“What did you have in mind?”
“Let me tell you all about it. Then let’s get you home before Michael wrings my neck.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? Let’s find out.”
James stared at Charles Sinclair, the man who’d absconded with James’s mother, whose perfidy had crushed James’s father. James had hated him for a good share of three decades.
With a fortune sitting in the middle of the table, James knew he held the winning hand. Trent would have to cheat to beat him—which was certainly possible. Throughout the long night, James had carefully watched Trent, and if he was cheating, he was very adept at it. But then, so was James.
He laid down his cards, and so did Trent. James smirked and gathered up the stacks of coins.
“You’re not having much luck, Trent.”
Trent shrugged, appearing bored and confident and not the least bit concerned about parting with so much of his wealth.
“It’s only money.”
“Yes, it is. What do you say?” James goaded, planning to raise the ante to an outrageous level. “Shall we play again?”
“If you wish.”
They were in a private room at the Stevens brothers’ club. Several others had originally joined in, but they’d participated so they would have a reason to witness the spectacle. As the stakes went higher and higher, they had dropped out.
The only two left were James and Trent.
James was on a roll, having won eight of the last nine games, and Trent hardly seemed to notice. He lost one hand, then another, and ultimately, he sighed with resignation.
“What is it?” James inquired. “Is the pot getting too steep for you? Perhaps you’d like to quit. I’m happy to walk away with what you’ve lost so far.”
“You won’t give me an opportunity to win it back? That’s not very sporting.”
“I’ll continue as long as you can afford to keep going—and even after you can’t.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me wager with an I.O.U.”
“I might—depending on what you’re willing to risk.”
James’s pulse pounded with excitement.
They were finally at the spot where he wanted Trent to be. If Trent was considering promissory notes, then he was about to put his property at risk, was about to gamble much more than he should.
It was the precise conclusion James had sought, and he could scarcely conceal his glee, yet suddenly, Trent peered up from his cards. He intently scrutinized James, acting as if he had a secret, and James felt like a mouse being hunted by a hawk.
The sensation was eerie and disturbing, and James yanked away. He wanted to meet Trent’s blatant gaze, wanted to prove that he wasn’t flustered, but whenever he caught Trent observing him, he thought of Helen. He hadn’t understood how much she resembled her father, and it was unnerving, staring into those green eyes and having Helen’s eyes stare back.
He wondered how she was faring, married to her horrid cousin and with a baby on the way. A wave of sympathy started to swell, and he tamped it down. She’d made her bed! She could lie in it! He refused to feel sorry for her.
Trent signaled to a waiter who brought him a piece of paper, a pen, and a jar of ink.
“What are you doing?” James asked, though it was clear.
“I’m writing you an I.O.U.”
“If you expect me to accept it, you’ll have to tell me what it is for. You have to relinquish something I’d like to have.”
“Oh, I imagine you’ll like to have it all right.”
Trent signed with a flourish, then shoved the document toward James, and at first, James didn’t comprehend what he was seeing. He had to read it over and over before the words registered.
Trent was wagering Helen! He was proposing that she become James’s mistress, being smugly certain that James would jump at the chance to ravish one of his natural daughters.
A cold rage raced through him, and he could barely keep from leaping over and pummeling the man where he sat.
“What the hell are you thinking?” James seethed.
“I have a daughter who recently came forward seeking support.”
“Helen Stewart, yes, yes, I see her name. For pity’s sake, you’re offering her chastity!”
“Well, I won’t give her a hand-out, and as far as I can tell, she has only one thing that would be of any value.”
“But her chastity!”
Obviously, Trent was unaware of Helen’s ruined condition, and James wasn’t about to enlighten him.
“I informed her,” Trent said, “that I’d help her secure a new situation, and I’m being more than generous. I mean, a liaison with an earl is nothing to sneeze at. She’d be very lucky to have you agree.”
James snorted with disgust, and he pushed back his chair and went to the window. Off in the east, dawn was breaking.
Blindly, he gazed at the brightening sky, as his mind reeled with questions. Wasn’t Helen increasing? Wasn’t she married? And if she was, why was Trent bartering her away as if she were an African slave?
None of it made any sense.
“I’m acquainted with Helen,” he admitted, turning to glare at Trent.
“Are you?”
“She worked for me last summer—as a companion to my ward.”
“How interesting.” Trent pointed to the money on the table. “Can we get on with it? I’m bored by your chatter.”
“She’s married.”
“Who told you that?”
“Her cousin. He said he had wed her, that she was...having a baby. There was some rush to the ceremony.”
“She’s not married,” Trent claimed, “and she’s not increasing, so I guess her cousin was lying for some reason.”
At the stunning news, James’s heart was hammering so frantically that he worried it might simply burst out of his chest. He rubbed his fingers over it, anxious to slow its frenzied beating.
“How do you know all this?” James inquired, struggling to seem indifferent.
“Because she showed up on my stoop the other day, begging for some charity, but I’m tapped out, and I can’t assist her. If you want her, it’s fine by me.”
“Aren’t you magnanimous? Just a kindly father watching out for one of his girls!”
Trent refused to take the bait, refused to respond to James’s insult.
“It’s either you,” Trent blandly retorted, “or I’ll convince someone else to buy her.”
“Buy her!”
“I’m not inclined to have her starve on the streets, and she’s too pretty to labor as a housemaid. She should be a rich man’s paramour. Now then, may we resume? Or must we dicker until noon?”
“Why don’t you dower her? Why not find her a husband?”
“I realize it’s commonly reported that I dower my daughters, but the rumor is false. Why would I bother?”
Trent was still in his chair, calmly sipping his brandy. He lit a cheroot, and he casually smoked it, waiting for a reply, but what was James supposed to say?
He reviewed every word Nigel Stewart had uttered during their fateful meeting at Brookhaven, just as he analyzed his brief encounter on the lane with Helen as he was riding away. He hadn’t asked her if she’d wed Nigel; he’d merely assumed that Nigel’s comments were true.
What if they weren’t? What if Nigel had deceived James?
Apparently, he had, and Helen was now destitute and in jeopardy again. James could go to her, could apologize and propose marriage as he’d been wanting to do all along. But he’d have to give up his mission to destroy Trent.
He assessed the table and the mountains of coins that were now his. James could walk away, or he could force the issue, could wager over Helen and ruin her father in the process.
What would Helen think of James’s behavior? What would she think of how he’d plotted and carried out his revenge? If she ever learned that he’d won her—in a card game!—how would he ever explain his conduct?
Trent had insisted that he wouldn’t bother with her, so if James didn’t snatch her up, who might Trent offer her to next? He shuddered to imagine.
He couldn’t let Trent do such a horrid thing to Helen, but to save her, he would have to abandon his quest for vengeance.
Was there any choice? When he loved Helen, when he’d been given this second chance to make her his own, was there really any alternative?
“You’re a swine,” he charged.
Trent chuckled. “Is that the best you can do?”
“I ought to call you out.”
“To fight about what? My daughter—or your mother?”
It was the hidden topic that had been wedged between them all night, with neither of them mentioning his mother. With Trent blithely tossing the forbidden subject out into the open, James was too shocked to react.
To his great surprise, there were a thousand questions churning inside that he was afraid to ask.
The only information he’d ever gleaned about his mother’s desertion had been provided by his father. If pressed for answers, what might Trent say?
James was too terrified to find out.
He stomped over, grabbed Trent’s promissory note, and ripped it to shreds. Then he pushed back the money, piles and piles of coins toppling off the table and dropping onto Trent’s lap.