“And Lord Dalton can hardly hold his liquor,” Andrew noted.
“Hardly,” Annette agreed. “But all else is well.”
“You’re a good partner, Annette,” Andrew said. “Anything you need from me before I head to my office for the evening?”
Annette shook her head. “All’s well.”
Andrew made his way deeper into the club, moving by one of the tables in the back where several men were slouching and looking at their cards. One was asleep on the table, drool rolling out of the corner of his mouth and down onto the felt.
“Foxdrey!” Lord Dalton rose from the far corner, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He tossed back the rest of it, throwing the glass to the side, grinning when it shattered against the wall, shards of glass embedding into the curtain.
“Dalton.” Andrew kept his distance from the man, watching him as he swayed on his feet. “I think it might be time for you to head home for the night.”
“That would make you happy, wouldn’t it?” Dalton shook his head, spitting on the floor. “Look at you.”
“What of me, Dalton?” Andrew held up a hand as two men working for him started to approach Dalton, prepared to drag him out of Mayfair Fox.
Dalton took two staggering steps forward, careening into the sleeping man’s chair. The sleeping man jerked awake, shoving Dalton away from him.
“You’re a duke. You should have more respect for yourself than to run a gambling house. And yet you do it in the open. You take pride in it. You’ve made a laughingstock of your house.”
Andrew shrugged, holding his place as Dalton advanced toward him again. “I simply allow gentlemen a place to be honest about their vices. You should know that well. Can you say the same for your own house?”
Dalton glowered at him, meaty hands clenching, round stomach protruding as he lunged, falling short nearly a foot and teetering to the side. He had to throw his arms out to catch himself before he fell.
Other men around them laughed at Dalton’s stumbling, which only seemed to fuel his anger.
Dalton’s fist swung for one of the men at the tables, missing. With the momentum, Dalton spun slightly, facing the back of the room. He turned. His face was stained a deep crimson. Taking several steps forward, Dalton stopped, leaving enough room to accommodate his ample stomach. He poked a pudgy finger in Andrew’s direction.
“You are irredeemable.” Dalton’s voice shook, spewing venom with every syllable. “No father in his right mind would ever give you his daughter. “
“Well then I should feel grateful for your daughter and the father she has to protect her.” Andrew looked down at the finger in disgust, noting the dirt beneath the nails, wondering how long it would be until Dalton lost the last of his money and had to do more than just his own gardening. “However, there are fathers out there who are more than willing to hand their daughters over.”
Like Lord Leyton.
Anger bubbled in Andrew’s veins at the thought of that filthy man who was Isobel’s father. Isobel would make the right decision; he was certain of it.
And if she didn’t, well, he wasn’t above speaking to her again and asking her to save her own life.
Dalton paused, lips pressing into a thin line. He crossed his arms tight, resting them on the top of his stomach as he whipped around, grabbing one of Andrew’s associates by the arm and pulling her close.
Andrew put his hand on Dalton’s shoulder. “You will unhand Lady Halford at once, or I will ensure that this is the last time you will ever set foot in a gambling house.”
Dalton chuckled, releasing Lady Halford. “Like father, like son.”
Bristling, Andrew shoved the other man away from him, nodding to the workers hovering at the fringes of the argument. “Get him out of here.”
The men grabbed Dalton by each arm, hauling him backward. Dalton tried to fight them off, arms flailing. His eyes narrowed to daggers.
Andrew turned to Lady Halford. “Go to the back and stay with the chef until he’s gone.”
She nodded and took off to the far end of the room, pushing the curtains out of the way and disappearing through a swinging door. The curtain fell back into place and Lady Halford was safe from whatever Dalton would attempt.
“Unhand me!” Dalton shouted, getting one arm free and trying to rip the other one loose. “You can’t do this.”
Andrew’s fists flexed, and for a moment he considered handling the problem himself. However, he made it a habit not to fight his patrons, even when they needed a swift hit to teach them how they should behave around a woman.
Dalton struggled as the men hauled him backward. “I’ll make sure this place is shut down!”
