Joss glanced at the viscount and shook his head. “He’s about even so far, but he’s downed two scotches in thirty minutes. He’ll start losing soon.”
Gideon nodded. “Have Pudge see him to his carriage before his losses get out of control. Anyone else we ought to be concerned about?”
They all needed to keep alert to pickpockets and card sharps who were attracted to this particular club because the moneyed set spent their evenings here.
“That beady-eyed bloke over in the corner. Pudge is watching him closely.”
“Good. And the ladies?” He knew which ones came from privilege and were regulars because they liked to gamble. He also knew who the courtesans were and allowed them entry with limitations. Ladies like Jasmine and Chloe were permitted to remain so long as they merely spoke to the gentlemen gambling here. After all, they were entitled to find benefactors for themselves.
But he was not running a cathouse, and any lady showing up to make a quick coin would be discreetly and immediately shownthe door. Not even his copper hells had rooms upstairs for such goings-on.
Lady Berry suddenly came to mind, her shimmering green eyes and tumble of strawberry-blonde curls making him yearn for something better.
But what could be better than what he had now? He had never known his mother. He did not need a wife.
Bah!
He had no idea why thoughts of Lady Berry kept popping into his head. She was no tart, of course. She was not even classically beautiful.
But gad, she was pretty. A little tightly wound and buttoned up, but soft as a kitten. Few women ever stole his breath away, but she was one of them.
He’d wanted to bed her the moment he set eyes on her.
He never would, of course.
She and her family had saved many girls from that sort of life, and he had every respect for her. Her kindness and compassion were admirable, and he would always honor her for it.
No, Lady Berry was not to be touched…much as he ached to do so.
The Musket Club was lively tonight, and Gideon now turned his attention toward making certain the patrons were well attended and not being taken by cheaters.
He retired shortly before dawn, knowing by all the activity that this just might have been their most profitable night ever. He and Bonham made a habit of giving their workers a little extra on a good night.
But he also gave thought to something else, something concerning St. Brigid’s. Why should he not start setting aside a little extra for the orphanage, too?
Perhaps he would take Lady Berry up on her offer to tour the place, since he hadn’t been back there in over a decade—in truth, almost two decades—and he was now curious.
Well, all to be taken under consideration. He was too tired to think clearly just now.
Gideon had never required more than four or five hours of sleep, so he was fully refreshed by the time he awoke on Saturday morning. The hour was just coming on nine o’clock. Still early for everyone else who had worked the club last night. But he had a pile of documents to get through before he set out for Duchess Square and Lady Berry’s charity event.
After ordering coffee and scones brought up to him, he spent the morning tabulating last night’s receipts. Once done, he rode with Joss to each of his other clubs to take account of their profits.
The invitation to Lady Berry’s afternoon tea was for two o’clock.
He returned to his private quarters at the Musket Club around noon, and ordered a light repast brought up because he suspected Lady Berry would serve her guests those minuscule, dainty buttered breads and tiny cakes that would leave him starving for a decent meal.
As of three months ago, he had acquired a valet. Somewhat of a valet, he supposed. Horace was another of those lads coming out of St. Brigid’s who had found his way to Gideon. Trying to figure out where to place him had not been easy, for the lad was not brawny enough to work at the door, nor was he particularly streetwise and able to spot a thief.
But it turned out he had the ability to spot true elegance by the cut of one’s clothes. Then and there, Gideon decided he needed a valet.
He washed up and then called Horace in to assist him in dressing. The lad bustled in with his garments freshly pressedand set them out on Gideon’s bed. “Gray for afternoon tea,” Horace said with confidence.
Gideon usually wore dark colors but did not question the lad’s advice.
“And this cravat will go perfectly with your jacket. See how it also picks up the gray steel of your eyes with its patterned swirls? And how that gray is softened with just those hints of rose.”
“Horace, I don’t give a rat’s arse. Leave my cravat alone already. Just tie it around my neck, stick a fancy pin in it, and let’s be done.”
