Chapter Sixteen #2
As he glanced up from his newspaper, the Duke of Sunderland took a long draw on his cigarillo. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
Ian sank down on a chair. Their position in the square was more exposed than he’d prefer, and he pulled the cap over his forehead. “We have less than ten minutes before my tails catch up.”
“That is one of the few drawbacks of Monte Carlo,” Sunderland drawled as a waiter delivered two cups of coffee. “So few places to hide. But so close to the French countryside. A wonderful place for hunting stags.”
After the waiter retreated out of earshot, Ian asked, “You’ve confirmed the details I sent through about the organization?”
The duke nodded and tapped his cigarillo thoughtfully.
“Authorities across Britain and the Continent have been monitoring the Stags for the last decade or so. They all turned a blind eye to their propensity for skirting the law. The police don’t have the time, inclination, or money to dedicate to serving and protecting women. ”
Ian swallowed his scalding coffee in one gulp. “When did things change?”
“About a year ago, they began leaving collateral damage. A string of vicious arson attacks, all of them targeting dangerous criminals.”
“Diana’s uncovered two related to her past operations. And Amelia Hunter tracked secret financial withdrawals connected to the attacks. They both believe there’s a traitor in the ranks.”
At the mention of Miss Hunter’s name, the duke’s tiger-like eyes sharpened on Ian. “Could this traitor be one of them?”
When Ian responded with an eviscerating stare, the duke flashed his white teeth. “Didn’t think so either, old man. But their entanglement with the emeralds is a problem. Especially now that Costa knows you have them.”
For years, Ian had guarded the secrets of Il Gioco alone, so no one else would have to carry the burden of it.
In a matter of days, the truth of it had spiraled out—like the djinn from Aladdin’s lamp—and there was no stuffing it back inside.
He resented the duke for the way he could speak about it all with such calm detachment.
“What exactly is your interest in all of this, Your Grace?”
Sunderland gave a low laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not after the emeralds.
There’s nothing I could stake to win them.
I have no shame in holding the title of the poorest aristocrat in Great Britain.
Unlike you, I want nothing to do with my father’s legacy.
The only thing he left me was his staggering debt, and it was no hardship to liquidate every tainted asset he owned.
Nothing I can do to shake the title, but I enjoy the status it lends me. ”
With a dark grin, he added, “I could live off favors for the rest of my life.”
“How many does the Crown owe you?”
“Not enough to balance my debt to them. Hence, my current employment.” Sunderland leaned back in his seat. “Her Majesty’s government is concerned about what’s at stake when the factions convene to battle for the necklace. It is no simple gioco della fortuna.”
The players simply called it: Il Gioco. The Game. “And if I could assure the Crown that I could play with their interests in mind, what would I get?” Ian asked.
The duke blew out a ring of smoke in a perfect O shape. “What do you want?”
“No prosecution for any of the parties playing on our side.”
“That would include Miss Rives and Miss Hunter.”
“And you and I.”
Sunderland tilted his head. “You, and, naturally me, I can guarantee. But I can’t promise anything about anyone connected to the Stags until we prove neither Miss Rives nor Miss Hunter had anything to do with the attacks.”
If their positions were reversed, Ian wouldn’t have made the promise either. “It won’t be difficult to prove.” He held Sunderland’s gaze and added, “When I win, I want to take back what I stake.”
“That’s only fair.”
The matins bells pealed from the church tower and warned Ian he’d already risked too much time with Sunderland. As he rose to his feet, he asked, “Who owes you favors in Florence?”
“A silk merchant with a lovely townhouse near the Duomo. Among others.”
Beyond the square, a familiar cry of a barn owl made the hairs rise on the back of Ian’s neck. He gave Sunderland a parting nod and fled into the maze of the market stalls.
Ian ducked beneath the brightly colored canopies and hid behind stacked wheels of cheese and apples. It was better to camouflage himself than risk darting out in the open so his tails could find him again.
As the wind stirred, it brought with it the scents of dejeuner preparations from the restaurant.
Garlic and oregano permeated the air. It instantly transported him to Florence, and his memories of sitting on his mother’s lap in the garden while Alberti picked his tomatoes off the vine and the Duomo’s bells clamored.
An elderly couple sat on the bench nearby. In the middle of a protracted argument, the man leaned across and planted a passionate kiss on his wife’s mouth. She gave a brief squeak before surrendering with a breathless laugh. The fruit vendors applauded and cheered.
The soft way the woman looked at her mari made a weight settle in Ian’s chest.
When Sunderland had asked him what he wanted in exchange for risking his life to play Il Gioco, he’d only been half truthful when he’d named the emeralds.
He also wanted Diana to look at him like that woman had looked at her husband. With irritation and love, and acceptance.
And he knew it was impossible for him to have both the necklace and her.