Chapter 10
“Lord Montague’s dealings are as crooked as a river bend, Your Grace,” Mr. Harrow, Raph’s solicitor, said.
The elderly man leaned over his cluttered desk, his spectacles glinting in the lamplight.
“The man’s a fraud, plain and simple. He orchestrates rigged card games to fleece his opponents—gentlemen of means, mostly. I’ve secured a testimony from a club owner who’s seen it all, willing to swear to it in court.”
Raph’s eyes narrowed, his fingers drumming lightly on the arm of his chair. “And the cost to see him gone?”
Harrow adjusted his spectacles, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “A small sum, Your Grace. A few well-placed payments to the right hands, and Montague’s reputation will crumble faster than a house of cards. He’ll be out of London by spring.”
“Interesting,” Raph said calmly. “We can bury him under his own schemes.”
Harrow nodded, scribbling a note. “Consider it arranged when you are ready, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Harrow.”
“It is always a pleasure, Your Grace.”
Raph rose, adjusting his coat, and strode out into the evening chill.
The gentlemen’s club, a haven of cigar smoke and clinking glasses, was only a short walk away. He entered, the familiar hum of conversation and laughter enveloping him as he made his way to a secluded corner table and ordered a drink promptly after being seated.
“Raph, darling,” came a sultry voice just as his brandy arrived. Wendy, clad in a daringly low-cut gown, glided towards him, her eyes alight with expectation. “It’s been too long.”
He regarded her coolly, his expression unyielding. “Wendy, I’m afraid our acquaintance has reached its end.”
Her smile faltered, her hand pausing mid-air. “What’s this? Surely you don’t mean—”
“I do,” he cut in. “I’m to be married. My attentions are elsewhere now.”
“You’re getting married?” Wendy’s sharp voice cut through the smoky haze of the gentlemen’s club.
She leaned against the velvet-draped wall of the private parlor, glaring at him and tapping her foot furiously against the wooden floor.
“Who is this woman, Your Grace?”
Raph swirled the brandy in his glass; the amber liquid caught the dim light of the chandelier.
She’s not pleased, but I expected as much.
“She’s none of your concern,” he replied smoothly, though his grip on the glass tightened. “This is the way it must be, Wendy.”
She hovered over him, her perfume heavy and cloying, and her voice dropped to a sultry purr. “You’ll miss me, Your Grace. Your wife won’t know you as I do. She won’t know how to please you. How to accept your discipline when she’s been a bad girl.”
Raph met her green eyes with his icy ones. “Enough, Wendy. I’ve made my decision. You’ll be compensated for your… discretion.”
She huffed and planted her hands on her hips, but before she could speak, the parlor door swung open, and Lord Montague strode in, his face a mask of barely contained irritation.
Of course, he’s here. The man slinks about like a rat, always sniffing out trouble.
“Your Grace.” Lord Montague’s tone dripped with false civility when he spotted Raph. He strode towards him as he adjusted his cravat. “I didn’t expect to find you here. Drowning your sorrows after your heroics?”
Raph leaned back in his chair, his expression impassive as he nodded at Wendy to leave. She obeyed him immediately.
“I have no sorrows to drown, Lord Montague. Just business to settle.” He reached into his coat, producing a slim envelope, and slid it across the table.
“My solicitor worked quickly. The club owner—your old friend, I presume?—had an interesting tale about marked cards in that game you lured Lord Lempster into. Care to explain?”
Lord Montague’s face paled, his fingers twitching as he eyed the envelope. “What are you implying, Your Grace? That I cheated? That’s slander!”
“Slander?” Raph chuckled, taking a sip of his brandy. “It’s a testimony, Lord Montague. Sworn and signed. This envelope holds a portion of what you demanded from Lord Lempster. Take it, and consider our business concluded. Or we can let a judge decide.”
Lord Montague’s eyes darted to the envelope. “You think you can meddle in my affairs and walk away unscathed? You’re overstepping, Your Grace.”
He thinks he can intimidate me? After all his schemes?
Raph chuckled. “Take the money, and consider it a small gift for teaching you how to lose.”
Lord Montague’s face reddened, his hands balled into fists. “You think this buys you the Lempsters’ loyalty? They’re a sinking ship, and you’re tying yourself to it.”
Raph struggled to control the anger simmering in his veins. He got up slowly from his chair and towered over the elderly man.
“They’re my family now,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I protect what’s mine. Unlike you, I don’t prey on the desperate.”
Lord Montague sneered, reaching behind Raph cautiously and snatching the envelope from the table. “You are being reckless with that girl you’ve claimed. She’s no Duchess.”
Raph seized Lord Montague by the collar of his fine linen shirt, thwarting the man’s attempt to slip away.
Lord Montague writhed, his face contorting with indignation, but Raph’s grip remained unyielding despite the pain in his shoulder. The parlor fell silent as patrons paused to watch, their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them.
Let them stare.
“Your reckoning is long overdue, Montague,” he hissed.
“Unhand me at once!” Lord Montague yelled. The envelope fell from his hand and landed at his struggling feet.
“If you ever speak ill of my bride or her family again, I will see to it that you will be ruined, so much so that the whole of London will know your thieving name.” Raph let go of him suddenly, and Lord Montague crashed to the ground.
He kicked the envelope towards him and growled, “Now, get out of my sight.”
Lord Montague hesitated, his eyes blazing with humiliation, but he tucked the envelope into his coat, struggled to his feet, and stormed out. The door slammed shut behind him, and Raph drained his glass, the burn of the brandy doing little to quell the fire in his chest.
He’s beaten for now, but men like Montague don’t stay down. I’ll need to watch him.
Wendy, who had witnessed the exchange with a mix of curiosity and resentment, approached Raph with less confidence, her voice softer but no less pointed.
“You’re really doing this, aren’t you? Marrying her. What’s so special about this lady? Why her, when you could have anyone?”
Raph drowned the last of his brandy and slammed the glass on the table, his eyes met hers with an unwavering coldness. “She’s not just anyone, Wendy. She’s… unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” Wendy laughed, though it lacked warmth. “That’s a weak excuse. You used to come to me for freedom. What does she offer that I can’t?”
“Purpose,” he said simply, brushing past her. “This conversation is over. You’ll receive your settlement by the week’s end.”
Wendy’s lips parted, but she didn’t press further.
“Don’t come crawling back when she bores you, Your Grace,” she called as he moved towards the door.
“I won’t,” he said without looking back, stepping into the smoky corridor of the club.
As he exited the club, the cool air hit him, sharpening his thoughts.
Montague’s dealt with, for now, but Camelia’s the real challenge.
His mind drifted to their last encounter in the library, her trembling body against his, the way her breathing grew heavy when he leaned close.
She’s not as immune to me as she pretends to be. But will she bend to my terms?
He hailed his carriage, his thoughts already turning to Lempster Estate.
Time to set the rest of this in motion. Pamela needs her, and the duchy needs an heir. Camelia will learn her place, one way or another.