Lord Birchwood’s mere presence made Sebastian’s blood boil.
Once again, he sincerely regretted how far things had progressed between himself and Lady Phoebe in the garden. If Birchwood would have caught them out there, standing next to the lilac bushes, kissing each other like there was no tomorrow, there would have been hell to pay.
Birchwood would have been well within his rights to demand satisfaction and, as a result, Sebastian would have found himself engaged in a duel. Even though dueling had officially been outlawed in England, the practice was still common enough in some parts of the country, and Sebastian did not think the Marquess would hesitate to challenge him.
Maybe a duel would have been the best thing for everyone. I could have destroyed Birchwood immediately and set Lady Phoebe free.
Even though that thought was just this side of pleasing, Sebastian knew better than to court trouble. The Crown needed him. The network of spies he represented counted on him.
If he killed Lord Birchwood in a duel, he would be banished from polite Society, and that would be the best-case scenario. In the worst, he would never see Lady Phoebe again.
And that was a fate he could not endure.
When Lord Birchwood entered the side door of an underground gaming hell, mostly frequented by penniless barons and nefarious viscounts who were not permitted to gamble in the more prestigious establishments and therefore did not mind mingling with the common folk, Sebastian stalled.
For Lord Birchwood, a Marquess, of all ranks, to enter there surprised him.
Quickly, he dropped his overcoat to the ground in an alley next to the gaming hell, slipping anything of worth from his fingers and clothing and tucking it into his breast pocket.
Whether the fur-lined overcoat would be there when he returned, he did not care. He just needed to be inconspicuous, and Sebastian was long used to sacrificing things for last-minute discretion.
After discarding his wealthier attire, Sebastian adjusted the wig which sat atop his head. It was made of real human hair andpowdered liberally. The white locks reminded him vaguely of hairpieces the previous Dukes of Talwyn used to wear but had gone out of style years ago.
While he knew that some people might cast a skeptical stare in his direction, he figured that if Lord Birchwood’s appearance did not turn heads, he could go unnoticed, too.
Sebastian glanced down at his clothing next. Since he donned the wig, he knew his disguise would be incomplete if he wore his normal garments. So, instead of wearing a nice, crisp black suit with a neatly tied cravat and a pair of wellingtons riding right up to his knees, Sebastian had opted to pull on a pair of white stockings, some flouncy knickers, and a lavender coat that swished and swayed when he moved even a step.
If Vincent and Percy could see me now, they would laugh themselves silly.
Sebastian lowered his chin to his chest and practiced dipping his voice in a way that was unlike his normal tone. He did not like the sound he produced. It sounded harsh and the words that rolled off his tongue grated on his ears. But when he thought of why he was wearing this ridiculous disguise and adopting this new personality and voice for the night, he shrugged off all sense of discomfort.
Sebastian strode around the side of the building, then nodded at the guards by the door before entering the Rolled Dice gaming hell. He blew out a sigh at the name, simple places always chose simple names.
He walked in and immediately set eyes on the Marquess that was his night’s target. In no time at all, Sebastian slipped through the crowd to take the last seat that was available at the table where Birchwood sat.
Sebastian’s movements were smooth and calculated, exactly the way he had been trained to behave, even in a setting like this one, where anything could happen.
He flashed a smarmy smile at his fellow gamers, one that belonged in places like this, as opposed to the sort that belonged in a ballroom.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, clearing his throat, “shall we get this game started?”
He tugged out a coin purse he had prepared from his trouser pocket, dropping it into the center of the table. The coins within made a loud thumping noise. The jingle was enough to make eyes widen around him, but this show of bravado was balanced by his costume.
A man who dressed in ancient clothes might have a little coin in his purse, but he wasn’t refined enough to fit in at any other establishment than the Rolled Dice. Around him, five other men, including Lord Birchwood, all eyed the pouch greedily.
“Definitely,” one man said. “And your name, sir?”
Sebastian knew titles drew more attention here, even if he posed as a baron, so he thought on his feet.
“I am Mr. Matthew Dartmouth.” He let his mouth draw down in shame. “This is the last of my investments from my boxing club that went under due to… well, I won’t give you the details, but it wasn’t pleasant.”
The more he spoke, the more he disliked the sound of his gravelly voice, but Sebastian was good at playing parts, and this was doing what was required.
This is not just about Lady Phoebe,he reminded himself.It is about serving the Crown. Do your job and do it well.
“We understand, Mr. Dartmouth,” the same man answered. “I am Gerard Poulter. I am in a similar situation, but this is the last of my eighth daughter’s dowry.” He poked a small velvet pouch with his stubby index finger. “These are the last coins in my coffers, and I must… I must win more than I have brought tonight.”
Sebastian noted how forced Poulter’s pronunciation was, a telltale sign that he had not been raised noble but wanted to fit in. He fought back a curling smile at how they were complete opposites, yet the same, both trying to blend into a place they didn’t belong.
