by Carrie Lofty
Without waiting for Crane’s reply, he strolled into the club. He sat at the same booth he had once shared with Elden. Stretching his legs, he nodded casual greetings to members who littered the darkened interior.
But he had a job to do.
How very like him that his job involved sitting in a luxurious men’s club and smoking his first cigar in months, but one could not argue with the nature of things.
“So, you came,” Elden said.
“Of course I did. You and I have unfinished business.”
He casually lifted his eyes and smiled in the face of his handiwork. A bulge in Elden’s lower lip was the size and color of a black cherry. His left eye drooped around a puffed bruise. Both cheeks were canvases for a watercolor collection of blue, purple, and nauseating green. Miles’s only regret was that the abuse made Elden more difficult to read. He needed to see how truths and lies played out across his opponent’s newly renovated features.
No doubt Elden was sizing him up the same way. To hide his lone tell, Miles slipped his left hand into his trouser pocket. Thoughts of Viv could hide there, along with his wedding ring.
Elden slid onto the padded leather bench opposite and poured two glasses of cognac. A pair of hulking bodyguards lurked nearby, taking seats of their own at another table. “I’m glad to see you’re not the sort of aristocrat who would retreat from such a challenge.”
“While I can only hope you’re not the sort of underhanded slime who will stack the deck against me in your own club.”
Anger showed in a faint tightening along Elden’s top lip. “Too bad we’re only playing for money and the brokerage. I should’ve enjoyed adding that whore’s daughter to the stakes.”
“My wife isn’t chattel.” Miles bit his tongue and tasted blood—something he could do, apparently, while smiling.
“Perhaps not now. But it must have come as quite a shock.”
And there—that was what taunting looked like.
While Miles kept his voice calm, inside his pocket, he pushed his gold wedding band down to the bone. “Just because she never divulged it publicly doesn’t mean my family wasn’t in full possession of the facts.” He winked. “In truth, it quite added to her appeal. She’s exceedingly accommodating to my needs. I wonder if the law will be as accommodating to you when your secrets come to light?”
“That won’t happen.”
Miles took a long drag on his cigar. He’d gone without for so long that a cough threatened. “So let’s cut straight to what we both want. One thousand pounds each to start and a one-hundred-pound limit. Should I bankrupt you, you sell all shares of Christie Brokerage and relinquish a quarter of your mine’s profits for the next eighteen months. No matter what happens, you drop all charges against my manservant and hand over whatever foul proof you’ve collected about my wife’s origins.”
“And when I bankrupt you?”
He shrugged nonchalantly as his sleek, airy persona returned in full. Good. He’d been afraid he misplaced the blasted thing. “My conditions still stand with regard to my manservant and my wife. That’s the cost of earning this chance to best a Peer of the Realm. Once we fulfill our contract and earn the right to buy Christie Brokerage, we’ll relinquish it to you.”
Elden sipped his cognac. “I can take it from you before then.”
“But without the promise of that million-dollar bonus. You win this game . . . we hand it over. That leaves you free to concentrate on some other mark.” He paused for emphasis. “You do have a million dollars to counter with, I assume.”
Miles already knew the truth. He simply needed to see how defeat looked.
Elden flicked his eyes toward his bodyguards. “Of course.”
Perfect.
For a long, long moment Elden simply stared. Let him look. There was nothing to see. Miles let his mind go to a very happy place, one involving Vivie and breakfast in bed. She hadn’t yet permitted such experimental liberties. But if a man didn’t have hope for the future, what did he have?
“Very well, Bancroft. Let’s play.”
Viv paced the width of the Women’s Auxiliary, holding baby Samantha as Alice carried stacks of blankets. “Why didn’t he wait for me?” she asked again.
Adam looked up from where he assembled the last cot, with Chloe nearby, linens in hand. His expression remained just as apologetic. “Kimberley Club is for men. And I don’t believe he wished you subjected to Mr. Elden’s taunts. He was trying to protect you, my lady.”
“Protect me! Did he take his whip? Or a pistol? No. He didn’t think to protect himself.”
“Surely Mr. Elden wouldn’t stoop to such measures,” Alice said. “He helped make all of this possible.”
Viv looked around at the bustling warehouse. A dozen women of all nationalities, colors, and ages put the finishing touches on the Auxiliary, which would open to its first residents the following Sunday. Several local businessmen and ministers would be on hand to offer the two most important blessings in Kimberley: those of commerce and God. Probably in that order. She could not deny that Elden’s attempts to ingratiate himself with her, and thereby snuggling closer to ownership of the brokerage, had provided the foundation for this grand project. But other contributors, including each woman who worked beneath Alice’s astute, patient eye, had also brought it to life.
“I am grateful for how generous Elden has been with his support. However, I cannot condone the methods by which he acquired his wealth.” Viv smoothed Samantha’s hair, which was as soft as the tummy fur of a kitten. “As for my husband, he still believes men behave by a certain code. But some don’t play by any rules, let alone the sort an aristocrat would be privy to.”
Her fingertips went numb.
Chloe looked up from where she tucked a sheet into place. “My lady? What is it?”
“Adam, where are the papers? The ones I hid in Smets’s desk?” This time Adam did not appear apologetic; he positively blanched. “I hope you hide your emotions more completely around men, Mr. Nolan, because you’re doing a dreadful job of hiding them from me.”
“I gave them to His Lordship. They’re locked in the upstairs desk in the brokerage.”
“Summarize, if you please.”
“Financial statements. His Lordship was only interested in what resources Elden could access during the poker game.”
“I want to see them.”
With her heart so fast and aching, Viv swiftly handed the baby back to her concerned mother. “Do you need Ike’s help?” Alice asked.
“I should hope not.” She swiftly hugged her friend. “Sunday we will open these doors, and both our husbands will be with us to offer their congratulations. Until then, we both have our work to do.”
“As usual,” Alice said with a wobbling smile. “Do be careful, my lady.”
“I will. Chloe, stay here. Adam, with me.”
They stepped out into the temper of a late-autumn gale, where loose dust kicked against her skirts. Hurrying, her breath came in gulps cut short by her corset. She ignored Smets’s surprised welcome and climbed up to the bookkeeping room. Adam, close behind her, produced a key that unlocked a small desk drawer.
Minutes of anxious searching through the stack of jumbled papers yielded nothing other than what Adam had claimed: financial statements. But Viv had no time to gloat. Fear kept her searching.
A sliver of newsprint slipped from between two sheets of paper. Her eyes leapt over words chilling enough to freeze blood. “Obituaries,” she whispered.
“Opsberger?
“And Malcolm, another former broker. One was found beaten to death in an alley, the other shot by an unknown assailant on the outskirts of town.”
Adam frowned. “Elden acquired both of their businesses. I remember their names.”
“Jesus,” Viv rasped. “Miles.”
Only when she had reached the outdoors once again, those papers tucked in her skirt pocket, did Adam catch her arm. “I trust that you’ll stay out of harm’s way?” He grimaced
, his fair features pink in the cold air. “He would hang me personally if you were injured.”
“I promise. I’ll find Mansfield. You . . . just keep him safe. Go now.”
He hesitated. Maybe he knew just how difficult it would be to keep from intervening. Adam was a far better means of protecting Miles. At least that’s what she forced her stuttering heart to admit as she watched her husband’s servant stride toward the Kimberley Club.
Not so different from his master after all.
She mustered one more burst of energy—born of love and desperation—and ran.
Miles heard the commotion long before he saw Adam. His voice echoed through the entryway as he shouted at the guards. Never had the quiet, loyal man ever sounded so riled.
But Miles didn’t let his face slip. With the confidence of a prophet, he flipped two more fifty-pound chips into the pot that already held five hundred. This would be the last hand.
“Seems we have unexpected company.”
Elden’s expression was tight and brittle. “No one else is allowed in the club. Get him out.”
“You have your manservants. Why shouldn’t I be allowed mine?”
“Is he the wretch who stole from me?”
“Stole what?” Miles asked, his demeanor suitably vapid. At least the unexpected visitor wasn’t Viv. He signaled the dealer. “Two cards, please.”
“Let him in, then.” Elden wore a sour expression—no more than the twitch of his undamaged eyebrow. But Miles had learned the man’s face as thoroughly as a hard lesson.
“Much obliged. And I believe the bet was to you.”
Elden pushed the remainder of his chips toward the center of the table. “All in.”
This was the moment. Viv trusted him. Adam trusted him. The whole future of the brokerage depended on his skill. After giving his cards another cursory look, Miles let out a dejected sigh. “Could be worse, eh? Adam, my good man. How goes?”
Not ten feet from the card table, Adam aimed a pistol at Elden’s head. “Don’t move.”
“What is the meaning of this? Get him out of here!”
Smoothly, Adam swiveled the weapon to ward off Elden’s bodyguards. “My lord, you might want to come away now.”
“I was winning, Mr. Nolan.”
“It’s a trap. Constable Mansfield is being notified as we speak. Your whip is here on my belt.”
Miles stood slowly, still watching his opponent’s expression. He was reminded of that long-ago wagon master—beaten, yes, but not without the capacity for violence. Holding a whip felt much more natural now than a hand of cards, especially if what Adam claimed was true.
“Unless you wish to add a piratical scar to your appearance, I suggest you tell your bodyguards to remove their side arms.”
Elden joined him in standing. “Weapons away, men.” His expression was deathly smooth, his shoulders relaxed. That ease didn’t change, not even when a dozen armed men filed in from the kitchen. “We’ve been accosted by brigands who will be divested of both their liberty and their property. Perhaps this was the best way to end our game after all.”
Miles held his breath. Law and order would be wholly welcome, if only he knew who they had come to detain.
“Neil Elden, we’re placing you and your bodyguards under arrest,” came the voice of Constable Mansfield.
“On what charges? If anyone should be arrested, it’s this viscount.”
“On charges of fraud, conspiracy, and murder.”
“That’s preposterous!” As the bodyguards laid their guns on the card table, constables moved to secure Elden.
Miles lifted his brows and sought answers from his man-servant. “Murder?”
“Her Ladyship found links,” Adam said. “They deserve hearing out.”
Warm joy spread through his chest. “And she didn’t come for me herself? I feel I’ve made progress in a task I hadn’t thought to undertake.”
“Taming your wife?”
“Not in this lifetime, even if I wanted to.”
“You don’t care a thing about this town,” Elden shouted as the police bound his wrists.
“I doubt even Kimberley brooks coercion and murder. And although I cannot speak for the rest of the nobility, most of us quite frown on threats. You made this very personal when you threatened Mr. Nolan. Oh, and when you kissed my wife. Don’t forget that.” With a casual flick of his wrist, he turned over his cards to reveal a full house. “Out of curiosity, what did you have?”
Elden shrugged off his captors with the dignity of a man born to wealth, not made by it. He turned over three queens.
“You didn’t rig the last hand,” Miles said.
“No.”
“Well, I give you that much credit, at least.”
“At least.”
Miles saw a glint of silver and moved without thought. The whip cracked as loud as a gunshot in the close confines of the club. Elden shrieked and doubled over his bleeding wrist, which grew too weak to hold the small derringer he’d pulled from his sleeve. The constables who had briefly permitted his dignified turn of cards withdrew those niceties. They cuffed even his wounded arm and dragged him toward the front door.
Everyone in Kimberley would see him brought low.
A scuttle of relief did nothing to ease his pulse. He could be dead. Realizing just how close he’d come to losing everything—not just a fortune—caused his vision to gray at the edges.
“My lord?” Adam nodded toward the kitchen. “Her Ladyship promised to stay out of danger. She’ll be back at the servant’s entrance.”
Thoughts of Viv halted his slide toward worse case scenarios.
“Would you be so good as to bring around the carriage? I should like very much to go home. All of this work, you understand . . . it’s exhausting.”
“Right away, sir,” Adam said, grinning.
Miles stalked through the kitchen and down a flight of stairs toward a small wooden door.
The woman he met was Vivienne, Viscountess Bancroft, but he was still taken by surprise when she barreled into his arms. He smiled into her wind-tossed hair as she kissed his cheeks, his neck, his lips.
“Oh, God, you’re all right. You’re all right.”
He tightened his arms. She seemed to need something steady. He was glad he could be that something. Then she launched into an explanation of the clues she had pieced together. In stunned silence he listened. The shock returned . . . then ebbed away. Elden was through. The brokerage was saved. And Miles held the woman he adored.
Could this be real? Now? Truly?
He touched a finger to her lips. She still vibrated in his arms, but he waited until he had her complete attention.
“Vivie, I don’t know what we’ll endure for the rest of our stay. The brokerage will thrive or fail. That bonus will be ours or it will slip away. But tell me I have you. After so many false starts and missed chances, tell me that you’re my wife.” With his hopes and his dreams right there for her to see, he said, “I love you, Viv.”
“Oh, Miles, I love you, too.” She flung her arms around his neck and held on tightly. Then she began to whisper words powerful enough to bring tears to his eyes. “To have and to hold, my darling husband. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do we part . . .”
Epilogue
New York City
January 1, 1883
Vivienne stared at the portrait of her father and softly smiled. A span of more than two years had done nothing to mollify his discontented scowl. The somber painting remained unchanged, as did the oppressive library. But Viv had changed. She’d turned herself inside out. A more contented, confident heart beat within her chest.
“Are you nervous?”
And she had Miles now. Together, with his skill and his unexpected ideas, he had discovered the key to saving the business. She’d kept the books, he’d wooed their clients, and Smets had appraised tiny piles of fabulous diamonds. But a steady trade in industrial carbons paid the bills—so well t
hat Ike and Alice now lived in a house, not a hovel. Through all their hard work, Christie Brokerage was officially in the black.
They had won.
Elated as always by that thrill of victory, she found her husband standing by her side. Immaculately dressed, wearing a coal-black suit and an expertly tied silver-and-navy-striped ascot, he brought to mind the long-ago waltz they’d shared in Lady Galeworth’s ballroom. It seemed Adam’s engagement to Chloe had done nothing to diminish his efficiency.
Miles’ss tan remained vibrant after their long sea voyage back from the Cape, and the brilliant white of his sharply pressed dress shirt heightened his rakish coloring. A light slick of pomade added the finishing touch to a man who was perfectly groomed, perfectly suitable. Perfectly breathtaking.
Only his eyes gave him away—dark eyes that made promises she couldn’t wait to let him keep. She never tired of the way lightning sizzled outward from her belly, anticipating their next touch of skin to skin. She’d become brave enough to leave her fear behind, trusting this man, trusting what her heart and her body and her mind all declared. I love him.
She smiled. “I confess to being a little nervous, but not in the least like last time.”
Chin lowered, he slowly shook his head. “Last time. I hardly care to think about that.”
“Then let’s not.” She cast a final look at her father’s stern expression, then eased into the safety of her husband’s arms. “Now . . . well, now I’m more curious than anything else. Miles, what if Gwen and my brothers haven’t fared so well? I cannot stand the idea of walking out of here with a million dollars if they leave with nothing.”
His long fingers gently soothed the stiffness from her upper back. “I promise, Viv, your family will not go hungry. I won’t let it happen.” His dear features resumed their customary teasing. “But have a little faith. After all, we managed . . . and we were near to hopeless.”
She laughed and pressed her cheek against his shirtfront, inhaling the warm, sharp scent of him—Marseilles soap and a dash of spicy aftershave. All very civilized. But she’d swear that the dry, yellow dust of the Karoo was a part of him now.