‘Yes.’ Sin rubbed a hand across the back of his neck in an attempt to ease the strain. One floor down the tables were busy, the girls worked the customers and liquor flowed. Everything was as it should be; yet he couldn’t shake the tension holding his muscles tight. ‘I hired a man to investigate the matter. Pimms will be the hardest to locate considering he’s recently regained his freedom. Instead of providing a clean path to his location, Pimms’ release from prison enables the sneaky cur a wide variety of alliances.’ It was the most he’d shared with Cole whenever the rare conversation of his personal goals arose.
The conversation fell silent as the door to the office swung open.
‘Aah, two for the price of one.’ Lucius Reece, Luke to his friends, completed the ‘three of a kind’ propriety of Underworld. He was the missing bastard of the trio. ‘Anything interesting happen while I was gone?’
‘When did you return?’ Sin motioned to the brandy decanter on the table near the side wall. Peculiar how they shared equal ownership in the hell and each had a spacious office, yet Max’s seemed to be the place where they congregated most frequently. Either that or they more often came looking for him instead of the other way around. True, he’d been distracted of late. Finding two of the men he’d sought for years had a way of monopolizing one’s attention.
‘I rode into London a few hours ago, visited my apartments and then headed here. Is something wrong? The two of you look morose.’ He splashed a generous amount of liquor into two glasses and handed one to Sin. Cole didn’t drink and no one pried into the reason.
‘Not at all.’ Cole abandoned the cards and strode to the glass overseeing the floor below. One yank of the curtain pull and the men had a clear view of the tables; though were anyone to peer up at them, the gambling gents spending money and risking wagers would see a mural on the wall depicting blue-black caverns, hollow and empty, a distant golden moon, untouchable and out of reach now that one had entered the Underworld.
The window offered an irreplaceable advantage, which kept everyone honest, most especially patrons who strove to achieve the opposite. Cheats, punters, sharps, and pickpockets were easily monitored from above. If a swindler fell into his cups too deep, threatened a ruckus or handled one of the girls in an unacceptable manner, the action was noticed and remedied with fluid alacrity.
Tonight the hell hummed with energy, the promise of profit thick in the air, a tangible force that crawled across the carpet, inched up the gilt paper wallcoverings, invigorated by each outrageous wager at the tables, whether piquet, loo or faro. The discreetly lit interior thrummed with the forbidden temptation of fortune to be won or lost, a temptation most all high-flyers and skittle-sharps failed to resist.
Sin, Cole and Luke weren’t lords. They were bastards, but in this place, on their property, they ruled with more power and conviction than any dandy wagering coin on the felts. The situation suited and pleased on the shallowest echelon, allaying the itch of unresolved dispute that accompanied daily existence. Still they were intelligent men who battled demons on a personal level that no measure of wealth, success or acknowledgement could conciliate.
‘Any luck?’ Sin broke the quiet with his enquiry.
‘No. My stepbrother chose to hide his secrets well. I spoke to every mudlark and dredge man along the Thames, yielding not one bloody clue. Times are desperate when I beg information from a sweeping boy or doxy in Seven Dials and come away with little for my effort.’ Luke’s low growl echoed the pain the admission cost him. ‘But I’ll find my son. This I vow. Nathaniel deserves better than to be a pawn in my stepbrother’s deranged machinations.’
‘Rightly so.’ Sin eyed Cole beside him. ‘And you’ll have our assistance as needed.’
‘Thank you. At the moment, I’ve employed every device and opportunity possible, but I’m not so foolish as to turn away help if it leads me to my son.’ Luke shook his head slowly. ‘What could my stepbrother possibly stand to gain by taking Nathaniel? He might have hurt me in any number of ways, but this…this cuts the deepest.’
The three stood stoically at the window, perhaps contemplating their personal wounds and goals instead of their accumulation of wealth, which prospered and flourished with each roll of the dice under their feet.
Not wishing to waste one day in her efforts to reform Maxwell Sinclair, Vivienne dressed with renewed spirit. An ambient hum of excitement invigorated her senses at the thought of the new endeavour. Nothing else had achieved her interest since her mother’s passing. That alone proved it the right choice.
The house remained quiet, her stepfather and the servants the only other residents, but the fresh morning brought with it abundant sunshine, a rarity for London this time of year, and she embraced the warming rays as a good omen her intentions would be successful. With a slight nod Vivienne dismissed Ann, her young maid, and gathered her shawl and reticule, the calling card tucked safely inside.
She found her stepfather in the breakfast room. His demeanour appeared buoyed by the fresh day as well.
‘Good morning.’ She smiled and took a seat to his left. For many long months she’d taken a tray in her room, too broken to sit at the table and stare across at her mother’s empty chair, but of late she’d managed to accept the loss that scarred her life and plan for the future. Visiting Sophie and Crispin had underscored how much she needed to return to living within society. She was only twenty-three. Someday soon she would need to think about marriage. She flitted her eyes to her stepfather. He would be left alone when that day arrived and she would move on to build a life without him. The thought should sadden her, but for some peculiar reason the realization evoked something akin to relief.
‘Good morning. You look lovely.’ He motioned to the footman standing at attention near the sideboard. ‘Tea, James.’ He returned his gaze. ‘Would you like something special from the kitchen? I can have Cook prepare you anything you’d like. I’m so pleased to have company this morning.’
‘It’s time, isn’t it?’ She spread a thick layer of raspberry jam across a slice of bread, still warm to the touch. ‘Mother will be missed in my heart always but I cannot stay locked in my room for ever.’
‘Then it is time.’ He canted his head to the side and stared at her for what seemed an inordinate stretch—so long that her pulse began a race in her veins, the feeling most uncomfortable. Her chewing slowed in wait of what he might say.
‘Sometimes when you speak or when the sunlight slants through the window at an unexpected angle, I see such a strong resemblance, it is like your mother is still with us.’
Vivienne swallowed, though she needed to force the mouthful down. She took a long sip of tea. ‘But I am not Mother.’ Her soft-spoken statement seemed to jar him from whatever imaginings he’d entertained.
‘Of course not.’ He made a point of smiling in her direction before he folded and then refolded the napkin beside his plate. ‘Don’t listen to me, Vivienne. I am so pleased for your company at breakfast I should keep my mouth closed instead of conjuring maudlin thoughts.’
‘No.’ She would never wish for him to feel censured. ‘We may speak of whatever you’d like.’ She exhaled, feeling more comfortable than only a few minutes before.
‘How will you spend your day? Are you in need of the carriage?’ He too appeared more at ease and opened the newspaper where it lay in wait at the corner of the table.
Still the arrangement was awkward without her mother present. Mealtime usually centred on conversation shared between the two women. She’d never felt the need to inform her stepfather of her daily schedule as she usually accompanied her mother on calls or received friends in the drawing room. With a twinge of guilt she finished her bread with large bites and hurriedly explained how she intended to continue her mother’s efforts.
He nodded with approval though she’d spilled it all out rather quickly. ‘See, I am correct. You are more like your mother each day.’
Accepting