Page 23 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

As I move the ornate glass, I spy a small card underneath. My heart pounds in my chest as I pull it to me, holding it close where no one can see. Could it be my efforts were not in vain? Could hope actually spring eternal?

The slash of letters across the parchment makes my stomach plummet. The blackmailer. How did they get into White’s?

My Most Magnificently Melancholy Duke,

How do you fare? It has only been but a day since we last spoke, but even now, your countenance seems fallen. Your steps are not nearly so lively.

Have you found what you’re looking for? Have you ferreted out some hidden secret, some gem or nugget of information that might allow you to steal Miss Campbell out from under Henhaven’s nose? Keep searching, dear duke, but you will never find anything.

Secrets do not stay hidden long. Not when the very walls have eyes and ears. And Henhaven? He has nothing on him that will help you. I do fear you are to be alone, without the touch of your precious Miss Campbell. He is nigh untouchable.

Will you be there at the wedding? I will. I wish to watch every moment as they pledge to love and honor each other until death parts them. I do wonder if he’ll claim her on their wedding night… One can only hope.

Your Rosy Thorn in Your Side

Red tinges my vision as I crumple the note in my hand. Who would dare send this to me in so public a place? It makes no sense how someone can get this close to me without me even knowing. Sending notes to my home is one thing, but to have them here at White’s? It has to be someone in my close circle.

Glancing about, I dart my gaze to each table. Nothing seems amiss. No one looks at me. No one even cares.

Again, I scent the air. Nothing. Only the Alphas who have already been here. Lifting a hand, I flag down a steward, my heart thundering in my ears as he comes close.

“Who delivered my port?” I ask.

“Forgive me, Your Grace?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

“My drink. Who set it at my table?”

“Was it not the waiter you summoned to deliver it?”

“I summoned no one. It simply appeared.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I have been occupied with other matters. I did not see anyone come by your table. Shall I enquire of the other staff?”

“Do so. I want an answer at once.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

As he walks off, I keep scanning the area around me. Off near the front, the betting books lie open. Intriguing. I never thought to look there. If it was, indeed, a steward who dropped off this horrid note, their pen should be somewhere in this ledger.

Better yet, if one of the members recorded it… but then, there was no scent. It wouldn’t be an Alpha. That is, unless, they used someone else for their dark deeds. Betas are few and far between, but they frequent White’s as well when invited.

Striding over to the books, I watch as the others shift away, keeping their gaze on me. I must look murderous for them to react this way. Not that I care. Apart from the Rose and Thorne, White’s was my only other place of solace. Now, it’s tainted.

I flip through the books, going back to the very beginning of The Season. Here and there I spot little jabs at my friends and me, but they were all in good-natured fun. If only they knew we had our own bets going as well.

My heart pounds in my chest. What good is winning the money if I won’t have my desire, my obsession? Shoving such thoughts from my brain, I continue to sift through, my anger rising, as not one stroke of the quill matches that of the blackmailer.

As I come toward the last page, my blood runs cold. Amongst the normal tallies, a few stand out. Not because of their handwriting, but because of their contents.

22th May 1814

Lord Ashmore wagers Lord Pemberton the sum of fifty guineas that the marriage between His Grace the Viscount of Henhaven and Miss Campbell of Kirden shall not reach its conclusion before the close of The Season.

R. Ashmore T. Pemberton

As much as I’d like to agree with this wager, as of this moment, it is yet to be seen. Still though, it’s odd reading this like they’re simply betting on which horse will piss first before the race.

22th May 1814