A Rogue by Any Other Name Page 2

Page 2

 

  Bourne understood.

  Justin approached Croix and spoke discreetly into the ruined man’s ear. The peer shot to his unsteady feet, outrage furrowing his brow as anger and embarrassment propelled him toward the manager.

  A mistake.

  Bourne could not hear what was said. He did not need to. He’d heard it hundreds of times before—watched as a long list of men had lost first their money, then their temper with The Angel. With him.

  He watched Justin step forward, hands raised in the universal sign of caution. Watched as the manager’s lips moved, attempting—and failing—to settle and calm. Watched as other players took note of the commotion and as Temple, Bourne’s massive partner, headed into the fray, eager for a fight.

  Bourne moved then, reaching toward the wall and pulling a switch, activating a complex combination of pulleys and levers, triggering a small bell beneath the piquet table and drawing the attention of the dealer.

  Notifying him that Temple would not have his fight that evening.

  Bourne would have it instead.

  The dealer stayed Temple’s impossible strength with a word and a nod toward the wall where Bourne and Lucifer watched, each willing to face whatever came next.

  Temple’s black gaze fell on the glass, and he nodded once before leading Croix through the throngs of people below.

  Bourne descended from the owners’ suite to meet them in a small antechamber set apart from the main floor of the club. Croix was cursing like a dockside sailor when Bourne opened the door and stepped inside. He rounded on Bourne, gaze narrowed with hatred.

  “You bastard. You can’t do this to me. Can’t take what is mine. ”

  Bourne leaned back against the thick oak door, crossing his arms. “You dug your grave, Croix. Go home. Be thankful I don’t take more than my due. ”

  Croix lunged across the small room before he had a chance to reconsider, and Bourne moved with an agility that few ever expected, clasping one of the earl’s arms and twisting until his face was pressed firmly against the door. Bourne shook the lean man once, twice before saying, “Think very carefully about your next action. I find I am not feeling so magnanimous as I was mere moments ago. ”

  “I want to see Chase. ” The words were slurred against the oak.

  “Instead, you’ll see us. ”

  “I’ve been a member of The Angel since the beginning. You owe me. He owes me. ”

  “On the contrary, it is you who owes us. ”

  “I’ve given enough money to this place . . . ”

  “How generous of you. Shall we call for the book and see how much you still owe?” Croix went still. “Ah. I see you are beginning to understand. The land is ours now. You send your solicitor round in the morning with the deed, or I come looking for you myself. Is that clear?” Bourne did not wait for an answer, instead stepping back and releasing the earl. “Get out. ”

  Croix turned to face them, panic in his gaze. “Keep the land, Bourne. But not the membership . . . don’t take the membership. I’m a half a tick away from marrying. Her dowry will cover all my losses and more. Don’t take the membership. ”

  Bourne hated the keening plea, the undercurrent of anxiety in the words. He knew that Croix couldn’t resist the urge to wager. The temptation to win.

  If Bourne had an ounce of compassion in him, he’d feel sorry for the unsuspecting girl.

  But compassion was not a trait Bourne claimed.

  Croix turned wide eyes on Temple. “Temple. Please. ”

  One of Temple’s black brows rose as he crossed his massive arms across his wide chest. “With such a generous dowry, I’m sure one of the lower hells will welcome you. ”

  Of course they would. The lower hells—filled with murderers and cheats—would welcome this insect of a man and his terrible luck with open arms.

  “Bollocks the lower hells,” Croix spat. “What will people think? What will it take? I’ll pay double . . . triple. She’s plenty of money. ”

  Bourne was nothing if not a businessman. “You marry the girl and pay your debts, with interest, and we shall reinstate your membership. ”

  “What do I do until then?” The sound of the earl’s whine was unpleasant.

  “You might try temperance,” Temple offered, casually.

  Relief made Croix stupid. “You’re one to talk. Everyone knows what you did. ”

  Temple stilled, his voice filled with menace. “And what was that?”

  Terror removed the minimal intelligence from the earl’s instincts, and he threw a punch at Temple, who caught the blow in one enormous fist and pulled the smaller man toward him with wicked intent.

  “What was that?” he repeated.

  The earl began to mewl like a babe. “N-nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t kill me. I’ll leave. Now. I swear. Please . . . d-don’t hurt me. ”

  Temple sighed. “You’re not worth my energy. ” He released the earl.

  “Get out,” Bourne said, “before I decide that you are worth mine. ”

  The earl fled the room.

  Bourne watched him go before adjusting the line of his waistcoat and straightening his frock coat. “I thought he might soil himself when you took hold of him. ”

  “He would not be the first. ” Temple sat in a low chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing one booted ankle over the other. “I wondered how long it would take you. ”

  Bourne brushed a hand across the half-inch linen cuff that peeked out from underneath his coat, making certain the swath of white fabric was even before returning his attention to Temple and pretending not to understand the question. “To do what?”

  “To restore your clothing to perfection. ” One side of Temple’s mouth curled in a mocking smile. “You’re like a woman. ”

  Bourne leveled the enormous man with a look. “A woman with an extraordinary right hook. ”

  The smile became a grin, the expression showing off Temple’s nose, broken and healed in three places. “You aren’t honestly suggesting that you could beat me in battle, are you?”

  Bourne was assessing the condition of his cravat in a nearby mirror. “I’m suggesting precisely that. ”

  “May I invite you into the ring?”

  “Anytime. ”

  “No one is getting into the ring. Certainly not with Temple. ” Bourne and Temple turned toward the words, spoken from a hidden door at the far end of the room, where Chase, the third partner in The Fallen Angel, watched them.

  Temple laughed at the words and turned to face Bourne. “You see? Chase knows enough to admit that you’re no match for me. ”

  Chase poured a glass of scotch from a decanter on a nearby sideboard. “It has nothing to do with Bourne. You’re built like a stone fortress. No one is a match for you. ” The words turned wry. “No one but me, that is. ”

  Temple leaned back in his chair. “Anytime you’d like to meet me in the ring, Chase, I shall clear my schedule. ”

  Chase turned to Bourne. “You’ve paupered Croix. ”

  He stalked the perimeter of the room. “Like sweets from a babe. ”

  “Five years in business, and I remain surprised by these men and their weakness. ”