“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And that she is not holed up in her chambers all day.”
“Yes, Your—”
“And suggest,implicitly, that she takes frequent walks in the garden to stretch her legs. She does not like being told what to do.”
“Yes—”
“And she has full access to my personal library. Oh, and she has full reign over the breakfast and dinner menus,” Gideon paused, musing for a moment, “perhaps the lack of choice is why she has avoided eating lately,” he muttered under his breath.
“Yes.”
“And there should be—"
“Pardon my interruption, Your Grace, but do not worry your mind. Her Grace will be well-accommodated in your absence.”
“Ah.” Gideon nodded sheepishly. “Right. Well, if she requires anything that cannot be immediately provided, you should write to me as soon as you can.”
Gideon thought he might have detected a tinge of surprise in Thomas’ features, but he was out the door a second later before he could be questioned. Outside, one of his unmarked carriages stood there waiting for him, shrouded slightly in the fog that had settled over the grounds. The night was perfectly cold but Gideon’s veins burned with anticipation.
The hours-long journey to St. James’ Street passed in a blur as Gideon mentally rehearsed his course of action and attempted to banish thoughts of the woman he had left behind in his absence. Amelia should have been the furthest thing from his mind when he was this close to getting his revenge, yet every time he imagined sitting down with the Earl of Appleby behind the sheath of his mask, he saw his wife instead. He heard her disapproving tone and her pestering questions.
He saw her eyes roll to the back of her head and a desperate gasp escape her lips. Her face contort in a state of ecstasy, and her nails dig into his shoulder blades.
Get yourself together man!
Gideon shifted uncomfortably as the carriage finally pulled to the front of the infamous Serpent’s Den. Drawing in a deep breath, he retrieved his mask and fastened it behind his dark hair. Like a soothing salve, it chased away Amelia’s lingering memory and helped him to remember why he was doing this in the first place.
With renewed confidence, Gideon alighted the carriage and made his way through the grand doors of the gaming hell. The moment he stepped past the threshold, a hush fell over the patrons. The infamous Masked Rogue had arrived. But for the first time in a long time, Gideon felt ill at ease.
The part gambling establishment-part gentlemen’s club, owned by Sir Clarkeson, was once renowned for its game cuisine and exotic reptile menagerie. However, a forty-foot ceilinged grand lobby adorned with a number of gaming tables, each reserved by a ‘Serpent’ and positioned strategically to allow its spectacles to be viewed by all those around, had become its primary draw over the years. The Serpents were the elite of the elite, those prestigious enough to carry the highest titles to their names, while being skilled enough to hold their own against any of England’s finest players.
Gideon despised them. There was a time when these men epitomized honor, integrity, and fierce courage—men who would stake their lives on the table andearnthe prestigious rank of a Serpent. In more recent times, however, they were nothing more than charlatans, resorting to deceit and trickeryto maintain their ranks, all while exploiting those naïve enough to trust their goodwill. Gideon, as the Masked Rogue, had spent nearly a decade becoming a Serpent and had cut the throats of those who had ruthlessly taken his father for everything. Now, there was only one relevant Serpent remaining.
The architect of his father’s downfall, and the manipulative force that had driven his father to gamble away their family's legacy. And, in turn, his younger brother’s life.
Appleby.
Gideon’s unyielding gaze swept over the patrons as he stepped past the threshold of the lobby in the main hall. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the heady aroma of brandy, mingling with the heavy perfume of courtesans. Laughter and the clink of coin punctuated the rumbles of conversations, as fortunes were made and lost with the flick of a card.
Navigating through the clusters of dandies and fops, their silk and brocade catching the light from the crystal chandeliers above, Gideon proceeded with confident and unhurried steps toward his customary central table. It was not long before gazes began turning his way, gawking at him with a blend of fear and fascination. He ignored them, as per usual.
When he approached his reserved table, a plush chair was promptly provided for him. Gideon didn’t look to see who brought it forward, but then he heard Sir Clarkeson’s familiar gruff. “You are early, sir. It’s been a while. Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again after the last incident—”
Gideon cut him off with a subtle nod. He made a point never to speak too often while he wore the mask, needing to protect every aspect of his identity the best he could. Though he doubted any of the inebriated nobles around him would remember the tone of his voice come morning anyway.
Sir Clarkeson pulled over a passing waiter, whispered something in his ear, and then sent him on his way. It was not long before Gideon heard a bellowing rain down from a balcony up above, lionizing Gideon like some kind of spectacle. “Who has the courage to take on the Masked Rogue?!” the voice came. Clearly, Clarkeson was thrilled to see the Masked Rogue return. Gideon’s presence was profitable for him after all; the Masked Rogue had a history of bringing in substantial earnings.
He reclined in his chair. At this point, there was nothing he needed to do but let the first few bold challengers step forward.
All eyes quickly fell his way. Dozens of men in finely tailored coats huddled around to get the best views. Several others abandoned their games, drawn by the spectacle that was to unfold. But, much to his chagrin, not a single challenger stepped forward. Gideon idly reached for the pack of cards in the center of the table, shuffling them with deft fingers as Sir Clarkeson tried to encourage the spectators to sign up for the pummelling.
All the while, Gideon skimmed the crowded hall, all for one specific person. The ostentatious splendor of this place, with its gold leaf accents and red velvet draperies, had not changed one bit.
Beginning with the obvious spot, the table Appleby would likely occupy when he was a Serpent, Gideon scanned among the faces.
Bizarrely, he instantly spotted him.
