His shadowy nook was the great equalizer. Inside the Cloven Hoof, the men with power were not just dukes and viscounts, but rather to whomever Max had granted entrée. Worth depended on the turn of a card, not the title of one’s ancestors.
Anyone who did not abide by Max’s rules would be shown the door and told never to return.
Outside those walls, however…
No. He would not think about things he could not control. All that mattered was securing the Cloven Hoof’s future. Once he possessed the deed, it would have roots. It would belong. And so would he.
And then he could find a way to help Frances.
He gazed over her shoulder at the narrow line of books above her mantel. His sister might refuse charity out of hand, but Frances had never in her life refused a book.
“Read that boring tome about botany yet?” he asked.
Her eyes lit up. “Twice. You seem moreatropa belladonna thanconium maculatumto me.”
“You do have a way with words.”
As talented as Frances was with needle and thread, her quick and clever mind was her true gift. She would make an excellent governess… if only she had been born into a high enough class to qualify.
She had no references. She’d never even had a governess of her own. No one but Max knew how smart she was, how valuable, how wasted her untapped potential.
He gazed over at his sister. Women like Frances never got the credit they deserve. The opportunities they deserved.
But neither of them would ever stop fighting.
Her eyes brightened. “When your club becomes self-sufficient, are you finally going to settle down and take a wife?”
“If I find the right woman,” he replied noncommittally.
Frances laughed. “How will you meet any women at all if you never leave your gaming hell?”
Bryony’s image flashed into his mind. He pushed it away, as he had every time since yesterday.
She was exactly the wrong sort of woman. Direct. Challenging. Invigorating. Big brown eyes and lips that begged to be kissed. A woman like that would—
“Who are you thinking of?” Frances demanded. “Right now. I can see it in your face.”
“No one,” Max said quickly.
Trespassing and eavesdropping were unforgivable offenses. No matter how intriguing and comely the woman.
Max rose to his feet before his sister could ask any more impertinent questions.
“Almost dusk,” he said and reached for his hat. “I’ve a gaming hell to attend to. I shall leave you to your sewing. Try to get some rest.”
As she returned her handiwork to her lap, Frances’s shrewd gaze did not waver.
“Whatever you’re running from,” she intoned as if it were a curse, “I hope she finds you.”
Chapter 4
Another day, another soirée. Another six hours before Bryony could escape the monotony and go back out in search of adventure.
Her mother’s elbow jabbed into her ribs. “There’s the Duke of Courteland. Go speak with him.”
“We haven’t been introduced,” Bryony hissed back.
“Then find someone who can make the introductions.” Mother rapped Bryony on the shoulder with her painted fan. “Hurry, before someone else nabs him.”
