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“No. Give me the knife and put your hand on the table,” Tidworth said.

“You have to earn the privilege of holding the knife.” Bramstock held up his blood-smeared hand. “First you put your hand down, and then you wield the knife.”

“How about I wield the knife, and whoever manages to survive unscathed, let’s say the best out of three turns, takes this one home for the night.” To Jude’s horror, he thrust the woman on his arm forward. She made a sound of protest and struggled to escape, but he held her fast.

The inebriated men cheered, and Bramstock handed over the pocketknife. “I like the sound of that,” he said.

Jude stood up. He could not—would not—allow this abomination to take place. But before he could take a step forward, the young lady finally wrenched herself free from Tidworth’s grip and attempted to make her way past the crowd of men, most of whom shamelessly did not move for her. Instead, they leered down at her while she tried to find an escape. Jude strode forward and pushed into the crowd. Being a brawny man, it was not difficult to muscle his way through. “Let her pass, you animals,” he said.

Some of the men moved back, allowing enough room for the young lady to escape the pack and scurry out of the gaming room.

“That’s a fine sentiment, coming from a man who murdered his own wife,” Tidworth’s voice sounded behind him.

The crowd fell silent, and the men moved farther back, possibly anticipating a brawl as Jude turned to face his nemesis. He clenched his fists. He’d been waiting years for the opportunity to beat this bastard to death.

Tidworth smirked. “How about you unfurl those fists of yours and spread your fingers onto the table? If I injure you, then the lady is all yours.”

“How about I take that knife from you and slit your throat?”

That is when Jude heard a crisp, sharp, female voice behind him say, “Gentlemen!”

He turned to see that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had entered the gaming room. As usual, she was dressed in black and had concealed her face with a veil. Jude did not know why she chose to mask her appearance, but he imagined she did so because it gave her more power. She was of middle age, and the veil certainly lent a sense of mystery and authority to her appearance. That, coupled with her iron personality, powerful connections, and the wealth of information she possessed about those in society, made her a formidable woman indeed.

“Lord Bramstock.” She strode forward. “I hear you have introduced a new game into my club.” Her voice was icy, but Bramstock was so inebriated he didn’t seem to notice. He grinned like an idiot at the widow, his pudgy red face shining from the spirits that flushed his skin. The widow appeared duly unimpressed. “I don’t allow weapons in my club unless they belong to one of my wolves,” she said. “If you or anyone else wishes to cut off a finger, Titan will be happy to assist you.”

The audience in the game room broke out into laughter as the widow turned to Tidworth and held out her gloved hand for Bramstock’s knife. Tidworth sneered at Jude before closing the penknife and dropping it into the widow’s palm. He would not have looked so if they’d been alone in a dark alley.

The widow closed her black-gloved fist around the knife and then addressed the crowd. “I am pleased to see that so many of you wish to be paired with a woman. There are ladies upstairs ready to please, as you well know, but if you want something more permanent, there will be games aplenty for that. Do remember, however, that I am the only matchmaker in this club.” She turned her veiled gaze directly toward Tidworth, and the room fell to silence for a few seconds as she let the message resonate. Then she declared in a loud voice, “Let the brandy flow!” To which the crowd erupted in applause.

After the widow’s exit, the gaming room resumed its normal activity. Jude watched Tidworth sit down at a table and begin a game of whist. Anger bubbled in his chest. The man was a fiend from Hell. He had not even given a thought to the woman he’d just humiliated. But no sooner had Tidworth received his first card than Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s wolf, Titan, appeared at his side and whispered something in his ear. Tidworth then rose from his chair and followed the man out.

Jude was pleased to see the man gone, and turning to fetch himself a brandy, almost collided with Puck, another of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s wolves.

“You’re to come with me, Lord Cadwell.”

“Come with you? What’s this all about?” He hoped the widow wasn’t going to try to stage an intervention between him and Tidworth.

“I’m to escort you off the premises—preferably without too much of a fuss.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dove-Lyon doesn’t abide violence or weapons in her club. You, Tidworth, and Bramstock are banned until further notice.”

So that’s where Tidworth went. Jude smiled to himself. If getting himself banned meant infuriating Tidworth, then it was well worth it.

Chapter Five

Maggie had paused her escape from the game room when the mysterious woman in black passed her, walking swiftly and followed by a bullish-looking man. Curious, she’d retraced her steps and watched in fascination from the entrance of the gaming room at the scene that had unfolded. When the woman in black turned to leave, Maggie fled to the adjacent ballroom and took shelter in a darkened corner where she tried to drown out her humiliation under the ruckus that surrounded her.

She put the glass of champagne she’d snatched from a tray offered by a passing attendant to her lips and swallowed. Drinking it down, she prayed it would numb her, or at least help her forget her pain. But it failed at its task. Heat crept up her neck and spread across her cheeks as she recalled the vile incident in the game room. Tobias had treated her worse than a cur, and he’d seemed to enjoy it. There’d been a glint of malice in his eyes—one she’d not seen before.

Or had she simply ignored his true nature for the sake of an easier life?

She thought back to those early days in Dorset when she’d felt the discomfort of Tobias’s gaze on her at church and in the market. She’d known then that there was something uncouth about him, but she’d quashed those feelings, believing his lies and tales of woe.

For five years, he’d fooled her into trusting him. He’d taken her from her home when she’d been an innocent country girl, garnered her sympathy because his wife was ill and despised him, and then molded her to fit his desires. And now he grew tired of her and wanted someone new—a fresh-faced actress or perhaps another country innocent? Who knew?

Had he done the same to Lady Tidworth? Is that why the woman hated him so much? Had he driven her to madness? Maggie felt shame that she’d not considered this before. How naive, how stupid she’d been. She’d let her guard down, but she would not do so again.