Chapter Three
“You told her I was deaf,” Gideon Knight’s good friend, John Bonham, humorously accused him, dropping into a chair in Gideon’s study at the Musket Club and tossing him a look of reproof.
“She almost blew out my eardrums while shouting instructions in my ear about your invitation to her bloody charity tea.”
Gideon looked up from his desk where he had been reviewing documents, and grinned at this man he’d known for ages, one of the few he trusted.
“You could have simply told her the truth, but instead you played the dunce when she came to the door to hand you the invitation. Where were you when she came around that first time to complain about the noise?”
“Chasing a mouse in the kitchen. Whatever possessed you to tell her I was deaf?”
“I had to come up with some excuse for your rudeness. You know I almost killed her when she marched around back into the yard. That board I was hammering slipped loose and almost struck her on the head.”
“That would have made a lasting impression,” Bonham said wryly. “Are you going to attend her affair?”
Gideon nodded. “Yes.”
“Why? It will be filled with her boorish friends who would sooner scrape their muddy boots on you than smile at you. And all she wants is your money.”
“No,” Gideon said emphatically, “Lady Berry isn’t like that.”
Bonham arched an eyebrow. “Oh, Lady Berry? Have you gotten that cozy with her already? When have you had the chance to bed her?”
“I haven’t,” Gideon said, casting his friend a warning look. “Nor do I intend to. She’s respectable.”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
Gideon did not know why he was so rankled by their conversation when Bonham was right about his behavior.
This was what he always did with ladies of his acquaintance. If they caught his fancy, he tossed them a look. They always responded. He bedded them.
Once he lost interest, he gave them a pretty trinket and never looked back.
“You retired early last night,” Bonham remarked.
“Left me sleeping on a rickety cot in that big, dusty house while you stayed up reading a book here at the club. Jasmine and Chloe gave me an earful when I arrived a few minutes ago. They said you took them to the theater and that was all. Not a kiss or request to join you later. You simply handed them over to Pudge to escort them into the gaming hall and retired up here. Are you feeling unwell?”
“What are you, my mother?” Gideon growled back, obviously irritated, since neither of them had mothers and would not know a mother’s touch if it bit them on the arse.
“Well, you had two beautiful women on your arm. Two courtesans to whom every man in that theater would have given their right arm for a night of pleasure, and all you did was watch the play.”
“‘To whom every man’? What are you suddenly? An Oxford professor? Who gave you permission to keep track of my sexual exploits?”
“Or sudden lack thereof,” Bonham muttered. “Have you decided to become a monk?”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “Who is teaching you to speak like that? Lack thereof? To whom? Now you are sounding like one of those nobs we both detest.”
“It is your diction coach, Miss Wright. She happens to be giving me diction lessons, too. I have also been taking lessons from your dance instructor, Miss Feswick. You and I have been friends and business partners for years. Our ventures are doing well, so why should I not put some of that blunt to good use? Aren’t you doing the same? ”
Gideon nodded.
“Better than spending it on drink or a tart,” Bonham continued.
“Why shouldn’t I learn to pass as an elegant gentleman?
We have become more successful than anything we dreamed possible.
Those years when we hoped to get jobs as clerks are long past. Why are you frowning at me, Gideon?
If they are our enemy, then why do you want to be like them? ”
“I don’t want to be like them. I hate their arrogance and entitlement.
Who are they, anyway? What makes them better than us?
It is nothing more than the luck of their birth,” Gideon said with unmasked bitterness.
“What would they be without their advantages? I have no intention of ever being like them, but I want to rub their noses in my success. Stick it in their pasty faces and make them green with envy. I’ll show them who’s the better man. ”
“You can toss the wealth of England at them and they will still revile you. And if you want my opinion—”
“Which I don’t. Enough, Bonham. I mean it. I have work to do.”
“Shuffling through those papers?”
“Yes, this is what comes with building our assets. Contracts, ledgers, reports.”
“More like Julius Caesar building his empire. And what about the house construction? Why did you send the boys away? They are close to finishing up that back expansion. Shouldn’t they be working on it?”
“They’ll resume work on Monday,” Gideon replied.
“Lady Berry needs to set up for tomorrow’s charity tea, that fancy gathering she is hosting, and does not need the distraction of our hammers.
As you said, the work is almost done. Little more left than cleaning out the yard and putting in the glass doors. ”
“You’ll still have to furnish the house.”
“Yes, in time.” The place was empty save for a cheap desk and a few old chairs he had brought over from one of their gaming hells.
He’d purchased some cots from a military auction, and these were what he and Bonham slept on whenever they were there.
However, Bonham was the one mostly sleeping there lately.
Gideon had spent most nights in his private quarters here at the Musket Club because as their wealth grew, so did his responsibilities.
Bonham worked just as hard supervising all their clubs and maintaining their prime condition.
He managed supplies, hired the right employees, and repaired whatever needed fixing while Gideon handled much of the more academic work.
That included scouting new ventures, negotiating contracts, and investing their profits.
The amount of work they each had to put in just to stay abreast of all that was going on with their assets was mounting steadily.
This club had become Gideon’s headquarters of a sort. It was the elite gaming hell he and Bonham operated, one among several such establishments they owned in London. This was also where Gideon bedded courtesans and bored wives of the nobility whenever the urge struck him.
He was never going to bring any of them to his house on Duchess Square.
With his having started out life as a tossed-away, homeless boy covered in ash found wandering the London streets and brought to St. Brigid’s to be given a home and a chance to make something of himself, that house was his dream fulfilled.
That beautiful residence on Duchess Square was the first thing ever purchased completely for himself.
His alone.
Yes, his once impossible dream. His sanctuary.
“I’ll have to engage a decorator.”
“I’m sure your Lady Berry will be able to recommend one.”
Gideon shrugged. “Maybe. Now get out of here. I have work to do. But have Cook prepare a hot meal for you before you head back to Duchess Square. And be polite to Lady Berry if she stops by again.”
Bonham laughed as he rose. “Are you suggesting I ought to stop behaving like an arse and stop teasing her with my deaf act? You’re the one who started it.”
Gideon chuckled. “She is deliciously gullible, isn’t she? All right, let’s see how long it takes her to catch on to the ruse.”
Bonham shook his head. “You are a bounder, and she is such a sweet thing.”
“I know. Thane’s daughter. And isn’t she as pretty as an angel? Green eyes that sparkle and dimples when she smiles. She also has a soft heart.”
“Don’t you go breaking it, Gideon,” Bonham warned as he walked out.
The rest of the day passed quietly for Gideon.
He worked through much of the tedious pile of documents he had put off sifting through while caught up fixing his new townhouse.
But as night fell, he washed, dressed, and then walked downstairs to play host at the Musket Club.
This was their crown jewel, the place where he and Bonham had built their wealth, this elite gaming establishment that catered to the Upper Crust.
Joss Fraser was the canny Scot who worked as floor manager for them.
Gideon and Bonham had placed trusted men to manage each of their establishments, but in many ways the Musket Club was the hardest to run and required their best man.
It took a sharp mind and a bit of intelligence to handle the elite, who were not used to paying their debts in a timely fashion.
“Viscount Hawthorne’s here again,” Joss muttered as Gideon entered the gaming salon.
“Is he winning or losing tonight?”
Joss glanced at the viscount and shook his head. “He’s about even so far, but he’s downed two scotches in thirty minutes. He’ll start losing soon.”
Gideon nodded. “Have Pudge see him to his carriage before his losses get out of control. Anyone else we ought to be concerned about?”
They all needed to keep alert to pickpockets and card sharps who were attracted to this particular club because the moneyed set spent their evenings here.
“That beady-eyed bloke over in the corner. Pudge is watching him closely.”
“Good. And the ladies?” He knew which ones came from privilege and were regulars because they liked to gamble.
He also knew who the courtesans were and allowed them entry with limitations.
Ladies like Jasmine and Chloe were permitted to remain so long as they merely spoke to the gentlemen gambling here.
After all, they were entitled to find benefactors for themselves.
But he was not running a cathouse, and any lady showing up to make a quick coin would be discreetly and immediately shown the door. Not even his copper hells had rooms upstairs for such goings-on.
Lady Berry suddenly came to mind, her shimmering green eyes and tumble of strawberry-blonde curls making him yearn for something better.