Henry glanced at Freddy, who was staring miserably at the green baize, utterly mortified. How he would hate any further escalation of this already unpleasant scene.
It was that thought that made Henry decide to be merciful.
Calmly, he said, “Mr. Skelton, I believe you’ve been given a bad set of cards. It’s most unfortunate, but I’m sure if you return your winnings from the earlier games, the matter can be forgotten.”
It was a generous concession to make, Henry thought, and both Tavestock and Hammond looked relieved. Skelton, though, plainly burned with resentment—though not so much that he’d ignore the lifeline he’d been thrown.
“I was quite unaware of the markings,” he bit out, “but as a gentleman, I will of course return my winnings, though they were fairly won.” He turned to the pile of guineas and vowels at his elbow and began to sort them into piles.
“I don’t—” Freddy said desperately, as Skelton shoved a pile of guineas and a paper at him, but Bartlett interrupted him.
“A handsome gesture, Skelton,” he said, scooping his own, much larger pile towards him. “Shall we call for fresh cards and continue the game?”
Henry saw the flicker of amusement in Hammond’s eyes at that fatuous response. Christ, could Bartlett not see what he was dealing with?
Henry pushed his chair back and stood. He looked at Freddy.
“I have the carriage,” he said. He left the question unsaid.
Freddy. Poor Freddy; he looked utterly mortified. But hopefully, he was no Bartlett—too dim to see what sort of men he was playing with.
Several long, agonising moments passed, and then Freddy slowly rose.
“I think—I am done for the night.” He turned to Bartlett and offered a tight smile. “Tattersall’s tomorrow, Perce?”
Bartlett scowled. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Asquith!” His pale gaze shifted between Henry and Freddy, though he made no other comment.
Freddy gave a short laugh. “I’m tired,” he said. “Too many nights on the town. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that he turned away and walked towards Henry, who was already standing in the doorway.
Henry smiled at him reassuringly—Freddy did not return the smile.
“The carriage is outside,” Henry murmured as Freddy passed him. “I’ll be out in a moment. Need to use the convenience.”
Freddy nodded and left the room.
Henry caught Skelton’s eye and gestured with his head, letting him know he wanted to speak to him. Skelton’s mouth tightened, but he gave a slight nod. Tavestock and Hammond noticed the exchange, but Bartlett, who was draining his champagne glass, was entirely oblivious.
Henry strolled out of the room and waited in the corridor. A few moments later, Skelton joined him, closing the door softly behind him.
Henry smiled. He said gently, “Don’t come anywhere near my son again. Do you understand?”
Skelton’s face purpled with anger, but he nodded, saying nothing. Henry turned and began to walk away.
“Avesbury—”
Henry turned back. Skelton’s gaze was calculating now, his upper lip sneering.
“Do you remember Kit Redford?”
Henry flinched at the shock of that name on Skelton’s lips. It shouldn’t have been a shock—Skelton had also been an occasional patron of the Golden Lily—but there was an unwritten rule among men like them that such things were not mentioned.
Henry said nothing, only stood, waiting.
Skelton took two steps forward. In a confidential tone, he said, “After you dropped him, no one would touch him with a bargepole—except me. I took him on, and my, he was an eager little bitch.” He laughed nastily, then whispered, “I used to make him beg for my cock like a dog.”
Henry’s gut twisted sharply as the pictures Skelton’s words painted flowered in his mind, in all their graphic horror.
Christopher on his knees before this monster.
“After you dropped him…”
Henry felt like he might throw up, but he would not let his feelings show to the man standing before him. The man who was only saying this as revenge for what had just happened.
Without emotion, Henry said, “Stay away from my son. If you don’t, I’ll destroy you.”
He was only a little gratified to see Skelton pale before he turned away and stalked back to the gaming room.
Freddy was waiting in the carriage. He didn’t say anything when Henry climbed in, keeping his face turned towards the window.
“As I mentioned,” Henry said as he settled onto the opposite bench, “I have an engagement this evening, but I’ll take you back to Curzon Street first.”
“Fine,” Freddy said. His tone was flat and uninviting.
Henry suppressed a sigh and stuck his head out of the window to call out instructions to the