“I was of the same opinion.” DuMond swirled the contents of his snifter. “Likely Diggory wants the world to believe he’s still dead.”
“That’d make it easier for him.” A cool smile touched Argyll’s lips. “No doubt Dynevor’s thinking.” What fools Diggory and his spawn took them for. The Earl of Dynevor, and future marquess, had been abducted as a boy. Mac Diggory had raised the lad to be his son and head owner of rival gaming hell, The Devil’s Den.
Argyll, DuMond, and Cadogan were gentlemen born, but that was where the difference between them and Diggory started and ended. They dealt in the same manner of debauchery and vice,and they didn’t hesitate to end anyone who stood between them and supremacy over the gaming world.
Argyll redirected his focus from the window and looked at his partners. “I’ve been studying the books—”
“Numbers are up,” DuMond said.
“I’m aware.” Crossing to the same rose-inlaid mahogany sideboard DuMond helped himself to earlier, he contemplated his choices and poured himself a brandy. “Sin brings them in.” The greater the peril, the bigger the crowd. He held the bottle towards Cadogan.
His brother-in-law waved away the offer—as he always did. As he should and would, as long as employed as head of security. The gentleman didn’t allow himself any lapses.
And Argyll wouldn’t tolerate any.
“Diggory and Dynevor lit a fire under our sales.” There was no doubting the two worked in tandem. “Perhaps we should employ such thrills for our clients.” Argyll took a swallow of brandy, welcoming the smoky burn.
He saw the glance his partners exchanged. DuMond’s and Cadogan’s wives were frequent visitors. Particularly now, with Diggory back, and the gentlemen wanting their spouses within reach at all times.
A dark glint shone in Cadogan’s eyes. “If you even think about it—”
“I’ll kill you,” DuMond finished the vow. He’d do it too. As would Cadogan.
The two men had gone and—Argyll repressed a shudder—fallen in love. Poor, pathetic bastards.
Argyll sighed. “Do you truly believe I’d endanger your families?”
The looks they exchanged said they didn’t doubt anything where Argyll was concerned. Smart chaps.
Argyll pressed his spare palm to his chest. “Gentlemen, you wound me.”
“Enough with the Drury Lane performance,” DuMond said.
Cadogan’s dark gaze locked with Argyll’s. “They areyourfamily too,” he said. Closing his notes, he leaned forward in his chair. “Lest you forget, I married your sister, and I’m now watching after your youngest one. For you.”
Argyll finished the rest of his drink. “I know better than to play with fire as a pleasure or pastime. I’m not Dynevor.” Once London’s worst arsonist under Diggory, the young earl’s reputation preceded him.
When their meeting neared its conclusion, DuMond checked his fob. “Are we done here?”
“Am I keeping you from something?” Argyll asked testily.
“My wife.”
How contemptible. This time, he didn’t bother hiding his disdain.
“Just as you’re keeping me from mine,” Cadogan added.
Another gentleman would take umbrage at being reminded Cadogan was eager to get back to his wife’s—and Argyll’s sister’s—bed.
But then real gentlemen wouldn’t have put Raina in close quarters with Cadogan to get them into bed, and into a forced marriage to strengthen his business, as Argyll had.
Speaking of which… “There is another matter I want to discuss.”
All business, Cadogan already snapped his notebook open.
Argyll carried his glass over to the sideboard and refilled his drink. “Miss Daria Kearsley.”
At his partners’ answering silence, he glanced back.
