Of Risk & Redemption: A Revelry’s Tempest Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  His eyebrows cocked at her.

  “The late Lord Vandestile appreciated my fairness when it came to choosing a gaming establishment. He chose to gamble at the Revelry’s Tempest specifically because of our reputation.”

  “My brother never had a problem losing money at any establishment.”

  Her arms lifted, clamping across her ribcage as she glared down at Mr. Trowlson. “He did when he thought he was being swindled. Too many of the gaming hells saw him as…well…forgive my frank terms…but as an idiot American ripe to be duped.”

  He sputtered a cough, jumping to his feet.

  So he could stand. And it only took an insult.

  “My brother was not an idiot, Lady Desmond.”

  Her head snapped back. So he did know her name.

  She stifled a sigh as she looked up at his scowl, at the way he leaned forward, attempting to take over the room—intimidation by sheer mass. Intimidation she sloughed off. The ottoman sitting in between them distanced him enough to cut the obvious threat. Truth told, his blue eyes were more of a threat than the imposing width of his shoulders. “No. I did not think he was an idiot either. But as an American on English soil, for many of society there is only one possible conclusion as to his intelligence.”

  “That’s pompous idiocy.”

  Her head gave a slight bob. “Yet it is the way of things. Regardless, here at the Revelry’s Tempest your brother was treated the same as any other patron. I only tell you this to explain why he chose to gamble here, and—as you noted—explain why he gambled here with honor, always promptly paying off his debts.”

  His dark blue eyes seared into her, weighing her words. After a long breath, the hard lines of his face softened, and his posture relaxed. “Well, there is a first time for everything.” He exhaled a low whistle, the toe of his boot tapping. He dropped down, once more settling himself onto the settee. Tossing his legs out in front of him, he rested his boots atop the low ottoman as he leaned back. His blue eyes remained pinned on her. “So do you have the land, Lady Desmond?”

  “And if I do?”

  “I want it back.”

  “I don’t look empathetically upon men with their dirty boots on my chintz ottoman.”

  “And I don’t look kindly upon a woman who bamboozled my brother out of what little land is left in the Vandestile estate.”

  Her arms tightened around her waist. “Is your intention to insult me so grievously that I will agree to return what I honorably acquired just to get rid of you?”

  “I need the land, Lady Desmond.”

  “Why?”

  “I am a man of business. A successful man of business.” His eyes left her for a moment to gaze out the front window. “The Vandestile estate holds within it a unique opportunity and I did not find success by ignoring opportunities.”

  His hawk-like blue eyes off of her for the moment, she was able to take a real breath. Able to stop her stomach from flipping. “How long have you been in England? Maybe you have not been made aware—do you realize those of the peerage do not normally lower themselves to actual work?”

  “I also didn’t find success by being lazy and sitting in the comfort of a wingback chair in a club all day.” His look travelled back to her face. “Hard work, Lady Desmond. That is what the Vandestile estate needs. That is what the Vandestile estate has sorely lacked for a very long time. Hard work.”

  She stared at him for a long breath, her left fingers tapping on her hip. “And if you don’t get the land back?”

  He shrugged. “Then I will refuse claim on the title and it will go dormant. Opportunities are only opportunities until they become annoyances.” His feet slipped off the ottoman and he sat upright, resting his forearms on his thighs as his blue eyes pinned her. “But I think I can convince you, Lady Desmond.”

  “Do not be so assured on that fact, Lord Vandestile.”

  He gave a perplexed shake of his head, his eyebrows drawing together. “Lord Vandestile.”

  “That is you, is it not?”

  “Though it is not official, I was told courtesy would dictate others using it. Though no one has called me that as of yet. None except for a butler or two and that wastrel crew my brother hired for servants that are too lazy to learn a new name.” He scoffed. “More like whores and vagabonds, per my brother’s tastes.”

  He looked her up and down again. “Yes, you are right in line with Johnny’s tastes. I can see well why my brother was entirely happy to lose in your establishment.”

  Bile ran up her throat at the words.

  She was in line with whores?

  Cass instantly stiffened and she took a step backward, her voice turning impossible icy. “My lord, you go beyond too far. I entertained this unannounced meeting, and now it is time for you to vacate the premises.”

  His right eyebrow lifted for a quick moment, and then he nonchalantly moved to stand. “You may dismiss me now, but I do not give up that easily, Lady Desmond.”

  “You should.” She pointed to the open doorway. “Good day, Lord Vandestile.”

  { Chapter 2 }

  Cass glanced over her shoulder. She had given the signal—a feather from her headdress cracked downward along her upsweep—to her friend, Lady Alton, five minutes past and still Violet had not rescued her.

  There was no mistaking it—from across the ballroom, Violet had looked directly at the feather and then had offered a slight nod. So where was she?

  “And in my tumble, I managed to fire off a shot that hit the grouse in the tree.”

  She looked back to Sir Robert and bubbled up a polite chuckle as he hit the apex of the tale on his latest hunting exploit. His booming chortle swallowed the noise of her laugh. It was just as well, as the man thrived on talking about himself and would always be the loudest one in the room. If he weren’t one of her most loyal patrons at the Revelry’s Tempest, she would regret the effort it took on her part to participate in the conversation, as his need for attention was wearing Cass particularly thin this night.

  In the last three days, she’d had no success in finding another investigator to journey to America for her. No matter the price, all reputable investigators had declined her offers. Though Logan had promised to continue the search to find someone for the mission, they had already exhausted his network of possible men to hire for the job.

  She was choosy. Logan was choosier. Impossibly choosier.

  Her silk-slippered toes turning slightly to the right, her look darted about for Violet. Where was her friend? Violet had convinced Cass to attend this small ball at the Alton townhouse to cheer her, and now her friend had abandoned her.

  A slight cough behind her drifted to Cass’s ears—Violet’s cough.

  Finally. She started to spin towards Violet’s voice.

  “Lady Desmond, may I present to you—”

  “You.” The word blurted from Cass’s mouth.

  “You.” The reply was instant from Lord Vandestile’s lips.

  “What?” Violet’s look whipped to the man she was just about to introduce Cass to. “You know Lady Desmond?”

  “Lady Desmond?” Lord Vandestile looked from Violet to Cass and then back to Violet.

  “Yes. Lady Desmond.” Violet glanced at Cass, confusion wrinkling her forehead.

  “Lady? A true lady? That was real?” Lord Vandestile’s blue eyes were centered on Violet.

  Perplexed, Violet’s eyebrows lifted high.

  Cass stepped closer to the two of them, her voice in a low whisper. “You don’t believe her, Lord Vandestile?”

  He glanced in Cass’s direction, not even fully looking at her before his eyes swung back to Violet. “The lady part. I thought that was a fabricated title. I thought with her establishment she was also a harlo—”

  “You what?” Cass’s voice lifted into a shrill whisper as she jumped in front of Lord Vandestile, forcing him to look at her. “You can address me directly, Lord Vandestile. Or at the very least have the decency to look at me while you defame
me.”

  Violet deftly skirted around Cass and flung her right hand up between Cass and Lord Vandestile. She grabbed Cass’s elbow. “Cass, will you please accompany me and Lord Vandestile into the library?”

  Without waiting for a reply, Violet dragged Cass along the edge of the ballroom to avoid the guests posturing about in the center of the room.

  Lord Vandestile followed, and Cass couldn’t tell if it was reluctant or not, for every time she tried to look over her shoulder, Violet pinched her elbow and quickened her step.

  Out into the main hallway, Violet rushed Cass down the stairs and toward the rear of the townhouse.

  It wasn’t until the three of them reached the library that Violet released Cass and then stalked over to the door, emphatically clicking it closed. She turned back to Cass, confusion and ire in her violet-blue eyes.

  Cass opened her mouth before Violet launched into a scold. “Truly, Violet, dragging us into here was not necessary.”

  “Not necessary?” Violet’s forefinger flew up, her point flipping between the two of them. “You two were at the precipice of making a scene I would never allow either one of you to make in my ballroom.”

  Violet paused, drawing a deep sigh as her hand dropped to her side. Her eyes narrowed, going first to Lord Vandestile and then to Cass. “So I presume you two have met?” She looked to Lord Vandestile. “How is that even possible? You have only been in London for three days.”

  Cass watched the aggravation on Violet’s face thicken and guilt settled onto her shoulders. No matter how rude she thought Lord Vandestile was, it was not fair to involve Violet and stress her, especially as she was currently carrying her third child, though her belly had not swollen just yet.

  Cass set her voice to just above a whisper, the most calm she could afford. “Lord Vandestile approached me at the Revelry’s Tempest two days ago, Violet. That is where we met.”

  “You met? Whatever for?”

  “Why is that a concern of yours, Lady Alton?” Quiet until that moment, Lord Vandestile’s voice rumbled into the air of the library, his words more of a demand than a question in the way only a man accustomed to power and control could manifest.

  Cass recognized the undertone of it. Violet did as well.

  Violet’s ire spiked across her face and she turned the full force of it onto Lord Vandestile. “My lord, I understand you are new to this world of ours, but I do believe it was you who asked for my assistance in navigating it. And calling my friend a whore in my ballroom in front of the ton does not endear you to me. That is why it is my concern.”

  “I was not about to call her a whore.”

  “A harlot, then? Excuse me—I was not aware of the nuances between the two. Whatever were you thinking?” Violet stepped toward him. “And I beg of you to be very careful on what you say next, my lord, for Lady Desmond is one of my dearest and oldest friends.”

  The man suddenly had the good sense to look slightly chagrined. Cass hid a smile. Not many could withstand Violet’s icy glare without cowering just a pinch.

  “It appears as though I was grossly mistaken about Lady Desmond.”

  “It appears as though you were.” The sudden thumping of feet on floorboards above and the beginning chords of the quartet warming their instruments floated down to them. Violet looked up, a groan escaping her lips. “Dancing is about to start. I must go up to the ballroom.”

  Violet’s gaze dropped to Cass. “Will you stay and clear this matter with Lord Vandestile? I trust you will set him on the straight about the Revelry’s Tempest?”

  Standing in the Alton library and speaking with this man was the last thing Cass wanted to be doing at the moment. She would gladly take back Sir Robert’s insipid hunting tales in a second. But she forced a smile on her face, biting back what she truly wanted to say to the man standing on her left. “I will make the attempt, Violet.”

  Violet nodded and quickly escaped the room, shutting the door behind her. Cass stood, silently staring at the library door, not willing to look to her left until she had a long moment to collect her thoughts.

  The first strains of a quadrille came from above and rhythmic thuds of feet stepping in time on the floorboards filtered down into the room.

  Cass glanced to her left, only to find Lord Vandestile staring down at her, his dark blue eyes intent on her face, calculating, just as they had been the other day.

  How long had he been watching her? She couldn’t let him intimidate her. He was in the wrong. He had been the one to openly call her a harlot upstairs in front of all society.

  She cleared her throat. “Why would you think that?”

  “Think what?”

  “That I was a harlot? That my title wasn’t real?”

  He shrugged. “Every woman I know that owns an establishment of ill-repute in America puts a Madame or a Lady in front of her name. It elevates her. She is the mistress of her house and it denotes the respect she deserves as such. I thought it was the same of your name when we met.”

  Her eyes crinkling at him, she shook her head. “My lord, you are sorely mistaken about the Revelry’s Tempest. My establishment is not of ill-repute.”

  “It is a gaming hall.”

  “Yes.” Her words pushed through gritted teeth. “And most emphatically, that is the whole of what my establishment is. A gaming hall. Nothing more. Never anything more. We take great care to protect its reputation in that regard.” Cass could feel a flush filling her cheeks, her face turning red.

  “I did not intend disrespect.”

  “Yet you have insulted me nonetheless.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “You have far to go in your manners if you wish to grace the ballrooms of the ton, Lord Vandestile.”

  “And you have far to go if you intend to convince me running a gaming establishment warrants the airs you put forth, Lady Desmond.”

  Her head jerked backward. “You overstep—again, my lord.”

  “Do I? I don’t take kindly to pretenses, my lady.”

  “What pretenses, exactly, do you insist I harbor?”

  He moved a step closer. “I will be honest with you, Lady Desmond. I have discovered there are two types of people in this world. Ones with pretenses. And ones without.” His eyes drifted down and then back up her body. “I like to deal with those without.”

  “So now you are calling me both a fraud and a whore?”

  “I am being honest about what I expect from those in front of me.”

  “Please then, my lord, let me tell you the honest story of the Revelry’s Tempest as Lady Alton requested so that I can be done with you.” As hard as she tried to control it, Cass’s voice pinched, her words fast. “The gaming hall was started eight years ago as a last measure by my friend, the Duchess of Dellon. I assume you have met her or heard of her? She is Lord Alton’s sister? Starting the gaming hall was her only option to support herself and her young nieces after her husband died and her brother, Lord Alton, went missing.”

  His hand lifted, palm to her. “Lady Desmond, please—”

  “No, stop. Stop this instant, Lord Vandestile.” She took a step toward him, invading his space, glaring up at him. “You have made your assumptions. You have made your judgements. So now it is my turn to speak. I assume since you asked for her help, you obviously know that Lady Alton was married to the twelfth Viscount Vandestile—the viscount before your brother?” Her mouth tightened as she shook her head. “How a boorish mannered man such as yourself ever convinced Violet to help you enter society is beyond me.”

  The slightest flicker flashed in his steely blue gaze.

  Good.

  Her hands went on her hips. “But did you know that when the viscount—Violet’s first husband—died, he left her in monstrous debt and shattered her good name? Did you know that Violet reopened the Revelry’s Tempest to clear that debt? Debt that had not only been attached to her name, but to all of the debt the Vandestile estate was mired under? She did that. The Revelry’s Tempest did that. The estate was about to
collapse, and Violet saved it. Violet presented your brother with a solvent estate—and he ruined it in six short years. You—your blood did that.”

  “My brother…” He looked to the bookcases on his right as his words trailed, his jaw tensing. “Lady Alton did not share that information with me.”

  “No. She wouldn’t have. That house has saved two of my dearest friends. That house has saved me. That house saved your estate. So I will not hear you disrespect it. I will not hear you speak ill of it. And I will certainly not allow you to judge it. For however you condemn me and the Revelry’s Tempest, you do the same to the duchess and to Violet.” Her head shook, her words vibrating with fury on her tongue. “And I will not stand for it. Don’t you dare come into our world and presume that you are better than any one of us—that your moral high ground sets you so far above us you cannot bear to speak to us without a smirk on your sardonic face.”

  His gaze whipped to her, the lines of his face set hard. His hands had balled into fists. “That is what I have been reduced to? A judgmental prig?”

  “One that should fit quite nicely into London society. You speak of pretenses, Lord Vandestile, but you obviously haven’t realized what you yourself have become.”

  Taking a step backward, she spun from him, moving to the door.

  “Lady Desmond.”

  Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob, but she refused to stop at his words.

  “Lady Desmond.”

  She opened the door. Let him yell after her. Let the entire ballroom above hear his bellow. What did she care what he thought? Nothing. The man was nothing. Nothing to her. Just another sanctimonious arse.

  Yet, at the last second, she found herself looking over her shoulder to him.

  He stood in the middle of the library, staring at her. His fists had unclenched and he almost looked relaxed. Almost looked like he fit into the fine clothes that were making him stiff.

  “I still want that land, Lady Desmond.”

  “Good luck with that, my lord.”

  She swung the door wide, stomping into the hallway.