Sam checked his watch. “Late? To such an important meeting? We may as well sit and have a drink.”
“I’d rather pace out here.”
“Be calm, Blakewood. It’s not like he’ll pull out a pistol. He’s a coward.”
Blakewood wiped at the back of his neck.
“Nervous?”
“I don’t like spectacles, not like you and Amelia do.”
“I can do this on my own, you know.”
Blakewood huffed in aggravation as Sam moved past him. He pushed through the door, the scents of cigars and spirits assaulting his nose in a familiar but not so pleasant aroma that he remembered it to be. Sam took a seat at a table, glances turning his way and followed by frantic whispering.
“Alston? Back from the dead, are you?”
Sam smiled. “Daniel. The devil wouldn’t keep me.”
Sir Daniel approached Sam’s table. “May I sit?”
“I’m waiting for someone.”
Sir Daniel raised a brow, his sooty black hair slicked back and his eyes sparkling with mischief. “What happened to you?”
“I fell off my horse and broke a rib.”
“Your cousin has been using your title, you know.”
“I know.” Sam sipped his drink. “That’s why I’m here to correct him.”
Sir Daniel stroked his chin. “Fisticuffs? Should I make a bet before he arrives?”
Sam frowned. “You don’t think I could beat him?”
“He might stand a chance if your rib is still poorly. Action has been sadly lacking since you’ve been absent at the Den, you know.”
“So, you missed me? Didn’t my sister trounce you soundly in my place?”
Sir Daniel tugged at his cravat. “Yes. Had you been present I’d have asked for her hand immediately. She was... enchanting. But alas, I heard she married that dusty old tree, Blakewood.”
Sam grinned as he watched Blakewood approach from behind Sir Daniel. “Amelia likes to be challenged. I’m afraid you weren’t stimulating enough to hold her attention. Your heart will recover.”
Sir Daniel straightened. “Blakewood, good afternoon.”
“Sir Daniel,” Blakewood muttered.
Sir Daniel nodded and departed under Blakewood’s glare.
The porter could be heard saying, “Good afternoon, Lord Alston. Right this way.”
Sam sat up, thrill and delight shooting through him.
The porter approached, revealing a slight frown before fixing his expression. Nelson preened as he passed through the room,taking in the attention his appearance as Lord Alston had garnered from the other patrons. The club went silent as they approached, and Sam’s grin only widened.
It was moments like this, usually at the card table, right before he was about to trounce an overconfident player, that Sam relished. The kill. His prey was in his sights at last.
“Mr. Potter, sir.” The footman stepped back and cleared his throat.
