Diane Gaston - Regency High Society Vol 7 - A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart

‘Ha!’ Sloane laughed. ‘The only sin she is guilty of is living in the house next to mine, but that is none of my concern. Oh, I could have her if I wanted, I am sure. Remember, I have enough wealth to get whatever I want.’ He turned back to his father. ‘What I most desire is to rub your nose in my success, dear Father. At every ton event, I will be there. When you stand in the House of Lords, I will be in the Commons. When you meet your cronies at White’s, I will be in the midst of them. You cannot ignore me, sir. I intend to be wherever you turn.’

The Earl’s face flushed with rage. The hand clutching the knob of his cane turned white and the man trembled all over.

‘Father?’ Rawley said worriedly.

David stood his ground bravely, still looking defiantly righteous.

Sloane took it all in and suddenly realised how little what his father did mattered to him.

At the gaming table, Sloane often threw in his cards when there was no other way to come out ahead. Now he mentally tossed in his cards. The wager he made with himself, to gain back respectability and throw it in his father’s face, no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but Morgana.

He dealt himself a new hand, one he would win at all costs. He would see Morgana safe—safe as his wife.

He turned his gaze on David, so young and valiant. David also wagered his future on a chance to win the woman he loved.

In a moment they both would win.

The Earl slowly eased his grip on his cane. His complexion returned to its normal sallow colour. A malevolent grin creased his wrinkled cheeks. He used his cane to point to Sloane.

‘You will not win this one, Cyprian. No respectable wife for you.’ He leaned on his stick again and turned to his grandson. ‘I will release your fortune, boy. I can do with it as I choose. Do you want your money?’

David inclined his head, as if reluctant to admit it.

The Earl grinned. ‘You may have it on one condition. Marry the Cowdlin chit and your fortune is yours.’

David levelled his grandfather a steely look. ‘No, sir. Another condition must prevail. Agree not to defame Miss Hart’s name, and I will do as you request.’

Well done, David. Sloane applauded inside.

The Earl gave a trifling wave of the hand. ‘As you wish. There is no need as long as Cyprian is cut out.’

Rawley finally caught up. ‘You’ll give David his fortune?’ He broke into a happy grin. ‘I cannot complain of that.’

Sloane could barely keep from laughing, but, instead, he pretended to protest. ‘See here, you cannot do this,’

His father bared his teeth. ‘I can and I will!’

Sloane swore at his father and made other protests and threats just to convince his father he’d been severely injured. For his exit, he picked up a decanter of brandy from one of the tables and sent it crashing into the cold fireplace, then he stalked out of the room.

When he reached the outside and was about to remount his horse, David caught up to him.

‘How can I thank you, Uncle?’ The young man extended his hand.

Fearing his father or brother might be watching from a window, Sloane did not accept the handshake. ‘It is I who must thank you, David. You prevented the dishonour of a lady I admire very much. I am proud to know you.’

‘And I you, sir,’ David said.

They stared at each other a long time before Sloane swung himself into the saddle and rode away.

Sloane felt as if he’d been navigating a ship in stormy seas. Rising high on the wave, only to plummet, only to rise again. He felt buoyant now, as if nothing could ever sink him again.

He planned to grab Morgana and drag her to some room with him—his bedchamber, preferably—and keep her there until he finally convinced her to marry him. Re-experiencing his father’s hatred gave an ironic contrast to his feelings towards Morgana. He loved her.

He returned his horse directly to the stables and crossed the mews into his garden, now a fairly respectable showcase of flowers and plants, thanks to Elliot and Lucy. But when he entered Morgana’s garden, flowerbeds were trampled and torn up. Her back door was wide open. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he edged his way to the door.

As stealthily as a cat, Sloane slipped into Morgana’s house. He heard a woman crying in the library. He hurried to the doorway and peered through the crack of the door.

Elliot sat on a chair, Morgana’s butler holding a cloth against his head. Blood stained his face.

Sloane nearly leapt into the room. ‘Good God. What happened?’

On the sofa, Morgana’s maid shrieked. Miss Moore held the weeping girl in her arms. Other servants were scattered around the room.

Cripps looked up. ‘We have been attacked, sir.’

Elliot waved the butler away and held the cloth against his own head. ‘Ruffians broke into the house and abducted the women. I—I tried to stop them, but there were too many—’ He took a ragged breath.

Sloane advanced on him. ‘Who was taken?’ No one answered him at first. ‘Who was taken?’he demanded, his voice rising.

Cripps responded. ‘Miss Hart, and Misses Jenkins, O’Keefe and Green.’

‘Lucy,’ her sister cried. ‘Lucy and Rose and Katy and Miss Hart.’

Morgana. ‘Who took them?’ Good God, he must find her. ‘Who was it?’

Elliot shook his head. ‘Some ruffians. No one I know.’

Sloane ran a ragged hand through his hair. He swung around to the footmen. ‘Where the devil were you when this happened? Are you not supposed to protect them?’

One of the footmen met his challenge. ‘We were doin’ the work of the house, sir. None of us were around the drawing room. I chased after them, but they were too far ahead. I saw the carriage, but I could not catch up to it.’

Sloane said, ‘Would you recognise the vehicle?’

‘The type at least, sir. It were a landaulet I saw, sir. Shabby it was. Might have been a second one as well. I cannot say.’

‘Would you recognise the one you saw?’ Sloane asked.

The footman nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed I would, sir.’

‘Excellent,’ Sloane said. ‘I need you to change out of your livery into clothes that will not get you noticed. We are going to search for that landaulet.’

‘Yes, sir!’ The man hurried out.

Putting his hands on his hips, Sloane looked at the others in the room. ‘Who else knows anything?’

Miss Moore released the maid. ‘I was in the room. Five men rushed in and just grabbed them. They were looking for four girls. “Four, she said”, I heard one of them say.’

‘She?’ Sloane repeated.

‘Yes, I am sure he said “she”.’ Miss Moore gave a vague shake of her head. ‘I wonder if it was Mary they wanted. Not Morgana.’

‘Where is Mary?’ Sloane looked around the room.

‘Mary eloped with Mr Duprey,’ Miss Moore explained, a hint of a smile flashing across her worried face.

With Duprey? Sloane thought. Bravo for her, but who would have guessed Robert Duprey capable of such a thing?

Sloane pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘It must be the glove maker.’

‘Oh, yes, new gloves. Very nice. Very nice indeed,’ said Morgana’s grandmother, rocking in her chair and smiling.

Sloane frowned. ‘We must plan carefully.’

It was a cellar room, a room to store Mrs Rice’s wine—cool, dark, and with walls so thick no one above them could hear a thing. It also had a door with a very big lock on the outside. They had been imprisoned there for hours.

Rose rubbed her arms against the chill. ‘Where are Lucy and Katy, do you suppose?’

Morgana paced the small area back and forth. ‘In the upper rooms, I imagine. I suspect Mrs Rice will be putting them to work tonight. If she put enough fear into both of them, that is.’