the ring with Jackson.”
“It was Mendoza, actually,” said Killarney.
“None of you has the intellect to succeed without your titles, let alone as criminals, and was it not for the fortune of your births, you would all have died on the gallows.”
“Or the guillotine, non?” said Louis, slowly getting to his feet. “You are an arrogant fool, Monsieur Baron, and I no longer have time for fools.”
“Because you know I am right,” scoffed Fellowes. “I doubt you would make a thousand pounds apiece as highwaymen, even if you had a month to work the roads. You’d be caught and swinging on the gallows within a week!”
“Is that a bet?” asked Dook quietly.
“It sounded awfully like a bet to me,” agreed William, his rage clouding his thoughts as much as the whisky.
Conway and Killarney glanced at each other.
“Definitely a bet,” they said in unison, and the cry began to be echoed around the card tables.
Shouts of “The book! The book!” rang out, and they were soon surrounded by members of Brooks as odds and rules were called out by several different gentlemen. Fellowes glanced about him, looking pale.
“What odds do you lay, Monsieur?” asked Louis, looking nonchalant about the whole matter. “A thousand a piece?”
“No, he said we could not earn a thousand apiece,” corrected William. “That’s a lot of risk for us, and the bet should reflect it.”
“Five thousand that you cannot do it!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“Five thousand each!” shouted someone else. “That’s the least you should bet, Lord Fellowes!”
This suggestion was quickly taken up by the crowd, becoming a chant by the time a waiter appeared bearing the club betting book, which he laid onto the table with great dignity. Another member of the staff laid down a small pot of ink and a quill before Dook, who looked at them with blank indifference.
Fellowes looked as though he were about to cast up his accounts, but he managed to maintain his dignity. The man was a notorious throttlepenny, but even he placed his honor as a gentleman above his fortune.
“Very well. I bet twenty-five thousand pounds that you cannot earn a thousand apiece as highwaymen before a month has passed,” he said.
The cheer that went up was deafening, and the membership immediately began laying their own bets on the details of the wager.
“Done,” said William, and his four companions echoed the sentiment.
Dook went to pick up the quill, but Fellowes got there before him.
“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, my hand is steadier than yours, for I have not consumed as much wine this evening.”
“Very kind of you,” said Dook, pushing the book and inkwell over to the baron.
The tip of the quill scratched the paper as Fellowes wrote out the bet in his flowery handwriting. A smile hovered on his lips, quite at odds with the expression of dread he’d had minutes earlier.
“Why are you smirking?” William asked suddenly as a faint instinct of self-preservation woke up from a drunken stupor.
“Because I know this will make me a rich man, Haddington,” replied Fellowes with an air of innocence that only served to increase William’s sense of unease. “I wish to add some conditions to this bet, gentlemen, if only to protect all of our reputations.”
“What terms?” asked Conway, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Firstly, that none of the people you rob can be hurt or killed.”
“Good God, man, what kind of devils do you think we are?” exploded Killarney. “We’re not about to murder some fellow over a handful of coins!”
Fellowes smiled politely. “So that term is agreed. Secondly, and most importantly, you must not be identified, whether by the law or by the people you steal from.”
Dook frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that if the people you attempt to rob recognize any of you, then the money you take from them cannot count toward your total,” continued Fellowes. “It simply prevents anyone from helping you achieve your goal through nefarious means—with or without your consent.”
“I should shoot you for insulting our honor,” said Louis casually, “but I will settle for winning your fortune instead. Pass the book, I wish to sign.”
“There’s a lot of words for just two terms. Should we not—” began William, but sighed in defeat as Louis and then Dook signed their names, cheered on by the crowd.
Conway and Killarney signed as well, handing the book to William last of all before pressing the quill into his hand. He tried to read the details written out by Lord Fellowes, but the