“You were a child. Your mother didn’t expect you to protect her. I daresay, it would have broken her heart, caused her more pain had you been hurt as well. You can’t blame yourself for his ugly behavior.”
Taking another long sip, he shifted his attention to the flames. “I went to his hanging.”
“Oh my God. Someone took you? A child? They should be horsewhipped!”
A corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly as his eyes came back to hers. “You don’t believe in whipping horses.”
“I believe in whipping people when they behave badly. You should not have had to witness your father’s death, no matter how horrible he was. You should have been spared seeing him die.”
“No one took me. I went alone. I grew up on the streets, knew my way around, didn’t fear getting lost. Never told anyone.”
“It’s not a place for a child.” Not a place for an adult. She had no memory of ever attending a hanging, but she could well imagine the gruesomeness of it. Her heart ached for him, that he had seen something so horrendous. That it had been his father up there made it all the worse.
“Quarter of a century ago, it served as entertainment. I was only eight, but still I recognized that I should be ashamed. I stood in that crowd and looked up at those gallows and was mortified that the creature up there with the noose about his neck—like an animal—had anything to do with me. And worse, I wept, because I loved him. I hated him, I despised him, knew the brutality he was capable of, knew he had killed my mother, and yet, somehow, to my mortification, I still loved him.”
She couldn’t help herself. Too much distance separated them. She rose, crossed over, knelt before him, and took his free hand. Feeling the tenseness in it, she stroked the long callused fingers, the wide palm. “I believe we can love a person without loving the things he does. He was your father. A bond existed between you.”
“A bond. Yes.” After he downed the last of the whiskey, he set aside the tumbler. Then he cradled her cheek. “His blood courses through me. And that, sweet Phee, is why I will never marry, why I am unworthy of a wife or children or the family who took me in. Because of the legacy he left to me. I can’t impose it on others.”
Tears welled in her eyes. That this man should believe those things was unconscionable. “You’re not your father.”
He laughed low, darkly. “Did you not see the way I went after Morris? I have my father’s hard hands and his harsh temper. I’ve spent my life trying to keep it under control, but it’s always there, seething beneath the surface. I can’t escape it.”
“Morris deserved your temper and your fists. It would have taken me much longer to beat him as he deserved, so I was very grateful you were on hand to handle the task for me.”
He chuckled, a relaxed sound that reverberated through her. She didn’t want him harboring these dark thoughts, going to these shadowed places where his past would haunt him. She wished she had the power to make him forget about his father, all he knew, all he’d witnessed. Perhaps there were some things that a person should not remember.
“You were quite the hellcat,” he said.
“Tempers serve a purpose.” Pressing a kiss to his knuckles, she repeated, “You’re not your father.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“You can. You must.” She sighed deeply. How could she explain it? “I know I don’t remember you from before, and that you make little cryptic comments from time to time that indicate we might not have been the best of friends—I don’t know why, and I don’t care. Because I know you now. I know who you are. I know how kind you are. You let me keep a horse, a cat, and a dog. You bring me supper and take me on picnics in the garden. You don’t shout at me even though I’m an awful housekeeper. You don’t complain that I purchase things for Marla with your coins. You try to help me remember, and you’re patient with me when I don’t.” Reaching up, she combed her fingers through his hair. “I refuse to believe that there is anything of your father in you. You are your own man. I find you to be quite remarkable.”
With a growl, he pulled her onto his lap, took her mouth as though without it, he might die. It was a sentiment she completely understood because she had not wanted to go another moment without kissing him. She had been so glad to discover he was still here. She thought she would never have enough moments with him. She’d come to despise the moon because when it rose in the sky, he departed. She much preferred the sun because it brought him back.
Pulling away, he gazed into her eyes, and within his, she saw burning desire that sent her heart to galloping. He plowed his fingers into her hair, held her still.
“This between us is so dangerous,” he said, his voice rough and raw.
“You won’t hurt me.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, shook his head slightly. “You should not be here.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
“I’m on a frayed tether.”
“What does that mean?”
Drawing back, he gave her a wry smile. “That I want to be with you in ways that an honorable man would not. I won’t ruin you. I won’t.”
She thought he was trying to convince himself more than convince her. Was it wrong of her to be flattered that he desired her? Did it make her wanton? Probably, but she didn’t care. She wanted to encourage him to throw caution to the wind, but then she recalled why he was here. She’d promised not to distract him, yet she’d managed to do just that. “Can you tell me about this meeting you’re having with the partners?”
He seemed relieved by her question, that she was willing to change the subject, lead them away from temptation.
“The club that I manage—Dodger’s Drawing Room. Is the name familiar?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Should it be?”
“It’s quite well known. You knew I oversaw it. I just thought—” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s owned by three partners. One of those partners is the woman who took me in and raised me as her own.”
Blinking she released a startled laugh. “A woman owns a gambling hell?”
“She was once the bookkeeper. Thirty years or so ago, London was very different, darker. Before that, more different, more dark. The three partners survived the streets, became successful. I owe her my life. I owe all of them for what I now hold. But I believe the purpose of tomorrow’s meeting is to decide the club’s fate, and I fear that they might decide the time has come to close it.”
“What will you do if that happens?”
“I’m not sure. I hope to persuade them otherwise.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I shall open my own establishment. Begin anew.”
“I can’t imagine all it would take to start over.” She furrowed her brow. “Although I suppose in a way I am.”
“I’ll have an advantage, though, if I must start over. I already know everything involved, everything I’ll need to do. The notion of beginning again rather excites me. I’ve long wanted to own my own place, but my loyalty is to them. That’s why I need to organize my thoughts, to convince them there is still money to be had, and that I can keep them in the flush.”
“You’d sacrifice your own dream for them?”
“I doubt I’d be around to dream at all if not for them.”
How could he possibly think he was anything like his father, a man who had ended his life at the end of a noose? “I know I don’t remember you from before, Drake Darling, but I know you now and I can say with utter confidence that you haven’t a shred of your father in you. Your loyalty to those who have helped you along the way, your kindness to me … You are a man who deserves all the good in life. I hope you acquire it.”
“You humble me, Phee.” He cradled her cheek. “You are a distraction I can ill afford.”
“Will you return before your meeting?”
“Afterward.”
Leaning in, she kissed him deeply, thoroughly. When his arms closed around her like tight band
s, she broke away and scooted off his lap. “That was for luck,” she told him with a grin. “Whatever you need to accomplish at your meeting tomorrow, you will succeed. I have full faith in you.” I love you, she almost added. Could she love him when she had known him only a short time? Did she need her memories to know him fully? She didn’t think so.
She started to leave him, had only taken three steps when he called out to her. She turned back to him.
“You, Phee, are an incredible woman. I’m not sure I ever realized that before.”
“Perhaps you’ll give me a day off then.”
He laughed deeply, richly. “Perhaps I’ll do more than that and take you to the seaside.”
“I’d like that very much.” Smiling brightly, she walked from the room. Even if she had all her memories, she doubted she’d recall a moment when she’d been happier.
Chapter 20
Their meetings were always held at a square table in a corner of Jack’s library. Drake assumed it was their rendition of a round table. No head. No foot. They each had a side. They were all equals. From the moment he’d become the manager of Dodger’s, he’d had a place at this table. When he was seventeen, he’d thought he’d be here forever.
Jack Dodger sat across from him. Frannie Mabry was to his right. The Earl of Claybourne to his left. More than thirty years had passed since they opened Dodger’s. Not much had changed in all those years. A few games added. Women no longer worked on their backs. But for the most part, it was as it had begun, and that, Drake realized, was the issue at hand.
After Phee had left him the night before, he’d returned to the club, stood in the balcony, and organized his thoughts among the clatter and clicking of vices being enjoyed by men of quality. He couldn’t see Dodger’s going away, not when business was thriving. But he did believe some adjustments were in order.
Jack lifted his glass of whiskey, beginning the meeting as he always did: with a salute. “To Dodger’s and the life it has given us.”
They clinked their glasses together. Dodger’s had given Drake a good life. He wasn’t a partner, but his income was derived from the profits, and they were extremely handsome.
“I called this meeting,” Jack began, “because times are changing and I don’t know that I’m willing to change with them.”
“That would be foolish,” Drake said. Within this circle, he’d never hesitated to give his opinion on matters. They listened to him. They didn’t always agree, but they listened.
Jack arched a dark brow. “Would it?”
“If you want your profits to continue to increase, you must be willing to adapt.”
“Dodger’s has had a good run. Besides, adapting has never been my strong suit.”
Drake felt his stomach drop to the floor with the finality of Jack’s tone. “However, it is mine. Dodger’s caters only to the aristocracy. But more of our members are struggling. For many of them, the family coffers are not what they once were. Industrialization is changing everything. Those with the wealth now are not titled. They are visionaries. They are in manufacturing and railways and land. They are architects, inventors, builders. They are looking for validation, because for all their wealth, their blood is not blue, and that matters here. We open Dodger’s to them.”
Jack leaned back. “You’re rather passionate about this.”
“Yes, I am, because I understand it.” He glanced around the table. “You all should. We have an opportunity here to expand our resources, to perhaps make a difference and knock a few bricks off the wall that separates the aristocracy from the common man.”
“Don’t you desire something more than managing a gaming hell?” the duchess asked, her blue eyes earnest. He’d always loved the way she met his gaze head-on.
“I’m suited to it, and I enjoy it. The only thing I would want more is to actually own one.”
“Then why don’t you?” the Earl of Claybourne asked.
Drake glanced around the table. “Because I owe each of you for the chance you gave me to better my life. I’m not going to show my appreciation by going into competition against you.”
Claybourne gave Jack a pointed look. Jack merely shrugged. “I told you.”
Drake furrowed his brow. He didn’t have a good feeling about this. He liked even less the sense that something more was going on here than he’d thought. “Told him what?”
The duchess reached across the table, placed her hand over his, and squeezed. “Jack thought you were sacrificing your own dreams for what you perceived to be ours.”
“I’m not sacrificing anything.”
“Then you won’t mind that we’re ending the partnership,” Jack said.
The words contained finality. “You’ve already discussed it, made your decision?”
“We have.”
“You’re closing Dodger’s?”
Jack nodded. “I suspect it will cease to exist.”
Drake thought of all the hours he’d poured into it, all the labor, the effort. The plans he had hoped to implement. “I’ll purchase it from you. I have money set aside. Name your price.”
Jack looked incredibly pleased. “You owe me five quid, Claybourne. I told you he’d want it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Drake asked. “Unless your own sons would rather have it.”
“What would they do with it? They’re not from the streets,” Jack said. “They have no interest in the work it takes to run a place like this. Besides, we were all in agreement, from the moment you took over the reins, that if you had a knack for managing the place, someday we’d offer it to you. You have a knack, boy, and then some.”
“Then this meeting—”
“Was to see if you’d have it.”
“You couldn’t have been a bit more direct?”
“You should know me well enough to know I wouldn’t give it up without putting you through a little gauntlet. You’ve managed it well, but still I needed to be reassured you had the passion for it. You convinced me.”
Drake felt his chest expand with relief, his thoughts explode with possibilities. “What’s the price?”
“My share goes to you free and clear. Consider it your inheritance,” the duchess said with a smile.
It was too much, far too much. He wasn’t worthy. He needed to explain that to her, but then he heard Phee’s insistent tone, You’re not your father. Still, he shook his head. “I can’t take from your own children.”
“You’re my child.”
“The law does not recognize me as such.”
She glowered at him. “Do you think I give a fig about what the law recognizes? I was a thief and a forger long before I was a duchess.”
“And stubborn,” Claybourne said. “Accept her gift with grace, lad.”
Drake looked at the duchess. “You’ve given me so much.”
She smiled softly. “You’ve given me more.”
“Then I welcome your generous gift with more gratitude than I can ever express.”
He negotiated with Claybourne and Jack for their shares. They seemed surprised by his shrewdness, but part of his preparation for the meeting had involved anticipating that he would make an offer for the business.
Whiskey was poured to seal the deal. Drake stood. “I am quite overwhelmed. I had hoped to convince you not to close Dodger’s. It has a reputation tied to you. I will change it to fit the times. If you’ve no objection, I’d like to change its name in order to truly make it my own.”
“You are now its owner,” the duchess said. “You are to do with it as you please.”
“I’ll make you proud,” he promised her.
“My darling son, you have made me proud since the moment you became mine.”
It was silly for Phee to sit on the edge of the windowsill in the parlor and gaze out on the street waiting for Drake’s return. He’d said he would come to the residence after the meeting, but she had no idea how long it would take or how soon after he would come. For all she knew he would stay at the club to work for a
spell, to see about his business there.
She wasn’t his wife, his lover, his friend. She was his housekeeper, his servant, his laundress, his boot polisher, his back scrubber. Even if she’d only had the pleasure of doing the last once. Her hands were healed enough that she could wash his back again. Although maybe she would wash a tad more: his hair, his arms, his chest. She would probably stop there. The remainder of him far too intimate, but maybe …
She’d braved a park that for some reason terrified her. Why would she not brave exploring him? She thought it would be a far more pleasant task.
Sighing, she pressed her forehead to the glass. She had chores that needed to be attended to, although at the moment she couldn’t recall a single one; cooking lessons to be attended to, although at the moment she didn’t know if she would ever eat again, her stomach was such a knot of nerves.
She didn’t want them to rebuff him or scold him or make him think he couldn’t accomplish what he most certainly could. She didn’t want them to hurt him, undermine his confidence. She wanted to be in that room and shake anyone who made him feel less.
Not that he needed her to stand as his champion. He was perfectly capable of handling the matter on his own. It was simply that she wanted to be his partner, wanted to be involved in his life, his plans, his dreams.
Good God, she sounded like Marla with her romantic tale of servants and masters of the house. The next thing she knew she would be imagining Drake declaring undying love for her.
Silly, foolish girl.
She saw a hansom cab pull to a stop in front of the residence, saw him leap out—
She rushed to the door, opened it, and nearly rammed into him when she darted outside. His quick reflexes, folding his hands over her shoulders, were the only things that saved her nose, his chest. She looked up at him, studying him as she tried to decipher the answer in his eyes but he was closed up as tightly as shutters during a storm.
“Well?” she demanded.
“You’re looking at the new owner of Dodger’s.” Laughing, picking her up, holding her tightly, he swung her around until she was dizzy.
Once More, My Darling Rogue Page 24