Sharp Love (Gambling on Love)

by March, Ava

  The past few nights had not been as profitable as he had hoped. Nabobs eager to empty their pockets had been few and far between. He’d been able to add one hundred and sixty-seven pounds to the sack beneath his floorboards. Nowhere near enough. If tonight did not prove lucrative, then he would need to head to St. Giles. Go deep into the Rookery. Greater risk—much greater. If he was caught, the probability of seeing the dawn would be zero. No doubt about that. While those who controlled flash houses and nunneries tended to have an inclination for large bets, they were not of the forgiving sort. But he’d rather find himself face down in a gutter than spend another night in his pathetic little room, the narrow bed feeling as empty as the hole in his chest.

  By God, he despised London. And he was just so...tired of it all. Of the futility of each day. Of dragging his arse out of bed only to find himself in the same lonely bed come nightfall. Of being so absolutely alone. Of having to spend yet another day without Jack.

  Pain radiated across his chest. A wince tightened his brow.

  Yes, indeed. If he didn’t have enough to leave London by the time he dragged himself back to his bed tonight, then he’d head to the Rookery tomorrow.

  He made to take another slow sip of ale but paused, the tankard halfway to his lips.

  Had that been Jack who had just walked past the window?

  No. Jack had left London three days ago. He was now in Hampshire, dutifully following the Duke of Pelham’s every command.

  Yet there weren’t many men in London who stood almost a head above others and who had shoulders broad enough to intimidate a table full of five men intent on gutting Will’s sorry arse.

  Will downed the ale in a few long gulps. Wouldn’t do to waste it. Then he darted out of the tavern. He swept his gaze over the other men on the walkway, dismissing the short and the average of height, looking for those broad shoulders clad in a dark greatcoat. And caught sight of them as they passed a shop front a little ways down. The golden glow spilling out the shop’s window revealed the back of a head with slightly over-long black hair, not brown, the wavy ends just grazing a shirt collar.

  His heart leapt into his throat. Was Jack looking for him again? Did Jack need his help with some new errand?

  Gaze pinned on that black head, Will weaved around the other men, his pace just short of breaking into a run. But Jack knew where to find him. Knew where Will’s small room was located. Will had been in that room, filling the hours until twilight re-reading Every Man His Own Gardener. And Jack was heading east, not west toward the boardinghouse.

  The massive man paused then crossed the street.

  “Morgan!”

  Beneath a streetlamp on the other side of the street, the man stopped. Looked over his shoulder. The harsh frown vanished from Jack’s lips the instant his gaze met Will’s. Wasn’t quite a smile, but it wasn’t a frown either.

  Will hurried across the street. He slapped Jack on the shoulder. “Fancy finding you here.”

  “Indeed.” Jack pulled open the front door of a small hotel and motioned for Will to precede him. “Much rather be in the country.”

  “So would I.” If he could ever leave this godforsaken city, that was exactly where Will intended to go.

  Jack didn’t pause at the hotelier’s desk or make a turn into the shabby parlor, but proceeded to the stairs.

  Will followed him up to the second floor, where Jack stopped before a door with a number seven painted above the knob. Pulling a key from his greatcoat pocket, Jack fit it into the lock.

  Doing his best to keep the hurt hidden from view, Will entered the room. His lodgings were only a few streets away. Jack had chosen to rent a room at a hotel rather than stay with him?

  After shutting the door behind Will and turning the lock, Jack lit a candle.

  It wasn’t as if the hotel was of a much higher quality. One window, same as Will’s room. Though the space was a tad larger, complete with an armchair—the olive green upholstery faded and worn—positioned near that one window, and two wooden chairs at a round table. Everything was neat and tidy. The bed—which was wider than Will’s—did not have even one wrinkle in the dark brown blanket.

  “I thought you were returning to Hampshire?”

  “I did. For a night. Had to come back to London two days ago.”

  That was something. At least Jack hadn’t lied to him. “What brought you back?”

  “Another errand for His Grace.”

  “Turned you into his hound again, has he?”

  Rather than thin in annoyance, Jack’s lips kicked up the tiniest bit. “Not quite. More like a guard dog.”

  Will couldn’t let that statement go without clarification. “Who are you guarding?”

  “A friend of the duke’s who is currently residing in the boardinghouse across the way.”

  And that explained why Jack had chosen to take a room at the hotel instead of staying with him. Satisfied that question had been put to rest, Will asked another. “He has a friend who lives around here?”

  Jack nodded.

  “And he’s ordered you to guard this person?”

  Another nod from Jack.

  “Why?”

  “To ensure the individual’s safety.”

  A friend indeed. The individual must be very important to the duke if the man had assigned Jack to the task of guard dog.

  Only two things could lure Quality to Will’s end of Town—gambling tables and orgasms. There were courtesans and mistresses aplenty to be found around Mayfair, but the duke had chosen someone from outside his sphere. “So he prefers to get a little dirty, does he?”

  “Pardon?” Jack hung his greatcoat on a hook near the door.

  “His new bit on the side. I assume she’s new as there was no guarding involved last I saw you. He must prefer them with dirty feet if the one he’s got you watching over is residing in that boardinghouse. Is she beautiful? Or does that not matter to him?”

  Jack scowled. “It’s not my place to discuss his...business.”

  “His business. What a polite way of putting it.” And the duke had chosen to do his business here, far away from Society’s prying eyes. While Will preferred his opponents at a card table to have deep pockets, he had long ago learned to avoid that sort if he was looking to earn a few coins away from a table. Just because he was desperate for money did not mean he was willing to indulge some nabob’s extremely eccentric tastes. “I wonder what sort of business His Grace likes to engage in if he has to come to the East Side to find someone willing to indulge him.”

  Jack’s lack of a response, and the fact he did not correct Will’s guess about the nature of the duke’s friend, spoke for themselves.

  “You know the answer, don’t you?” Again, silence from stiff and proper Jack, which only served to pique Will’s curiosity. Curiosity Jack was determined not to appease. “You know, there are times when you are no fun at all.”

  “I am working.” Jack crossed to the window. Pulling back the drapes, he looked down to the street. “You might not be familiar with the concept, but it does not involve spreading gossip about one’s employer.”

  Will rolled his eyes. “I might not be dim enough to labor all day for a few halfpennies.” Not that anyone would ever consider hiring him. “But I do know a thing or two about what’s involved. Gossip, and spreading it, is a key component. It’s expected. Just ask a scullery maid. They know everything that goes on in those big houses in Mayfair.”

  Instead of contradicting Will, or spouting some other nonsense about how it was dishonest or unprincipled or wrong to encourage gossip, Jack’s brow wrinkled. His attention was fixed out the window. Will would hazard a guess Jack hadn’t even heard his comment.

  “What is it?” Will asked, coming to stand next to Jack. The faint scents of horses and leather touched Will’s nose. The scents he had come to associate with Jack.

  “Why is he just waiting outside?” Jack’s tone was low. More voicing a thought passing through his head than a question pose
d to Will.

  A glance out the window clarified the identity of the he. A man tall and broad of figure, wearing a long greatcoat and holding a wicker basket with a plaid towel covering its contents, stood a couple of paces from the door of the boardinghouse. Obviously someone of Quality. Will could spot them a mile away. The bearing, the innate arrogance. Their spines always ramrod straight with the firm belief they were superior to all others.

  The man pulled a watch from his pocket, checked the face. Light from a nearby streetlamp glinted off gold buffed to a high polish.

  “I should check with him. Ensure he is not in need of anything.” Jack turned from the window. “Lock the door behind me.” Grabbing his coat from the hook, he left the room.

  Will locked the door then returned to the window. He watched as Jack emerged from the hotel a few seconds later and crossed the street to the man, who could be none other than Jack’s employer. Will knew of the duke’s existence, had heard a very tiny bit about him from Jack. Not much at all. More bits and pieces he’d gleamed from Jack’s comments surrounding the various errands the duke had sent Jack on over the years. His Grace spent most of his time in Hampshire, and therefore so did Jack. Will had the impression the duke was a demanding sort, expecting the best of his employees. The man had Jack’s loyalty, that was for certain. But Will had never before laid eyes on him.

  He’d expected the duke to be an imposing figure and he was one, though with Jack standing before him, the duke didn’t look quite so impressive. Will’s lips quirked. Even from a distance, Will could discern his clothing was of the highest quality, his open greatcoat revealing a perfectly tailored black coat and a crisp white cravat beneath his jaw. His dark hair was combed back from his forehead. Doubtful it was merely the play of light and shadows from the streetlamp which gave his features that harsh appearance. Not someone Will would classify as handsome. More arrogant. Definitely a demanding sort. And for some reason, Will had assumed the duke was older. Firmly in his forties by now. Jack had been working for him for six years, after all. Yet the man conversing with Jack couldn’t be much more than thirty or so.

  Hands clasped behind his back, Jack nodded once. And then Jack was making his way back to the hotel.

  Will had the key in hand and poised to push it into the lock when there was a knock on the door.

  “It’s me.”

  “Of course it is.” He unlocked the door, opened it for Jack. “Does he need anything?”

  “No.” Jack ducked slightly to fit through the doorway then hung his coat back on the hook.

  “Then why is he lingering out there?”

  “It’s not yet seven.”

  Will chuckled. “Ah, his bit’s temperamental, is she? Good for her. His sort can use someone to keep them in their place.”

  To which Jack made not a single comment.

  If Jack knew how effective silence was as a yes, then Will doubted Jack would be so diligent about holding his tongue. Will wasn’t about to enlighten him, though. He liked having a means to get an answer out of Jack when the man was so determined not to give one.

  “Are you hungry? We can stop in at a tavern, grab a bite to eat.”

  “I’m working, Will. I can’t leave.”

  The dismissive tone, the shade of annoyance in Jack’s voice pushed Will to ask, “Do you want me to leave?” Had Jack’s need to remain close to his charge not been the only reason why he had not sought Will out?

  “No,” Jack said, with a shake of his head, dismissing Will’s worry. “Of course not, Will. Could use the company. But I can’t leave.”

  “Why not? He’s there now. He appeared fully capable of protecting her virtue from the assorted ruffians and thieves who prowl around these parts. And I highly doubt he will need your assistance to come off. He’s got her for that.”

  “Must you be so crude?”

  “Yes. Have you had supper yet?”

  “No.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  A pause. “Yes.”

  The duke might not give a damn, but it wasn’t as if Will could allow Jack to go hungry. “You can stay here. Continue your vigil. I’ll get us some supper and bring it back.”

  By the time Will walked out the door of the hotel, the duke was gone. Must have finally struck seven. He went back to the tavern where he’d planned to while away the evening hours and purchased as much food as his pocket would allow. He never brought much money with him to gamble. The point was to win and not lose what he already had.

  The door to room number seven opened as he approached. Which Will expected. He had felt the comforting force of Jack’s gaze as he had crossed the street and made his way back to the hotel.

  He handed the card paper box containing two large pieces of steak and kidney pie to Jack, then set a much smaller box and a bottle of the least expensive wine the tavern had to offer on the table.

  “Thank you,” Jack said, as he sat in the armchair angled toward the window.

  Will pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat at the table. Jack had started a fire in the small hearth in his absence, and the pop and crackle of the flames were all that broke the silence as they ate.

  “How long will you be playing guard dog?” Leaning back in his chair, Will reached behind him and tossed his now empty box into the waste bin next to the washstand.

  The first piece already finished off, Jack swallowed a bite of his second piece of pie. “Until His Grace instructs me otherwise.”

  “You don’t know how long you will be staying at this hotel?”

  “Correct.”

  How rude, to not even give Jack some idea of how long he’d be stuck there. Typical aristocrat. Only thought of himself and didn’t give a whit about his employees.

  “But I suspect not indefinitely,” Jack added.

  “Obviously not indefinitely. You are his carriage driver after all. Speaking of which, who is driving his carriages while you’re here for some indeterminate length of time?”

  “Probably the head groom. He knows how to drive and can handle a team of four. Though...” There was that scowl again. “He’s got heavy hands. Pulls too hard on the horses’ mouths.”

  After taking a long swallow of the wine, Will passed the bottle to Jack. “No need to fret. The horses can survive a few days without you.”

  “Likely more than a few days. He’s determined but...” Jack shook his head.

  “Who’s determined and about what?”

  Jack’s dark gaze briefly met Will’s, then he turned his attention back to his supper. “I hope I will soon be instructed to take His Grace and his friend back to Hampshire, but I’m not sure if that will ever happen.”

  Back to Hampshire? Both of them? And the notion of not being able to convey the duke and his mistress back to the country truly concerned Jack. His brows were lowered, the edges of his mouth tight with worry.

  “Is the duke planning to remain in Town indefinitely?” Jack preferred the country. Was he merely upset at the prospect of having to stay in London?

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Then why are you so unsure if you’ll ever be instructed to take them back to Hampshire?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Stop shaking your head at me. Why are you so worried?”

  Gaze firmly fixed on the remnants of steak and kidney pie in the box in his hand, Jack said, his voice low, “It’s not my place to discuss the situation, Will.”

  Now it was a situation? A growl of frustration rumbled Will’s throat. There were instances when Will adored Jack’s protective nature. His unswayable loyalty. This was not one of them.

  He passed his mind back over their discussion thus far. “They had an argument, didn’t they?”

  Jack went utterly still.

  As good as a yes.

  The image of that wicker basket with the neat towel covering its contents popped into Will’s head. “He’s trying to win her back, but you don’t think she’ll agree. And he cares for her, that’s why you
are so concerned.”

  A long breath whooshed from Jack’s chest, his shoulders slumping. It took a moment. A long moment. Eventually Jack nodded. Once.

  And Will couldn’t stop the twinge of jealousy. Ridiculous to be jealous, but he did not like the fact Jack was so concerned about a man other than himself.

  But from what Will knew of the situation, it appeared as though Jack would be at the hotel for some time.

  He had Jack back, and that truly was all that mattered.

  Brushing aside the twinge of jealousy, Will got to his feet. “Finished with that?” He held out a hand toward Jack’s empty card paper box.

  A nod, and Jack passed the box to him.

  Will tossed it into the waste bin. “Care to play some cards to fill the evening? We can move the table so you can keep an eye out the window.”

  Another nod from Jack. “If you’ll tell me how you won all those games of vingt-et-un the other night.”

  Pursing his lips, Will pretended to consider. “Can I trust you not to tell another soul?”

  “Of course, Will,” Jack said, taken aback.

  Hell, now Jack was hurt. “I meant it in jest. I know I can trust you.” Jack was the only person he trusted in all of England. With a scrape of wooden legs against floorboards, he dragged the table out a bit from the wall. When Jack made to stand to help him, Will held up a hand to stay him. “I can manage moving a small table.”

  He scooted it another few inches, close enough so Jack could remain where he was seated and reach the table’s surface. Then he pulled the deck from his pocket—never knew when a game would be in need of one—and took off his coat, draping it over the back of his chair.

  “A deck has a set amount of cards,” Will said as he sat down. “I can tell by looking at the dealer’s stack how many decks he’s playing with. And it’s not like with brag where the opponents conceal their cards. Everyone’s cards are on the table for a given hand, except the dealer’s second card. I merely keep track of which cards have been played. With each hand, the unknown that’s left in the deck—and the unknown of the dealer’s second card—lessens, and I can better predict which cards will be played next. And thus, I play and wager accordingly.”