Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 104
Duncan approached without hesitation.
Bruno watched his back. “Even though I think we should leave him to the crowds.”
“We might well do that,” Temple said.
“Give it time,” Cross added.
“What the hell is this?” Duncan asked, brandishing a small square of paper. “You think insulting me is the way to convince me to rescind the reward?”
Bourne plucked the missive out of his hand and opened it. Read aloud. “‘You are an idiot, wandering blind in the woods.’” He nodded, looking to Temple. “There’s a poetry to that.”
Temple looked rather proud of himself. “Thank you. I thought so.”
Duncan snatched the paper out of Bourne’s hands in exasperation. “Insulting me and then summoning me to your side hasn’t put me in a generous frame of mind. What in hell do you want?”
“You know,” Bourne said, “I once heard you described as a genius.” He looked to Cross. “Except, for a genius, he is something of a lummox.”
“Well, to be fair, he’s in a situation where intelligence does rather go out the window,” Cross said. “I have a theory that women actually siphon off our cleverness during the courting phase, and keep it for themselves. Which is why they always seem to see the endgame before we do.”
Temple nodded, as though the earl had said something tremendously sage.
“That is a very good theory,” Bourne said.
“You’re all fucking mad,” Duncan said, brandishing the note. “I did not come for your insane ideas. I came because you promised me Chase. And looking at the three of you, you lied.”
“Excuse me,” Temple said, affront in the tone.
“We did not lie.” Cross replied.
“Well then?” Duncan asked.
“The reward was a very good move,” Temple said. “It certainly got our attention.”
“Did it get Chase’s?”
“I imagine it did, yes,” said Bourne.
“Then why am I talking to you three instead of him?”
Cross leaned back against the roulette table, folding long arms over his chest. He lifted his chin in the direction of the door at the far end of the room, beneath the enormous stained glass window. Duncan’s gaze fell to the exit, and he realized that he had never in all his years of membership seen that door unguarded.
He looked back to the owners.
“Go ahead, then,” Cross said. “Talk to Chase.”
His brow furrowed. “Is it a trap?”
“Not in the way you think,” Temple said, ominously.
He turned away. “You waste my time.”
“It’s not a trap,” Cross said. “You’ll survive it.”
He looked from one founder to the next. “How do I know to trust you?”
Bourne shrugged one shoulder. “She loves you. We would not hurt you, even if we wanted to.” The words were punctuated by a cacophony of shouting from the street outside – the sounds matching the beating of his heart.
She loves you.
“You have all mistreated her. Abysmally,” Duncan said. “Letting her live this life.”
Temple smiled at that. “That you think we ever let them do anything is a testament to your senselessness.” He lifted his chin to the door. “Chase’s office is through that door.”
Duncan’s gaze lingered on the door in question. If it was a trap, so be it. He had brought them to this moment, forcing their hand. He’d offered the reward, sending half of London to their doorstep to smoke out the elusive owner of the casino.
He would face this head-on.
He crossed the room, opened the door to reveal a long staircase, ascending into darkness. Looking back, he saw the three men who were the public face of the casino, standing shoulder to shoulder, watching him. As he closed the door behind him, blocking them out, it occurred to him that their fourth was missing – the woman who reigned over this floor. Their partner in this impressive place.
The thought echoed through him. She was their fourth.
She was their fourth.
He climbed the stairs, moving more and more quickly as his mind turned the events of the past six years over and over again… all the references to Chase, all the missives carried on his behalf by the beautiful, brilliant Anna, a Society cast-out hidden in plain sight. She knew so much about the place, about its members.
She was their fourth.
The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a familiar corridor, the wall opposite him boasting an enormous oil painting he’d seen before. Themis and Nemesis. Justice and Vengeance.
Who are you? he’d asked when they’d stood here before.
I cannot be both? she’d replied.
She was both.
He nearly ripped the painting from the wall as he opened the entrance to the secret passageway. To Chase’s office.
He counted the doors, stopping at the fourth. Grasping the handle. Knowing that whatever – whoever – was behind this door would change his life. Forever. He took a single, stabilizing breath, and opened the door.
He was right.
She was behind her desk, head bowed, writing, a stack of cards next to her on the great expanse of oak. Memory flashed – days earlier. She, on the edge of that desk in this white room. His hands and mouth and body on hers.
He’d rushed, thinking they were in Chase’s offices.
Thinking they would be caught.
Thinking she belonged to another.
Wanting her for his.
He was consumed by anger and fascination, disbelief and respect.
She did not look up from her writing as she heard the door open, instead waving a hand in the direction of the stack of letters at her elbow. “These are ready to go,” she said. “Is Bourne here yet?”
Bruno watched his back. “Even though I think we should leave him to the crowds.”
“We might well do that,” Temple said.
“Give it time,” Cross added.
“What the hell is this?” Duncan asked, brandishing a small square of paper. “You think insulting me is the way to convince me to rescind the reward?”
Bourne plucked the missive out of his hand and opened it. Read aloud. “‘You are an idiot, wandering blind in the woods.’” He nodded, looking to Temple. “There’s a poetry to that.”
Temple looked rather proud of himself. “Thank you. I thought so.”
Duncan snatched the paper out of Bourne’s hands in exasperation. “Insulting me and then summoning me to your side hasn’t put me in a generous frame of mind. What in hell do you want?”
“You know,” Bourne said, “I once heard you described as a genius.” He looked to Cross. “Except, for a genius, he is something of a lummox.”
“Well, to be fair, he’s in a situation where intelligence does rather go out the window,” Cross said. “I have a theory that women actually siphon off our cleverness during the courting phase, and keep it for themselves. Which is why they always seem to see the endgame before we do.”
Temple nodded, as though the earl had said something tremendously sage.
“That is a very good theory,” Bourne said.
“You’re all fucking mad,” Duncan said, brandishing the note. “I did not come for your insane ideas. I came because you promised me Chase. And looking at the three of you, you lied.”
“Excuse me,” Temple said, affront in the tone.
“We did not lie.” Cross replied.
“Well then?” Duncan asked.
“The reward was a very good move,” Temple said. “It certainly got our attention.”
“Did it get Chase’s?”
“I imagine it did, yes,” said Bourne.
“Then why am I talking to you three instead of him?”
Cross leaned back against the roulette table, folding long arms over his chest. He lifted his chin in the direction of the door at the far end of the room, beneath the enormous stained glass window. Duncan’s gaze fell to the exit, and he realized that he had never in all his years of membership seen that door unguarded.
He looked back to the owners.
“Go ahead, then,” Cross said. “Talk to Chase.”
His brow furrowed. “Is it a trap?”
“Not in the way you think,” Temple said, ominously.
He turned away. “You waste my time.”
“It’s not a trap,” Cross said. “You’ll survive it.”
He looked from one founder to the next. “How do I know to trust you?”
Bourne shrugged one shoulder. “She loves you. We would not hurt you, even if we wanted to.” The words were punctuated by a cacophony of shouting from the street outside – the sounds matching the beating of his heart.
She loves you.
“You have all mistreated her. Abysmally,” Duncan said. “Letting her live this life.”
Temple smiled at that. “That you think we ever let them do anything is a testament to your senselessness.” He lifted his chin to the door. “Chase’s office is through that door.”
Duncan’s gaze lingered on the door in question. If it was a trap, so be it. He had brought them to this moment, forcing their hand. He’d offered the reward, sending half of London to their doorstep to smoke out the elusive owner of the casino.
He would face this head-on.
He crossed the room, opened the door to reveal a long staircase, ascending into darkness. Looking back, he saw the three men who were the public face of the casino, standing shoulder to shoulder, watching him. As he closed the door behind him, blocking them out, it occurred to him that their fourth was missing – the woman who reigned over this floor. Their partner in this impressive place.
The thought echoed through him. She was their fourth.
She was their fourth.
He climbed the stairs, moving more and more quickly as his mind turned the events of the past six years over and over again… all the references to Chase, all the missives carried on his behalf by the beautiful, brilliant Anna, a Society cast-out hidden in plain sight. She knew so much about the place, about its members.
She was their fourth.
The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a familiar corridor, the wall opposite him boasting an enormous oil painting he’d seen before. Themis and Nemesis. Justice and Vengeance.
Who are you? he’d asked when they’d stood here before.
I cannot be both? she’d replied.
She was both.
He nearly ripped the painting from the wall as he opened the entrance to the secret passageway. To Chase’s office.
He counted the doors, stopping at the fourth. Grasping the handle. Knowing that whatever – whoever – was behind this door would change his life. Forever. He took a single, stabilizing breath, and opened the door.
He was right.
She was behind her desk, head bowed, writing, a stack of cards next to her on the great expanse of oak. Memory flashed – days earlier. She, on the edge of that desk in this white room. His hands and mouth and body on hers.
He’d rushed, thinking they were in Chase’s offices.
Thinking they would be caught.
Thinking she belonged to another.
Wanting her for his.
He was consumed by anger and fascination, disbelief and respect.
She did not look up from her writing as she heard the door open, instead waving a hand in the direction of the stack of letters at her elbow. “These are ready to go,” she said. “Is Bourne here yet?”
