Chapter 2
Atlas
Northamptonshire
If one was consistent at something—say, arriving fashionably late to a ball—it was never a good idea to suddenly amend one’s ways. Someone was bound to be surprised. Unfortunately, in my case, that someone was me.
Clenching my jaw, I pulled away from the repulsive scene before me.
I never should have thought Mary Anne was ready for marriage.
I never should have taken that walk through the gardens to practice my words.
And I certainly never should have seen the woman I was prepared to propose to in the arms of my best friend.
Curse Matthew Barry.
Backing away from the garden path, I retreated to the manor house, my boots clicking on the flagstone. The music streaming through the door blurred in my ears as I opened it. A cacophony of laughter and dancing greeted me—the entire scene tiresome.
“Lord Camden,” a feminine voice called from my left. I turned to find Miss North fluttering her lashes and giving me her most beguiling smile. My hands fisted at my side, and I fought to hide my storm of emotions. “It is so rare to see you alone,” she said. “Fate has smiled down on me tonight.”
At least it was smiling at someone.
“Camden!” another voice called.
I turned to my right, and this time, the sight filled me with relief. “Abramson.” I gripped my friend’s shoulder, shorter than my own by several inches. He would be my method of escape before I did something reckless or offended half the ballroom with my words. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“Is it?” He looked past me to Miss North. “So I see.”
“Miss North,” I said, my words strained and without their usual charm. “Please accept my humble apologies. I have promised a round of cards to my friend, and I must beg you to excuse me.” I took her hand and bowed over it as quickly as I could get away with. I couldn’t stay a moment longer.
She giggled and fanned her face with her hand. “You are excused, my lord. I will stay in this exact position and hope that when you return you might find me with ease.”
The last thing I wanted was to worry about her foolishly waiting for me. “Please, enjoy yourself and do not think of me.” My words were abrupt, but I was doing her a favor. I circled around her before she could respond.
Abramson stepped in pace beside me. “A game of cards is always preferable to dancing.” Together, we maneuvered past a gaggle of women in wide skirts, all eyeing us with hopeful expressions.
A feminine voice whispered as I passed. “His hair is the color of gold when the sun touches it.”
“And he is as tall as Zeus,” another breathed.
Such looks and comments normally flattered me, but tonight they vexed and exhausted me. Those attributes had mattered to Mary Anne, but they had not made her heart true. “The stakes will be high tonight,” I grumbled.
“The cardroom is this way.” Abramson pointed past the refreshment table. “But you know the games here will be quite tame.”
I gave a succinct nod. “You’re right. I need a more serious game than the gentlemen here can provide.” It wasn’t only the thrill of higher stakes I craved, but a place that could make me forget Mary Anne completely.
Abramson grinned. “That’s more like it. It’s been hard to drag you from a party these days.”
He was right. My time had been consumed with courtship—dancing, musicals, and dinner parties.
Mary Anne had been my childhood love—a pretty bird who flitted from one task to the next without completion—and apparently, from one man to the next without commitment.
What a fool I had been to think my declaration to court her would change her nature.
Abramson chased after my angry steps to the stables. I paced while a stable boy brought our horses to us. It wasn’t like Mary Anne and I were madly in love. But I had trusted her. Planned for her. Invested my time and feelings in a future with her.
I caught a glance at Abramson as we mounted.
He was smiling at nothing in particular.
Did he know about the tryst between Barry and Mary Anne?
Were my friends truly that despicable? With that irritating thought, I gave Champion a firm kick, sending my stallion into a hard gallop.
Abramson struggled to catch us down the country road leading to town, but I did not slow, my hands choking the reins with my tight fists.
How many betrayals must a man have in one night?
My emotions built inside me like raging water beating against a narrow dam.
I was humiliated, shocked, and so utterly furious.
Two hours later, Abramson and I sat at different tables at a disreputable gaming hell. I could not say about Abramson’s game, but mine was high stakes just as I had hoped, and I was about to win and redeem my night.
I might be an idiot when it comes to women, but I understood cards. They were my true friends and never let me down.
I sat across from a sniveling landowner sweating from his temples, who kept bumping the table with his bouncing knee. Scowling at him, I waited for him to play his final card so I could walk away triumphant.
Mr. Timmons, if I recalled his name correctly, squeezed his eyes shut. “If I lose this game, I will lose everything.”
He was in good company. I had lost a large piece of my own future tonight. I tapped my fingers on the table impatiently.
“I have a wife and three children, my lord.”
This was not the first time I had played an idiot who had gambled with money he did not have, but I could not trust his whining. Men would say anything to keep their money, and they usually did.
“Play the card, man.”
Mr. Timmons’s fingers trembled as he laid down the ten of clubs.
I laid down my higher trump and pushed away from the table. “You can deposit the money into my account by the end of the day tomorrow.”
Timmons fell to his knees and pleaded for mercy through broken sobs.
Some men could really put on a show.
Ignoring him, I slapped Abramson on the back on my way out.
I had not the patience to wait for him to finish, nor did I want to give him an opportunity to bring up the reason I had left the ball like a raging bull.
Besides, if he admitted to knowing anything, I would likely trade a friendly slap on the back for a punch to his jaw.
The moon gleamed off the shine on my hessian boots, my steps grating against the cobblestone road as I made my way across the street to the town mews for my horse.
The gambling hell roared to life behind me, the raucous tunes mingling with the autumn breeze.
A stableman brought out my horse, Champion’s black coat melding into the darkness of the pasture behind him.
I accepted the reins, and he put his furry muzzle against my chest and nudged me, likely sensing my strange mood.
I was not one inclined to anger, but tonight I was teeming with it. Winning had done nothing to smother it as I had hoped.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, tossing the stableman a coin.
He caught it and strode away, the door of the mews banging closed behind him.
Circling my horse, I put my boot in the stirrup.
I began to pull myself up on the saddle when someone grabbed me from behind, yanking me back.
Before I could find my footing, a second person joined the first, gripping my arms with a fierceness I could not loosen.
I was no small man, and I fought to shake the surprise attackers.
It was to no avail. They dragged me into the dark alley and shoved me to the ground.
I squinted, trying to identify them, but what I saw was not encouraging. Not just two men stood over me but a half circle of four men, all with hooded faces and wooden clubs in their hands.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“A friend.” A gruff voice came from the man at the center, as if he were attempting to disguise his voice—though it did little to hide his sarcasm. I guessed him to be the leader, since he was the spokesman.
Was I about to be robbed? “Tell me the meaning of this.”
“I thought it obvious,” the leader’s gravelly words spat. “Tonight’s the night you meet your maker.”
Not robbed, but murdered. A chill ran down my spine.
The disguised man took a step back while the others inched forward. He pointed at me. “Get on with it, men.”
Before I lost my opportunity, I lunged for their leader.
But I was too slow and was hit from behind.
I barely caught a fistful of the departing man, fabric ripping off his person, as a club slammed into one of my legs.
Something cracked and lightning pain coursed through my body.
The ground slapped my hands and knees. There was no time to rally before a kick jolted me in the ribs.
I wrestled with my remaining strength, reaching for their legs and feet, trying to catch my breath. A fist struck my temple and my vision blurred, but it was fight or die, and I was not ready for the latter. I had a whole lifetime I had anticipated living.
Battered from every side, I wildly swung my fists.
An image of Timmons sobbing on the floor flashed through my mind, and a greater fear overcame me.
Did I deserve to die? How many innocents had lost money to me and my obsession to win?
Father had named me Atlas to carry our family name on my shoulders. But I had lived only for myself.
My mother and sister had already lost Father and Athena.
Would they lose me too?
My last thought was of Mary Anne. If I died, she would not miss me.
Would anyone miss me?
Pain exploded in my head once more, and all too quickly, the depths of darkness welcomed me into their oblivion.