John’s eyebrows rose, and a muscle ticked along his jaw. He took off his spectacles and wiped them with the handkerchief he kept in his waistcoat pocket. “Five thousand pounds? And you’re determined not to go to Edward for help with this? William is his brother. He has a right to know.”
“Edward is why William was on a battlefield to begin with. He has the right to nothing where his brother is concerned. I won’t betray Will in that manner. This is my only alternative.”
John ran his hand through his hair again, leaving the strands sticking up at odd angles. “I can’t do it, Charlotte. This place you’re talking about is not somewhere a young lady should be. The people who frequent it are dangerous and those that own it are even more so.”
Tears burned at the back of Charlotte’s eyes. She had been so sure that he would help her. After all, hadn’t she moved heaven and earth to help him? “I’m well aware of the danger, thank you. That fact was made clear to me today when those ruffians threatened my brother’s life.”
“Then you understand why you cannot go there.” He sounded as exasperated as she felt.
“I understand you do not know what it means to be family if you think I won’t risk my life to save Will’s.”
He flinched at her words and the anger in them. “There is another, safer option available to you. Wilde can pay Will’s debts. I’m not putting your life at risk because your brother holds a grudge.”
Frustration roughhoused through her veins like a drunken carriage driver. She stood when she could no longer sit still. “So you won’t help me, after all? I’m in this alone?”
“Charlotte.” He shook his head, rubbing at the spot between his brows.
Clearly, he thought her foolish. “Thank you for your time, my lord. I’ll see myself out.”
Chapter 15
As John watched Charlotte walk out the double glass doors into the darkness of the garden, guilt swirled through him. Charlotte had so willingly, so enthusiastically, volunteered herself to help him and had continued to do so, even when his disdain for everything she enjoyed crept into his words. She’d been selfless and generous, two qualities often missing in members of thehaute ton.
The first time she’d asked for anything in return, he’d said no.
In among the guilt he felt was something else—jealousy. There was clearly nothing Charlotte wouldn’t do for her brothers, even risk her own safety to get William out of a hole he’d dug himself.
She’d said that he didn’t know what it meant to have family, not guessing at how deeply her words would cut, because they were true. He’d never experienced family in the same way she had. Walter had barely tolerated him. He wouldn’t go a foot out of his way for John if he could help it. Their parents had been the same. There was literally nothing theywouldhave done for John.
The closest John had to family was Wilde and Fiona, Asterly and Amelia, and Oliver. They were the family he had chosen and the people he would do anything for.
Charlotte could never understand it, but his kinship with Wilde waswhyhe could not help her. As a youth, Edward had offered him a home away from John’s own family. He and Asterly had stood side by side with John as they were pelted with excrement-covered sponges by their peers, who had decided that John’s stutter, Wilde’s scandalous father, and Asterly’s common-born ancestry were reasons enough to make their lives hell.
If it hadn’t been for the two of them, John would have never made it through school. John would not betray that friendship by taking Wilde’s little sister to a gambling den. That was not how one repaid such loyalty. He’d already crossed the line by kissing her. He would not cross it again. The thoughts that kiss had left him with—wanting another one, another dozen, another lifetime of them—were betrayal enough. He would not add to them.
He picked up the gambling chip Charlotte had left on the table, contemplating her idea as he turned the disc over and over in his fingers. It wasn’t a terrible thought. The right game, played with his memory, could clear much of his debts. A couple of right games, and he’d be free. He could even help Charlotte with William’s debt without risking her safety at all.
He’d have to be careful, though. Getting caught counting cards was a sure way to get one’s legs broken. He’d need to lose almost as often as he won so as not to attract attention. If he alternated gaming venues, visiting a different club each night, then he’d attract even less notice. All he needed was the blunt for the first game.
***
John walked down Bond Street doing his best to avoid the looks he was receiving from the many young women for whom a day out shopping necessitated multiple footmen trailing behind with armfuls of packages. A month ago he would have gone unnoticed, but now there were plenty who recognized him, and those who didn’t were quickly caught up to speed by their companions.
The assessing looks he was given made him feel like a lamb at the market, or in a lion’s den. He smiled politely, doffed his hat over and over, and yet refused to stop and be forced into conversation.
He wasn’t here to shop or socialize. Thanks to Charlotte’s insistence on bringing leftovers to his house every day, his food bill for the week was considerably less than expected. It wasn’t much of a saving, but if combined with the money he’d put aside to make small repayments on his debts, it might be just enough to get started with the gaming hustle.
So he was here to tell his creditors—hardworking business owners—that their next payment would be delayed.
None of it sat well with him—reneging on his promise to make payments today, counting cards to win against those who didn’t have his memory, using Charlotte’s idea but cutting her out of the process. It wasn’t who he wanted to be, but the thought of marrying Luella, already untenable, had soured further since spending time with Charlotte.
For the first time, the thought of spending his life with someone—having someone there when he woke up, sharing a bed with him at night, having them in his space—filled him with a sense of contentment, rather than dread. Keeping company with Charlotte didn’t feel like an activity that was getting in the way of his thoughts.
He passed a tea shop where finely dressed women sat at the windows sipping on drinks and gossiping about all who walked by. The street was humming, but when he went to visit Walter’s favorite tailor, the door was shut and the windows had been boarded up. The sign that hung from the wooden boards readCLOSED.
Unease threaded through him. It made no sense that the tailor would be shut on such a busy day. John ducked into the milliner next door.
“Where is Mr. Crabnaught?”
