Conspiring with a Rogue (12 page)

“’Tis there, ye wet goose.” Barney pointed at the red door.

“
Oh, yes, I see it now
.” She screwed her face up. “How could I have missed it? Why anyone with half a brain should know a red door without a sign in the middle of a filthy alley is the gateway to the infamous Vagabond Club.”

“Ye’re insolent,” Barney said, spitting on the ground. “Ye need a good jab to that pretty little face to knock some sense into ye.”

Drake stepped between her and Barney, which was a good thing because at the moment she was afraid Barney might actually make good on his words. “You’re probably right,” Drake said. “But Mr. Wentworth has a score to settle with me first, and I need him to have his full faculties when he does it. Let me make up for the trouble he’s caused you.” Drake pulled out a small bag of coins. “Take this, and call it a night. You can go home to Marianne and the children.”

Whitney stared at Drake, her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs. Whatever Drake thought he wanted to become, at his core was still the kind man she had fallen in love with. She had thought an hour ago she could never love him more than she already did, but she was painfully wrong.

Barney shook his head at Drake. “I’ll not take yer money. Word of your troubles is out on the street, Mr. Sutherland.”

Drake frowned. “Bad news travels fast, huh?”

“Faster than a woman searchin’ for her cheatin’ husband.”

Drake whistled. “That’s fast. What’s the word near the docks?”

“Two ships sunk in two months.” Barney shrugged and climbed into his hackney. “Some say ye’re cursed. Others say ye lost yer golden touch when yer woman left ye.”

Whitney’s heart ached at the man’s words. She had left Drake to save him, and every time she turned around, another example of how her leaving was hurting him was shoved in her face. Silence descended upon them, leaving her listening to the painful thudding of her heart.

Beside her, Drake did not stir. He could have been a statue for all he moved. Was he embarrassed, angry, or was he imaging all the ways he would dearly love to kill her if he only knew where she was? From around the corner, a carriage clattered into sight at the same time as a group of sailors pounded down the street singing merrily as they came. Drake blinked and glanced at her as if the colliding noises had broken whatever spell had temporarily taken hold of him.

“I may be cursed, Barney, but you can assure everyone it certainly isn’t in the shipping business.”

“Love, eh?”

“I suppose so, but that’s one mistake I’ll not be repeating. Be on your way, Barney.”

“Evening, Mr. Sutherland.”

Whitney watched as Drake put his money away and then gave her a tight smile. “Come on, then, Wentworth.” He turned toward the red door, knocked three times, paused and knocked again. The door creaked open, and he stepped into the dark threshold. Turning, he waved her in. “Welcome to the Vagabond Club.”

She started through the door, the smells of cigar smoke, sweat, and liquor hitting her at once. A man who looked more like a tall, skinny tree than a man, put his arm out to bar her way. “Membership is thirty guinea a year.”

Membership?
Whitney gaped. They actually charged membership to this place? Granted she had only taken two steps into the infamous Vagabond Club, but so far the club consisted of a narrow hallway with chipped hardwood floors and walls covered in faded damask wallpaper that was peeling away in several places, and those places reeked. “How do you know I’m not already a member?”

The man leaned down toward her, his long narrow face coming to a stop so near to hers she could see he had moss-colored eyes. “Your face is not one I would forget. And I’m at this door every night from open to close.”

She doubted that. Raising her chin, she held the man’s gaze. “You use the privy right here in this spot, then, do you?”

His face colored deep red and his right eye twitched. “That’s right,” he said in a low, hard voice. “Right here.” He pointed to the floor. “Care to check?”

She swallowed and rummaged through her coat, extracting thirty guineas. “I’ll take your word,” she said and held the money out to him. A triumphant smile curved one corner of his mouth. She had the urge to snatch the coins back, but she wasn’t a fool. This giant would knock her out cold with one hit. Then where would she be? At least if she had to part with her much-needed coin, she had obtained valuable information for it. Now she knew who to question about whether Lillian had ever been here.

Once the man lifted his arm, she hurried to follow Drake as he strode ahead through the ill-lit hallway. His rich brown hair still curled haphazardly at his collar, just the same as the day she had left him. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers through his curls, but instead she drank in every detail of him. His superbly cut coat barely contained his broad shoulders, and he swaggered as only a man filled with confidence could.

He drummed his fingers against his leg as he walked, a nervous habit she had often observed. Was he impatient to be done with her to start whatever sins he had planned for the night? Jealousy unfurled, but she clenched her teeth together and took a deep breath, reminding herself she had no right to the emotion.

They came to the end of the hallway, and Drake opened the door that stood closed before them. He strode into the room, and she scurried to follow. Shock stopped her in her tracks. “I can’t believe this.”

The room gleamed before her.

“What’s not to believe?”

“This place is magnificent,” she whispered.

His brows furrowed together, but he looked around the room. “I suppose.” His gaze came back to her. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

Afraid she might say something else foolish to give herself away, she shook her head.

Drake pointed across the room. “Our table’s in the very back.” He proceeded across the pristine parquet floor, skirting around a large mahogany hazard table, and stopped in front of an enormous desk, where an obese balding man sat with his coat thrown over his chair and the sleeves of his fine cambric shirt rolled up to his elbows. Drake motioned to the man. “This is Mr. Nicholson, the proprietor of the Vagabond Club. He’s also the man who metes out the loans.”

Mr. Nicholson passed a chip-toothed smile in her direction. “I also collect the money when necessary.” He eyed her up and down as if judging something. “You wouldn’t be hard to collect from. How much you need?”

Drake shook his head at the man, which was a good thing because she was too flabbergasted by everything to speak coherently. “Mr. Wentworth and I are playing
Vingt-et-un
for stakes other than money. I’ll pay the house for the use of the table, of course.”

Mr. Nicholson dipped his shiny head at Drake. “Of course.”

Whitney half listened to the men exchanging pleasantries on horse racing and boxing as she gazed around. The gaming hell was an amazing surprise. The grand room had to take up the space of at least three stores. Then it hit her. She turned to Drake. “The stores in the front, the gin shop and pawn shop, are they covers for this place?”

“Yes and no. They’re businesses, but only the front room. All the other rooms are part of this club.”

“Very clever. What other areas are in this club?”

“The dining hall, which is on the second floor, and the drawing room, which is off to the right through that door.” Drake pointed to a gilded door. Two bronze torches, each with four scrolled branches, stood on either side. King George himself probably didn’t own a door as elaborate as this one.

She drew in a shaky breath. She was dying to know what was on the other side of that door. If she was going to live her life as a pretend man, she might as well enjoy the experience to the fullest. “Is that room open to all members?”

“Of course.” He strolled toward the door and beckoned her over. She scrambled up to him, peeking around his shoulder as he eased the door open.

A flush overcame her as she took in the scene. The candlelight flickering around the room cast everyone in shadows, but not so much that she could not see a hand touching a scantily covered breast, a tongue flicking out to lick the cherry lips of a woman lying back against a wine-colored settee, and two men with their cravats off and their shirts undone to their chests being rubbed by women with oil-glistened hands.

Whitney scrambled backward and turned away from the scene. Men were a depraved lot. Drake chuckled behind her. “If you go around acting offended by men taking their pleasure, I’ll not be the only one who questions your preferences. Perhaps you should partake in some pleasures tonight?”

His bluntness stunned her. “Do you mean to?”

He shook his head. “Not tonight. Tonight I’ll spend remembering. And then tomorrow I’ll commence forgetting.”

“What are you remembering?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, shiny item. His fingers curled around the object, but then he opened his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the oval shape.

She gazed into his hand but could not make out exactly what he held. “What is it?”

He held the object toward her. Taking the cool metal in her grasp, she slowly turned it over and nearly dropped it when she did. She stared at the miniature of herself, which she had given to him after he asked for her hand in marriage. Her throat tightened as happiness and sadness warred within her. She had no right to be happy that he was finding it so hard to forget her. She handed the miniature back to him and forced herself to speak. “Is this the woman who left you?”

He nodded. “Seven months ago today. More than half a year.” His eyes met hers, anger lightening the dark chocolate to a flaming shade of amber. “I’m not going to give her one more damn day.”

Abruptly leaving her, Drake stormed toward the back of the room where a lone table sat in the corner. Her body felt stiff, but she forced herself to follow. Her leaving was destroying the man she loved, but her staying would destroy him too. Her resolve to keep up the charade was weakening. She had to win the game and quickly. The longer she was with Drake, the more she was unsure how she was going to make herself leave him again. The first time had just about killed her.

Sin stood by the table, a drink in his hands, his gaze resting on her. She raised her hand to wave, then thought better of it. Did men wave to each other? She could not recall for sure. Instead, she tipped her head and then proceeded to ignore him. It seemed to her most men loved to appear the most important person in the room, worthy of receiving attention but not giving it.

When she reached the table, she immediately took her seat. “Shall we get on with it?”

“By all means.” Sin pulled out a chair and sat before shuffling the cards. Drake sat opposite her, a preoccupied gleam in his eyes. Sin tapped the cards once, his signal that he was ready.

She picked up her cards, glanced at them, and then met Sin’s gaze. He stood, stretched and no doubt took in Drake’s cards as they had planned. Sin flicked a finger up giving her a signal, but her mind refused to concentrate. She could not pull her thoughts away from Drake and his sorrow. His pain was her pain, his sadness hers.

She lost the first hand with amazing swiftness. Sin kicked her hard under the table, and she retaliated by swiftly kicking the beast back. His scowl deepened. “I need a drink,” he growled, quickly dealing the cards and standing.

Was he too angry with her to continue helping her cheat? She peeked up at him and caught him glancing down at the cards Drake held. Sin mouthed something at her, but she could not understand, nor could she risk any motion to tell him of her plight. Her ability to cheat was abysmal. Before she could even get comfortable in her chair, she lost the second hand. Sweat dripped down her back. They had agreed to three hands, but there was no need to continue. There was no way she could win. “You’ve won,” she croaked.

“We’ll play the third. I always play to the end.”

Lovely
. Her embarrassment could go on for one more hand. She nodded her agreement and took the drink Drake offered her as Sin dealt the cards. If she was to lose like a man, she would drink like a man. “Cheers.”

She lifted the glass, took a big gulp and almost spit the liquid all over the table. It took all her determination to keep her jaw firmly shut. She set the glass on the table and looked down to blink the tears of pain out of her eyes. When she looked back up, Sin shook his head, but Drake laughed, his pure, rich laugh that made the pain worth it for a moment until the burn seemed to claw its way to her belly.

“Here, Wentworth.” Drake shoved a glass of water at her. She took it and drank greedily of the cool liquid. Once the burning was relieved, she set the glass down and swiped a hand across her lips.

“I normally only drink ale,” she offered as explanation.

“That’s obvious.” Drake’s lips pressed into a thin line as he dealt the cards. Relieved that Drake and Sin seemed to believe her reason, she hunkered down to concentrate but lost the third hand in less time than it took her to put on her half boots before coming here tonight. “That one was not my fault. My throat’s still on fire.”

“You don’t drink liquor, you don’t smoke and you don’t seem to know what to do with women.” Drake cocked his eyebrows up. “Are you sure you’re a man?”

“Are you sure you are?” she challenged. “You don’t seem to be any better at handling women than I am.” Her heart slammed a fearful beat, until Drake grinned at her. Sin, on the other hand, gave her a long, speculative look before serving her a fierce scowl. Did her cousin suspect? He slapped his hand on Drake’s shoulder before standing up. “I’ll see you at the Sainted Order tomorrow night for your final induction.”

Relief flooded her, followed by white-hot anger. Sin hadn’t figured out her identity, but she hadn’t figured out how to stop Drake from ruining his life.

“Where are you off to?” Drake turned in his chair to look up at Sin.

“Pressing business. But I’ll be back in time for tomorrow night’s festivities. Goodbye, Mr. Wentworth. I suspect our paths may not cross again.”

His gaze raked over her, making her wonder again just what his devious mind was thinking. With effort, she forced what she hoped was a nonchalant smile to her face. “I suspect you’re right.” Whitney clutched her hands in her lap. What was she going to do? How was she going to proceed in finding Lillian? She would have to come up with something else, which would undoubtedly force her to stay here longer, possibly run into Drake over and over again, perhaps hear of his latest conquest. The thought made her ill. His future was at risk, all because she couldn’t bloody cheat properly.