Twenty minutes later, Reed entered the discreetly placed club for the second time in two days. This time, however, he was not intimidated by these men. He’d enjoy some of the spoils of his title, a title that might very well end up meaningless.
A woman approached, and although Reed acknowledged her with a nod, he refused her company.
And as he approached the bar, a hand landed on his shoulder and a familiar voice said, “You’re here.”
“Do you live here?” Reed countered.
West shrugged. “I’ve always been a man of excellent tastes.” He signaled to a waiter. “Whisky neat?”
It had always been Reed’s drink of choice—once he’d graduated from ale and gin, that was. He nodded.
A table opened up and the two of them took a couple of empty chairs at a game of vingt-et-un. Reed tossed out a coin but West pushed it back and handed him a gold chip. “It’s all done on accounts. The dealers know who you are.”
Of course.
Reed would have preferred to wager cold, hard coin. Mere numbers took the sting out of a loss until it came time to settle up.
No wonder so many lords were up to their necks in debt.
For one night, he would play by their rules. In his present frame of mind, however, he’d have to be careful to keep his wits about him.
Reed won the first two hands and then lost the next three. By this time, he and his old friend had downed three drams of what was surely a very expensive Scottish whisky.
“Any luck with Crossings’ younger daughter?” West brought the subject up uninvited.
Reed grunted. “She’ll give me her answer tomorrow.”
“Judging by your sour mood, am I to take it that you’re feeling pessimistic?”
“You know me, West.” Reed gestured for the dealer to give him another card—which put him over. “Pessimistic to a fault.” He didn’t want to discuss his pending nuptials… or not pending, as the case may be.
Reed had no wish to discuss his own troubles.
“Now, about your new friends,” said Reed, perhaps somewhat clumsily changing the subject. “Winterhope, I understand. You’ve always been mad for horses. But what the devil are you doing associating with the likes of...” Reed lowered his voice. “Helton? Beckwith? And… Malum?”
West grimaced. The two of them had been close at school, but they’d rarely met up since Reed took on managing his family’s estates. West had been a lord, and the two positions didn’t facilitate the two meeting up socially.
But now, Reed supposed, they were on equal footing.
“It’s Malum’s doing, really.” West slid his gaze around the room. “I can only say that the four of us have a common objective. Our positions and skills complement the others’. You’d be surprised at what kind of results can be achieved with our collaborative efforts.”
Reed knew any endeavor West was involved in would be on the up and up. The other three, however…
“Helton controls the message. Malum controls the money and Beckwith controls the muscle.”
“What of you and Winterhope?” Reed asked.
West shifted him an enigmatic glance. “We are the eyes and the ears. But I’ve already told you too much. Just take note. You’re going to marry a young woman under the age of one and twenty, without the approval of her father. How do you think that’s going to take place?”
Reed was beginning to understand. And truth be told, he wasn’t sure he approved.
“If all goes well,” his friend went on, staring at him over the rim of his tumbler, “We’ll discuss more details later. You’re not without skills yourself, and I think you’ll want a part in it.”
“An investment?” Reed prodded.
But West merely smiled. “Later, my friend. Once you’re a happily settled, happily married lord. After hiring a new estate manager to run your properties, you’ll need a diversion.”
“Right.” Reed had a difficult time imagining such a scenario. The waiter appeared and handed them both another drink. As far as the cards, Reed was up.
