“Knowing Chase, she’s going to make an entrance.” Bourne paused. “It goes without saying that if she is hurt in any way… if Caroline is marked in any way by this night…”
Duncan met the marquess’s eyes. “I would expect repercussions.”
“Repercussions,” Bourne scoffed. “We will disappear you, and you will never be found.”
“I assume you were sent with precisely that message?”
“That, and one other,” Bourne said. “You should not let her go.”
His went cold at the words, then hot. “I don’t follow.”
Bourne smirked, but did not take his gaze from the crowds. “You’re the smartest man I know, West. You follow perfectly well.”
You should not let her go.
As if he had a choice.
The crowd grew more and more raucous – drink flowed freely throughout the casino, and every table on the floor was filled with gamers basking in the glow of chance. The place was alive with sound, the calls of the croupiers, the cheers of the audience at hazard, the groans of those at roulette. He imagined he could hear the rasp of the cards at vingt-et-un as they slid over the baize, each sound more lush and magnificent than it had ever been – because he now knew it was her doing… her creation.
“I will say this for her, though,” Bourne said, watching the floor, considering the sheer number of gamers before them. “If we close our doors for good tonight, it will be with a bigger take than we’ve ever had.”
“I have to stop her.”
Bourne raised a brow. “I confess, I had hoped you would consider doing so. I’ve a family to feed.”
The Marquess of Bourne had enough money and land to feed all the families in Britain, but Duncan had other things to do than joust with the man. “Where would she be?”
Bourne looked up, to the stained glass, where Lucifer tumbled to the casino floor. “If I had to guess…”
Duncan was on his way, pushing through the crowds, weaving between tables, headed for the heavily guarded door at the far end of the room. He was nearly there when he heard his name, behind him, in a voice that at The Fallen Angel was equally familiar and foreign.
After all, the Earl of Tremley was not a member.
Duncan said as much, and Tremley smiled, coming closer. “I was invited tonight. By your Anna. I was told she was pretty, but once one meets her – she is – glorious.”
The words sent fury through Duncan, who could not bear the thought of Georgiana and Tremley breathing the same air, let alone being in the same room. “What have you done?”
“Nothing that you didn’t do yourself,” Lord Tremley sneered. “Indeed, you painted with a rather broad brush – five thousand pounds for Chase’s identity? You think he will simply lay back and let the hordes come to find him? I got it done.”
He froze. “Got what done?”
“Your girl. We made a trade. It was really quite sweet.”
No.
Duncan knew what was to come before Tremley revealed it. “She did it for you, the poor creature. Thinking that if she revealed Chase’s secrets, she would save you.” He looked to West. “We both know that’s not true.”
She was doing it to save him.
She’d said as much, hadn’t she?
Tremley had given her a choice: her club or him.
I choose you.
She’d made the choice without hesitation.
It is time for you to trust me.
He could not let her ruin her life. Could not let her give up this world that she had worked so hard to build. Something danced at the edge of his thoughts – something that did not sit well. Her plan – if it was to be a public reveal – would not help Tremley. If the whole world had Chase’s identity, Tremley was still beholden to the Angel, which held his secrets.
But now, he knew how to make Georgiana dance.
And Tremley would do it. Forever. He would hold Georgiana and this place in his sway with the same simple threat he’d held over Duncan for a lifetime.
And Duncan had had enough.
He’d spent years waiting for Tremley to report his crimes, to send him to prison, to string him up. He’d spent years amassing fortune and favor to ensure that, should it ever happen, someone somewhere would care for Cynthia. He’d groveled and scraped and done Tremley’s bidding.
But he was done.
He opened his mouth to tell the earl just that when a cacophony of shouts came from across the room, where Georgiana stood, dressed head to toe in scarlet, atop a hazard field. Behind her, Lucifer fell.
She was going to do it.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” she called out, moving her arms to indicate that they should settle. “And ladies.” She looked to a small band of masked women at the edge of the room.
A man on the floor by the table reached for her slipper. West was already in motion, heading to destroy the vermin, when she stepped on the blackguard’s wrist, eliciting a sharp cry. “Oh,” she said, all smiles. “Do excuse me, Lord Densmore. I did not know your hand was so near to my foot.”
He stopped, a roomful of masculine laughter crashing around him as she continued, “We are all so happy that you have joined us for what will be a supremely edifying evening.”
Shit.
She was going to do it.
He was moving toward her, but the crowd was thick and would not budge. This was, after all, the strange occurrence for which they’d been waiting.
“As you know, our dear friend Duncan West has put out a reward for Chase’s identity …”
West froze as her words were met with a chorus of boos and hisses and hear-hears. Several men nearby clapped him on the back. “She’s after you, West,” one man whispered.