Flawless (37 page)

And he would do anything to protect her.

Knowing what awaited him at the Kimberley Club, he slipped from Viv’s arms. Adam not only helped him dress, but summarized the information contained within papers he had acquired from Neil Elden’s office.

“You did well.” At Adam’s scowl, he asked, “You think differently?”

“I got caught. You wouldn’t be facing this ridiculous situation if I had done my job properly.”

Miles eyed his reflection in a mirror on the door of the mahogany wardrobe. “Appears you’ve dressed me to perfection. Job done.”

“That not what I meant and you know it. My lord, I won’t ask Chloe to wait for me while I serve a jail sentence.”

“You won’t see a day in prison. How on earth would I function without you?”

Adam smoothed the lapels of his practical navy blue coat and regarded Miles with his usual calm cordiality. “Even as young lads it was always thus. You would bludgeon me into some fool scheme or another. We never failed to get caught. I would stare in wonder when you slid out of whatever punishment was our due.”

“Then why come here and risk your liberty on my behalf?”

“Because you’re impossible to refuse. And I find it amusing when people underestimate you.”

“You always were a peculiar chap,” Miles said with a chuckle.

Adam matched his grin. “And because you always intervened on my behalf. You saved me from more whippings than I have teeth.”

“As I will today. I swear it.” He clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder and offered quiet reassurance with his gaze. “But now your task is much more arduous. Keep Viv occupied. Take her down to the Auxiliary to work with Mrs. Penberthy. Anything. But I don’t want her anywhere near Neil Elden.”

Adam nodded tightly before turning to refold a jumbled pile of ascots he had deemed inappropriate for Miles’ss attire. That he was capable of business intrigue and various means of warfare, as well as selecting the correct neckwear for any occasion, should have earned him a medal for patience and loyalty. The percentage of their eventual bonus would have to do. He, too, was staking everything on Miles’ss abilities.

Squinting into the pale winter light creeping through his bedroom window, Miles silenced his misgivings. This was no time to show weakness. If ever he needed to keep his blank, hapless gambler persona on display, it was now. Last night he and Viv had ripped the scabs off their floundering marriage and had done their best to bandage the wounds. They could heal now.

None of that had a place at a card table.

He bid his loyal friend adieu and climbed into the carriage Jamie had readied. Miles remembered the few weeks spent in Southampton before sailing to Cape Town, when he had cobbled together funds enough to finance their initial business costs. But he had been ridiculously lucky. The cards simply hadn’t made sense. Opponents’ stern faces had appeared just that way: stern. Unreadable. No flicker of the doubt or anticipation or relief that normally sang to him. What if part of his youthful daring had been liquor? Or knowing that he cared nothing about the outcome of any hand?

This was different.

This would be the game that decided their future.

Losing, however, was a certainty if he let those doubts
infect his game. He would not lose. Viv said she loved him, but he knew that only a secure future would make her truly happy. He wanted to give that to his wife. The life she deserved.

With the cold May wind in his face, and distant sounds of pulley chains, voices, and exotic animals in his ears, he climbed the stairs up to the Kimberley Club. Morton Crane and his caterpillar whiskers barred his entrance.

“Your membership has been revoked, my lord, by order of the Board.”

“Assaulting a member of said Board likely has that effect. But I’m here to play cards. Mr. Elden and I made the arrangements yesterday—just after I punched him.” Miles withdrew a cigar case. His fingers didn’t shake. “Now inform him that our game is still on, if he’s willing. If not, he can have the pleasure of personally escorting me off the property. I’ll even resist, so as to make it more fun for us both.”

Without waiting for Crane’s reply, he strolled into the club. He sat at the same booth he had once shared with Elden. Stretching his legs, he nodded casual greetings to members who littered the darkened interior.

But he had a job to do.

How very like him that his job involved sitting in a luxurious men’s club and smoking his first cigar in months, but one could not argue with the nature of things.

“So, you came,” Elden said.

“Of course I did. You and I have unfinished business.”

He casually lifted his eyes and smiled in the face of his handiwork. A bulge in Elden’s lower lip was the size and color of a black cherry. His left eye drooped around a puffed
bruise. Both cheeks were canvases for a watercolor collection of blue, purple, and nauseating green. Miles’s only regret was that the abuse made Elden more difficult to read. He needed to see how truths and lies played out across his opponent’s newly renovated features.

No doubt Elden was sizing him up the same way. To hide his lone tell, Miles slipped his left hand into his trouser pocket. Thoughts of Viv could hide there, along with his wedding ring.

Elden slid onto the padded leather bench opposite and poured two glasses of cognac. A pair of hulking bodyguards lurked nearby, taking seats of their own at another table. “I’m glad to see you’re not the sort of aristocrat who would retreat from such a challenge.”

“While I can only hope you’re not the sort of underhanded slime who will stack the deck against me in your own club.”

Anger showed in a faint tightening along Elden’s top lip. “Too bad we’re only playing for money and the brokerage. I should’ve enjoyed adding that whore’s daughter to the stakes.”

“My wife isn’t chattel.” Miles bit his tongue and tasted blood—something he could do, apparently, while smiling.

“Perhaps not now. But it must have come as quite a shock.”

And there—that was what taunting looked like.

While Miles kept his voice calm, inside his pocket, he pushed his gold wedding band down to the bone. “Just because she never divulged it publicly doesn’t mean my family wasn’t in full possession of the facts.” He winked. “In
truth, it quite added to her appeal. She’s exceedingly accommodating to my needs. I wonder if the law will be as accommodating to you when your secrets come to light?”

“That won’t happen.”

Miles took a long drag on his cigar. He’d gone without for so long that a cough threatened. “So let’s cut straight to what we both want. One thousand pounds each to start and a one-hundred-pound limit. Should I bankrupt you, you sell all shares of Christie Brokerage and relinquish a quarter of your mine’s profits for the next eighteen months. No matter what happens, you drop all charges against my manservant and hand over whatever foul proof you’ve collected about my wife’s origins.”

“And when I bankrupt you?”

He shrugged nonchalantly as his sleek, airy persona returned in full. Good. He’d been afraid he misplaced the blasted thing. “My conditions still stand with regard to my manservant and my wife. That’s the cost of earning this chance to best a Peer of the Realm. Once we fulfill our contract and earn the right to buy Christie Brokerage, we’ll relinquish it to you.”

Elden sipped his cognac. “I can take it from you before then.”

“But without the promise of that million-dollar bonus. You win this game . . . we hand it over. That leaves you free to concentrate on some other mark.” He paused for emphasis. “You do have a million dollars to counter with, I assume.”

Miles already knew the truth. He simply needed to see how defeat looked.

Elden flicked his eyes toward his bodyguards. “Of course.”

Perfect.

For a long, long moment Elden simply stared. Let him look. There was nothing to see. Miles let his mind go to a very happy place, one involving Vivie and breakfast in bed. She hadn’t yet permitted such experimental liberties. But if a man didn’t have hope for the future, what did he have?

“Very well, Bancroft. Let’s play.”

Viv paced the width of
the Women’s Auxiliary, holding baby Samantha as Alice carried stacks of blankets. “Why didn’t he wait for me?” she asked again.

Adam looked up from where he assembled the last cot, with Chloe nearby, linens in hand. His expression remained just as apologetic. “Kimberley Club is for men. And I don’t believe he wished you subjected to Mr. Elden’s taunts. He was trying to protect you, my lady.”

“Protect me! Did he take his whip? Or a pistol? No. He didn’t think to protect himself.”

“Surely Mr. Elden wouldn’t stoop to such measures,” Alice said. “He helped make all of this possible.”

Viv looked around at the bustling warehouse. A dozen women of all nationalities, colors, and ages put the finishing touches on the Auxiliary, which would open to its first residents the following Sunday. Several local businessmen and ministers would be on hand to offer the two most important blessings in Kimberley: those of commerce and God. Probably in that order. She could not deny that Elden’s attempts to ingratiate himself with her, and thereby snuggling closer
to ownership of the brokerage, had provided the foundation for this grand project. But other contributors, including each woman who worked beneath Alice’s astute, patient eye, had also brought it to life.

“I am grateful for how generous Elden has been with his support. However, I cannot condone the methods by which he acquired his wealth.” Viv smoothed Samantha’s hair, which was as soft as the tummy fur of a kitten. “As for my husband, he still believes men behave by a certain code. But some don’t play by
any
rules, let alone the sort an aristocrat would be privy to.”

Her fingertips went numb.

Chloe looked up from where she tucked a sheet into place. “My lady? What is it?”

“Adam, where are the papers? The ones I hid in Smets’s desk?” This time Adam did not appear apologetic; he positively blanched. “I hope you hide your emotions more completely around men, Mr. Nolan, because you’re doing a dreadful job of hiding them from me.”

“I gave them to His Lordship. They’re locked in the upstairs desk in the brokerage.”

“Summarize, if you please.”

“Financial statements. His Lordship was only interested in what resources Elden could access during the poker game.”

“I want to see them.”

With her heart so fast and aching, Viv swiftly handed the baby back to her concerned mother. “Do you need Ike’s help?” Alice asked.

“I should hope not.” She swiftly hugged her friend. “Sunday we will open these doors, and both our husbands will be with us to offer their congratulations. Until then, we both have our work to do.”

“As usual,” Alice said with a wobbling smile. “Do be careful, my lady.”

“I will. Chloe, stay here. Adam, with me.”

They stepped out into the temper of a late-autumn gale, where loose dust kicked against her skirts. Hurrying, her breath came in gulps cut short by her corset. She ignored Smets’s surprised welcome and climbed up to the bookkeeping room. Adam, close behind her, produced a key that unlocked a small desk drawer.

Minutes of anxious searching through the stack of jumbled papers yielded nothing other than what Adam had claimed: financial statements. But Viv had no time to gloat. Fear kept her searching.

A sliver of newsprint slipped from between two sheets of paper. Her eyes leapt over words chilling enough to freeze blood. “Obituaries,” she whispered.

“Opsberger?

“And Malcolm, another former broker. One was found beaten to death in an alley, the other shot by an unknown assailant on the outskirts of town.”

Adam frowned. “Elden acquired both of their businesses. I remember their names.”

“Jesus,” Viv rasped. “
Miles.
”

Only when she had reached the outdoors once again, those papers tucked in her skirt pocket, did Adam catch
her arm. “I trust that you’ll stay out of harm’s way?” He grimaced, his fair features pink in the cold air. “He would hang me personally if you were injured.”

“I promise. I’ll find Mansfield. You . . . just keep him safe. Go now.”

He hesitated. Maybe he knew just how difficult it would be to keep from intervening. Adam was a far better means of protecting Miles. At least that’s what she forced her stuttering heart to admit as she watched her husband’s servant stride toward the Kimberley Club.

Not so different from his master after all.

She mustered one more burst of energy—born of love and desperation—and ran.

Miles heard the commotion long
before he saw Adam. His voice echoed through the entryway as he shouted at the guards. Never had the quiet, loyal man ever sounded so riled.

But Miles didn’t let his face slip. With the confidence of a prophet, he flipped two more fifty-pound chips into the pot that already held five hundred. This would be the last hand.

“Seems we have unexpected company.”

Elden’s expression was tight and brittle. “No one else is allowed in the club. Get him out.”

“You have your manservants. Why shouldn’t I be allowed mine?”

“Is he the wretch who stole from me?”

“Stole what?” Miles asked, his demeanor suitably vapid. At least the unexpected visitor wasn’t Viv. He signaled the dealer. “Two cards, please.”

“Let him in, then.” Elden wore a sour expression—no more than the twitch of his undamaged eyebrow. But Miles had learned the man’s face as thoroughly as a hard lesson.

“Much obliged. And I believe the bet was to you.”

Elden pushed the remainder of his chips toward the center of the table. “All in.”

This was the moment. Viv trusted him. Adam trusted him. The whole future of the brokerage depended on his skill. After giving his cards another cursory look, Miles let out a dejected sigh. “Could be worse, eh? Adam, my good man. How goes?”

Not ten feet from the card table, Adam aimed a pistol at Elden’s head. “Don’t move.”

“What is the meaning of this? Get him out of here!”