Julia didn’t care two figs for his proclivities. The more debauched he was, the less likely he would be smitten with a case of misplaced honour in the morning. Paine Ramsden it would be. She was sure of her course now. She had only to find him and convince him to ruin her. For the latter, she had her pearl earbobs tucked in a small bag to provide any additional financial inducement he would need to see the deed done. A gambler like him would know where to pawn them. Yes, the latter would be easy. Based on his poor social standing, it would be harder to do the former.
She might not know where he’d be, but she had a good idea of where he wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t be at any of the soirées or musicales scheduled for the evening. He wouldn’t be at any of the fancy gentleman’s clubs or gaming establishments on St James’s. The gossip she’d heard maintained that he took rooms on Jermyn Street. There was little chance he’d be there at the time she planned to seek him out, but that was where she would start. A landlady or a neighbour might know his direction for the evening or be able to guide her to one of his favorite haunts. True, she didn’t know which of the bachelor establishments he lived at, but if she had to go door to door asking landlords, then that’s what she’d do. That time of night, the bachelor tenants would most likely all be out carousing and there would be few home to note her presence.
Julia cast another glance at the clock. Eight hours until dark. Eight hours to convince her aunt and uncle of her acceptance of their decision and that she wanted to stay home that evening to work on her trousseau. No. That sounded too suspicious, given that she despised needlework. Better to go with them and give them the slip at the rout tonight. Lady Moffat’s entertainment was bound to be a crush and her aunt and uncle were not vigilant chaperons once her dance card was full.
It should be easy to clandestinely slip away through a back-garden gate without being missed for some time. Her uncle would be in the card room, oblivious to what was happening in the ballroom, and her aunt would be caught up in conversation with her friends. Her aunt would assume she was with the Farradays, who often acted as her stand-in chaperons at such events.
Determined to follow through with her decisions, Julia gave her attention to the massive oak wardrobe standing in the corner. She strode to it and threw open the door, revealing dozens of gowns made of the finest silks and fabrics. She eyed the gowns with a new cynicism. Her uncle had not spared any expense when it came to outfitting his niece for her Season. The reasons for such extravagance were horribly clear.
Now, for the last decision. Julia tapped a long finger against her chin, considering the array of finery spread before her. What did a girl wear to her ruination?
Chapter Two
‘I never guessed you held aces!’ Gaylord Beaton, the young man seated across the card table from Paine Ramsden, threw down his cards in disgust. ‘You’ve the luck of the devil tonight, Ram.’
The others at the table in the dimly lit gambling hell laughed and threw in their hands. ‘What do you mean “tonight”? Ram has the devil’s luck every night!’ another exclaimed.
‘Have you considered I might have something more than luck?’ Paine Ramsden gathered his winnings with a swift, practised move of his arm.
‘What would that be? A fifth ace?’ The table broke into guffaws at Gaylord’s bold jest.
‘Skill,’ Paine replied drily, giving them each a piercing stare before he began to deal. He’d heard the underlying anger in young Beaton’s jest.
This was the second night these bucks had been in to play and the second night they’d lost heavily. In his experience, an angry gambler was a dangerous gambler. He’d have to keep his eye on the young man. He’d hoped Beaton had learned his lesson last night and taken steps to preserve the remainder of his quarterly allowance. But apparently Beaton thought those steps involved trying to win back his losses, a common enough mistake and one Paine had made during his own misguided youth.
The five of them were playing high-stakes Commerce. He was winning thoroughly, having won a hundred pounds from each of the four young bucks at the table. Paine should have been enjoying it. Instead, he was bored. No, he was beyond bored. He had been bored three nights ago. Now, he was apathetic.
Paine discarded one of his three cards and drew the queen of hearts. With the addition of the queen, he held three of a kind. They were all going to lose again. He waited to feel the elation of victory. He felt nothing—not the excitement of winning, not the pleasant blurring of the edges of the world from the cheap brandy in his glass, not the spark of arousal from the sassy promises of the lightskirt who hovered near his shoulder. He was numb.
How had that happened? When had the usual thrills lost their abilities to sate him? There had been a time earlier in his return from abroad when simply being in a seedy place like this, several streets away from the well-lit halls of St James’s, had been thrill enough to send his adrenalin racing at the prospect of needing to draw the knife secreted in his boot. He’d liked the prospect so much, he’d bought this place from the owner, who was looking to retire.
These days, he was the king of the roost. He’d made the seamy gaming hall his private kingdom. Young bloods looking for racy diversions came to try their hand against him at cards. Hardened gamblers appealed to him for loans when their luck was down. The whores offered themselves to him willingly. He had gone looking for the underworld and now it came looking for him.
He hardly left except to make a rare appearance in the ton, as he had done several weeks ago to escort his Aunt Lily to an early Season ball. He genuinely liked his Aunt Lily and her forthright manner. But as for the ton, Paine much preferred life outside high society’s restrictions and expectations. His time in India had taught him that. The fact that he had grown tired of his current arrangement merely indicated he needed to find a new excitement.
Paine set down his cards to a chorus of groans from the table and began unrolling his shirtsleeves.
‘You’re not thinking of leaving before we have a chance to win back our losses?’ one dandy cried in dismay. ‘It is only midnight.’
‘Exactly so—’ Paine replied, breaking off in mid-sentence. He narrowed his gaze and looked into the smoky gloom beyond the table towards the entrance. There was a commotion at the front. ‘Gentleman, if you’ll excuse me, there seems to be a problem that needs my attention.’
Paine strode towards the door, aware for the first time that evening of a prick of anticipation growing within him. This was what he needed, something unknown and unpredictable, to spark his enthusiasm again.
‘John, is there anything wrong?’ Paine asked the doorman.
‘Doorman’ was a polite word for John’s occupation. The hulking man with the crooked nose was charged with the duty of keeping people in who didn’t pay their debts and keeping out those who didn’t belong to the murky depths of the hell. It was a duty he did well. There was seldom an occasion John couldn’t manage. Tonight seemed to be a rare exception. John appeared relieved to see him, although Paine was having difficulty noticing what the trouble might be.
‘It’s this ’ere chit. She’s asking for you.’ John stepped aside, revealing what his girth had hidden from Paine’s approach.
Paine’s breath caught and his member stirred violently. The girl was stunning. One look at her generous invitation of a mouth and his mind was awash with images of bedding her, of stripping her out of the turquoise silk that hugged her curves exquisitely and kissing her until she cried out for all of him. In his veins, his blood began to heat at the prospect. He was alive again.
‘It’s all