Chapter One
Lord Hamilton saton the side of the bed to pull on his boots.
“I will be unavailable for a few days,” the woman behind him said.
Anthony rose when he’d finished and glanced down at her. Lush full breasts, thick blonde curls, and a sated smile on her face. Sienna was a beauty, and he felt nothing when he looked at her. He used her, as she did him, and that was where their arrangement began and ended.
“I have a friend—”
“I need no one else.” Anthony placed some money on the table beside the door when he reached it and left without another word.
Outside, he walked, feeling the cold creep back into his body now he was no longer in the throes of passion. Needing something else to indulge in, he hailed a hackney.
Twenty minutes later, he walked into Hugh’s gambling establishment. Anthony felt the ebb and flow of fear and excitement around him as he studied the tables. The air held the scent of tobacco, alcohol, and desperation, and it was a fragrance more familiar to him than most. This should possibly bring with it shame, but as the emotion, like many, was a waste of his time, Anthony sat at a table and began to play.
The light was low, but enough to see which card he needed to lay next, but not bright enough to read the faces of some of those seated farther away.
Lifting his whiskey, he threw the entire contents down his throat, enjoying the burn. Anthony enjoyed anything that made the numbness inside him ease, no matter how briefly.
Across from him, Mr. Stephens shot him a wide-eyed look before quickly lowering his eyes. He inspired that reaction in most people.
“Beaton has just lost a vast amount. We’ll see his family pack up and leave London in no time,” the man to his right said, glee evident in his voice. “They will be living off his brother soon, you mark my words.”
He turned to face Mr. Joshua who had spoken. Anthony doubted much showed in his expression, but whatever was there made Joshua pale. It no longer surprised him how his fellow man could find joy in another’s demise. He was no different.
“Just making you aware, Hamilton,” Joshua muttered.
Normally he wouldn’t care if a fellow nobleman lost his entire fortune and ended up sleeping in the poorhouse, but Beaton was a Blackwood boy, and they were different.
No Blackwood boy will walk alone.
“Didn’t you have a large loss recently, Joshua, and your father had to pay off your debts?” Anthony asked.
“Just a run of bad luck,” the man muttered.
Anthony had heard those words far too many times to care.
He played a few more hands before the murmur of voices had him raising his head to take in his surroundings once more.
“That French bastard is winning again,” Mr. Dolton, also seated at Anthony’s table, hissed.
Anthony turned slightly to the left to see which “French bastard” was the subject of Dolton’s anger. Searching the tables, he stopped when his eyes landed on a young man with white hair.Unnaturally white, he thought.
“Why anyone who is not a lawyer, doctor, or old enough to remember when they were in fashion would wear a wig isbeyond me,” Joshua muttered. “The man looks like a fool.” Everyone but Anthony agreed.
“Who is the French bastard?” someone queried.
“Goes by the name of Mr. Renee,” Dolton said. “His play is cautious, but he wins most often and well, damn him.”
“Doesn’t talk unless necessary. Odd sort. Never takes a drink either,” Joshua added.
As Anthony was still watching the Frenchman he saw him raise a hand to push back a strand of the blond wig in a surprisingly elegant gesture. He had a thick dark beard that covered the lower half of his face, and eyeglasses, which made him appear scholarly.
“I’m convinced that as well as the wig, the beard is fake,” Dolton added. “I’ve wondered a time or two if he’s an excellent cheat, but as yet there’s been no whisper of it.”
The commotion coming from Beaton drew Anthony’s eyes away from the Frenchman. The man was staggering to his feet. He stared down at the table for long seconds and then stumbled from the room.
Looking at those seated around Beaton’s table he noted one man in particular. Cavendish. Catching Anthony’s eyes, his lips twisted into a smirk. He then nodded. Anthony showed nobody fear, especially not someone responsible for his past torment, so he raised his glass and gave him a mocking smile in return. Rage flashed across Cavendish’s eyes, and it was he who turned away first.
