Chapter 10
Gage's gaming hell was not the sort of establishment frequented by an heir to a dukedom.
Which was precisely why Kit liked it.
The place had no formal name. Gage refused to give it one, on the grounds that naming something implied permanence and permanence implied respectability, and he wanted no part of either.
It occupied the upper floors of a building on a street that was not quite fashionable but not quite disreputable, which Gage said was the ideal location for a business that catered to a man's vices.
Kit climbed the narrow stairs and pushed through the door into the familiar fog of cigar smoke and candlelight. It was too early for the real crowd, which suited him. He wasn't here for cards.
Gage was behind his desk in the back room, a ledger open before him and a glass of something dark at his elbow. "You look terrible."
"I look spectacular," Kit said, dropping into the chair opposite. "I always look magnificent. It's a curse, really."
Gage grinned. "Perhaps you've forgotten how long I've known you." He stood, coming around to lean against the desk, closer to Kit. "You look like you haven't slept in a month."
Kit frowned. He hadn't had a good night sleep in far too long. But the mirror certainly hadn't reflected that.
Then again, there was a reason Gage had gone into the world of gambling with his inheritance. He could have opened any sort of business, but he'd always been frighteningly good at reading people.
Kit decided it wasn't worth arguing the point. "I've been busy."
"You need sleep," Gage said.
"I need a drink," Kit shot back. He looked pointedly toward Gage's glass, and his friend took the hint. He moved to an end table and poured a glass without comment.
This was one of the many things Kit valued about their friendship. Gage didn't require explanations. Nor did he require charm, which meant Kit could stop performing, a luxury so rare it felt almost indecent.
Kit took the glass and let the silence settle around him.
"How is she?" Kit asked.
Gage's gaze sharpened. "Comfortable. Mrs. Briggs is attending to her. The physician came yesterday. Everything is progressing as it should."
Kit exhaled. "Good. And the bills?"
"Covered through the end of the month." A pause. "After that—"
"I know." Kit took a drink. "I'm handling it."
Gage exhaled loudly and leaned back in his seat. "You know I'd help you if I could. But all my funds are tied up in this place or other investments, and—"
"I know," Kit interrupted. "And I appreciate the thought. But this isn't your problem to handle."
"It's not yours either," Gage said. His tone was even, but there was a dark flicker of anger in his eyes on Kit's behalf.
Kit lifted his drink. It wasn't his problem? That was…debatable. But no matter who ought to take responsibility, the fact of the matter was, there was a ruined young woman with child staying in Gage's boardinghouse, and someone had to make sure they were cared for.
He took a sip of his drink, and when he realized Gage was still watching him with a frown, he added, "I'm handling it."
"And by 'handling it,' you mean you've convinced your aunt to pay you for escorting some young woman around London?" he said.
Kit set down the glass. "How do you know about that?" Worry had him straightening. "Are people saying that, or—"
"No, no, of course not." Gage let out a huff of laughter. "Rumor has it you're smitten with the girl."
Kit sank back with a sigh of relief.
"But I happen to know you," Gage continued. "And your aunt. And…" He arched his brows meaningfully. "I am well aware of your predicament."
Kit nodded. Of course Gage would piece it together.
"Besides, it's my business to know everything that happens in this city." Gage leaned back in his chair. "The Dowager Duchess of Ashworth's nephew, publicly courting Cast-Off Clarissa. It's been the talk of every drawing room and card table for days."
Kit lifted his glass. "Then it's working."
"It's certainly generating conversation." Gage studied him. "Is Lady Clarissa aware?"
Kit's brows arched. "Of the financial arrangement? Yes. She overheard me negotiating the fee with my aunt, actually."
A flicker of wary amusement crossed Gage's face. "How did she take it?"
Kit opened his mouth, but paused. He wouldn't say she'd been hurt, but he could still remember the hard look in her eyes when it had come up. With a little wince, he said, "As expected."
"But she still went along with it." Gage's voice held a hint of disbelief.
Kit shrugged. "We both have a predicament. And we're in a position to help each other," he said. "Simple as that."
And yet…
He looked down into his glass.
It didn't feel all that simple at the moment.
Not because playing the devoted suitor was difficult.
On the contrary. It was easy. Almost too easy.
He'd found himself looking forward to their next rendezvous.
And when his aunt decided it would be at the Woosters' ball, he'd actually been a little disappointed.
A ball meant he'd have to share her time and attention. And that was…not ideal. But also necessary, of course. They were never meant to maintain this flirtation forever. That was the whole point.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there frowning into his glass, but Gage's next comment brought him back to the present with a start. "The mistress. Clementine. She's asking for you."
Kit stilled. He'd been keeping his distance. But he supposed it shouldn't have come as a surprise that she'd want to meet.
"She's frightened, Kit. You're the only person who's shown her any kindness, and—" Gage paused, seeming to weigh his words. "She doesn't understand why you're helping her."
There are times I wonder the same. He shook his head. Of course he knew why he was helping the girl. It was for the family name. To keep up appearances. That was all.
"She wants to know…" Gage stopped, his expression guarded. "She's asking to speak to him."
"No."
"Kit—"
"It's for her own good, Gage." Kit's tone was harsher than intended. He softened it slightly and aimed for a tone of droll amusement. "He's already made his feelings clear on the matter. Best she hear the edited version from me than my father's crass story about how his mistress grew too tiresome."
Gage was quiet, but he was clearly waiting for more.
"It's the right thing to do," Kit said. "That's all. Someone needed to help the girl, and no one else was going to."
Gage said nothing for a long moment. "You know, for a man who works so hard to be seen as the reckless rake, you have a very inconvenient conscience."
Kit smiled. "Don't tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation."
A knock at the door interrupted them and one of Gage's employees entered. "Mr. Gage, sir. The Duke of Ashworth has arrived. He's asking for a private table."
The temperature in the room dropped.
His father was here. The Duke of Ashworth, that paragon of respectability, was patronizing a gaming hell.
Of course he is.
"I wasn't aware the duke was a member," Kit said.
Gage's expression was carefully neutral. "He's been in twice before. He plays deep but settles his debts promptly." A pause. "I don't turn away paying customers."
"I'm not asking you to." Kit stood and straightened his coat. He donned an easy smile. "I should go."
Kit found his father in the main room, already seated at a corner table, examining a set of cards. The Duke of Ashworth was silver-haired and impeccably dressed. He looked very much like a duke.
Which, despite the years, still felt wrong. The duke's brother, his Uncle James… Now he had been fit for a dukedom. Not because he looked the part, but because he was a good leader. He'd set a fine example for other men, both in his private life and in parliament.
He'd been good. Plain and simple.
His father, on the other hand. Well, he played the role of duke to perfection. But it was all for show. His moral tirades, his precise appearance…
On the surface, he could not be faulted. But dig any deeper, and one could see the rotten core.
"Father." Kit approached with his easiest manner. "What a pleasant surprise."
The duke barely looked up. "Christopher."
Kit’s jaw ticked. No one called him by his full name but his father.
"I didn't know you frequented this establishment," Kit said.
"I've come on business." The duke's gaze swept over Kit, a quick, assessing inventory. "You, on the other hand, seem very much at home."
He lifted a shoulder. "Gage is a friend."
"Gage is a gaming hell proprietor. Not fit to be an acquaintance, let alone a friend." The duke set down his cards. "I've heard you've been making a spectacle of yourself."
Years of practice had Kit maintaining a smile. "I've been attending social events. As my aunt requested."
"With that Whitfield girl." His father said it flatly, as though naming a disappointing investment. "The one they call—"
"Lady Clarissa." Kit's voice was pleasant. But he held his father's gaze fixedly. "Her name is Lady Clarissa."
The duke regarded him for a moment. "An earl's daughter," he said. "Not bad. Perhaps you're finally learning your place."
An earl's daughter. That's all she was to the duke. Just a pawn in his ongoing game. If it wasn't for his need to maintain their ruse, he'd tell the old man right here and now that he'd never marry a girl like Clarissa.
He'd never give his father the satisfaction, first of all. And second…
He tried to picture warm, funny, kindhearted Clarissa surviving in his cold, calculating family.
No. He would never do that to her.
"Don't get too attached to the idea, Your Grace," he said. "She's a friend of my aunt's. That's all."
"Hmph. Well, just remember," the duke said. "You are my heir."
As if he would forget. As if he could ever forget.
"The attention you receive reflects on this family," his father continued. "On me. I expect you to remember that."
Kit's smile held. "I always remember, Father."
The duke picked up his cards again, a dismissal as clear as any closed door. "I wonder."
Kit dipped his chin. "Always a pleasure. Do give my regards to Mrs. Farber."
Kit walked out of the main room, through the back corridor, and into the alley behind the building. The night air hit him like a slap. He leaned against the wall and breathed.
He thought about a woman in a boarding house who was frightened and alone because his father couldn't be bothered to care.
After a few minutes, he pushed off the wall with a new, carefree smile. He couldn't fix his father, but he could clean up his mess. And for that…
He straightened his coat.
For that, he had an earl's daughter to woo.