his anger flaring. “You have taken my money, your share of the profits, and still have not returned what you owe for the initial investment. It was you who came to me, groveling, begging for a chance to make money when you inherited your title, was it not? Pay up, Herrington, or I will make sure you regret it.”

Sneering, Lord Herrington made to stand up, but Lucien immediately shoved him down.

Around him, coins dropped, and cards were shuffled, as if the men were trying to busy themselves so as not to be involved.

“Your Grace?—”

“Go ahead, run back to your estate. Run anywhere. But know this—I will find you,” Lucien threatened.

Lord Herrington attempted to escape once more, but Lucien snagged his wrist, pinning him to his chair.

Finally, the Baron’s face paled, and there was that nervous look Lucien had been hellbent on seeing. Words could deceive, but that was the look of a guilty man, and Lucien reveled in the fact that their peers could see it.

“Pay your debt, Herrington, or you will leave here with more than a simply bruised ego.” His voice was a low growl, threatening.

Lucien knew that the Baron was imagining every worst-case scenario, every dark story about the Duke of Stormhold.

“Suddenly, I find myself in the mood for entertainment tonight, so I shall be staying at the Raven’s Den for a while. Do make smart decisions before I decide to leave.” He released the Baron with a disgusted shove. “Get your affairs in order. You have been given a chance, and you will not get another one.”

With one last warning look at Lord Herrington, Lucien stalked away, but not before flagging down one of the newer employees.

This new lot was part of the new assembly of guards for the Raven’s Den that the owner’s adopted son, Frederick Matthews, had hired ahead of him taking over the gambling hell.

“See to it that Lord Herrington does not leave this place until I have what is mine,” Lucien instructed.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Lucien nodded curtly before he thought about actually leaving, despite what he had told the Baron. If anything, his threat about staying in the gambling hell would have the man looking over his shoulder, searching the shadows for him, wondering if he had left already and planned to bring payback to his doorstep.

As Lucien approached a lesser-used hallway, he was stopped by another employee. This one was a secretary of sorts, assisting Frederick as he took over from the previous owner, Horace Matthews.

“Your Grace,” he called out, hurrying to catch up. “There is a lord here requesting an audience with you.”

“I am not to be disturbed,” Lucien told him bluntly. “I have made this clear on several occasions.”

“He seeks a business partnership with you. Something that will specifically catch your eye, he says.”

Lucien paused. They all said that, but none had ever thought that their business would appeal to him specifically. He was a duke, yes, wealthy and notorious, but to claim that something would directly appeal to him caught his attention.

His apprehension quickly turned into intrigue. “Take me to him.”

“Right away, Your Grace. Please follow me.”

Lucien was led back past the main hall and up another flight of stairs—part of the new wing that was being added to the Raven’s Den to allow for successful business meetings that did not need to take place over a game of cards, but needed more privacy than a gentlemen’s club allowed.

On the upper floor, down the long hallway, past the manager’s office, the secretary opened a heavy, wooden door, and Lucien raised an eyebrow at him before stepping inside.

Only, he stopped short, barely two steps into the room.

“What are you doing here?”