Cornwall with a draft of two thousand pounds, a fortune she’d hardly known what to do with. But her relief had been palpable, and Nicolas had witnessed the despair lift from her shoulders as hope had shone in her eyes. When she had impetuously flung herself into his arms and hugged him, he had just stood there, but inside, complex emotions had tumbled through him in unrelenting waves.
The duke hadn’t lost a night’s sleep and had simply moved on to his next pretty prey. And Nicolas’s revulsion and need for vengeance had deepened.
The viscount looked away into the fire.
Nicolas shifted a bit closer. “While not uncommon for some men to seduce dependents in their household, your daughter would be the duchess of a man who will dally indiscriminately right under her nose and bring her shame and embarrassment.”
The viscount grabbed up another sheet, reading the words. Humber’s heavy sigh echoed in the library. “He vowed to me to end all his dalliances. He has given his mistress her conge.”
Nicolas scoffed. “How bitterly disappointed you must feel to know he has only moved her from town to Bath. The duke has no honor.”
The viscount’s gaze swung to the very spot he stood.
“And what do you gain from bringing this to my attention?”
Another step closer to destroying everything the duke valued. “What does it matter?”
“I’ll not be another man’s sword!” Lord Humber growled, fisting his hands at his side, uncaring he crumpled the paper. “If you think to manipulate me, you are wrong. My daughter will be a duchess, and that makes her happy. There is nothing more to it.”
“Act in haste…and greed, you shall surely repent in leisure.”
Nicolas whirled around and made his way from the library, uncaring the man had full view of his retreating back. His dark hair and black coat would not reveal much.
“What did the duke do to you?” Humber demanded gruffly.
Nicolas paused with his hand on the door.
“He stole the life of a young girl who mattered to me.” Then he opened the door and slipped away from the viscount’s town house.
His work for the night was not done. From what he knew from studying the viscount, the man would not be able to sign his precious daughter over to the duke. Nor would Humber sleep on the matter. Despite his brilliance in parliament, the man was driven by his emotions, perhaps the very reason he was able to sway so many to his side of whichever bill he supported. His emotions and passions were effortlessly conveyed and felt.
That very emotion driving the viscount would work in Nicolas’s favor.
…
Nicolas took a deep breath of the chilled night air. He was headed to the Asylum, a most notorious gaming hell, and there he would wait for the show to begin.
His thoughts lingered on Lady Maryann, and he wondered what she had done after he left her chambers. It was an entirely new experience for him, thinking about a lady this often. With a soft chuckle, he shook his head, for he anticipated the next time they would cross wits.
What will you do when you see me again?
Nicolas strolled for several minutes to where his coachman waited with his carriage. Less than an hour later, he hopped down from the equipage and strolled toward a large three-story brick building that had two men standing outside by the door. A light rain fell, and a few carriages queued near a fog-shrouded gas lamp. The men recognized him and, without asking any questions, opened the door, allowing him entry.
Nicolas waded through a thick crowd, the sounds of women laughing, the dice slapping against a table, the scent of tobacco, curls of smoke twisting in the air. He inhaled deeply, always astonished that this was a place he felt comfortable. A place that homed a truly disreputable group, men of such ruthlessness, one had to learn to tread carefully or face the possibility of losing their life.
Except Nicolas hadn’t learned to tread carefully and bow to their underground power—he had made himself to be cunning and ruthless in order to earn their respect. There were days he felt like he did not know himself. His feelings and thoughts were always hidden behind a wall of charming affability and rakishness, and there were times he felt restless and dissatisfied.
François de La Rochefoucauld wrote that man was so accustomed to disguising themselves to others—their fears, needs, wants, desires—that in the end, man became disguised to themselves. Nicolas had pondered that very complexity of