“Does he indeed?” Galahad was glaring at her through narrowed eyes over the rim of his teacup, as uncomfortable in his own skin as she had ever seen him, but Nelly continued undeterred. “That certainly explains where all his money comes from! Gambling, Gal? Really?You?”
A bizarre reaction that threw up even more questions. “I was under the impression he ran a similar dubious enterprise here, Nelly.”
“The Mermaid doesn’t allow gambling, Miss Merriwell, and thankgoodness as I couldn’t be dealing with all the trouble that goes alongside it.” Nelly used the napkin to swat him with. “Are you going to tell her that you own half this place or shall I?”
He huffed at his apparent business partner, annoyed. “I think you already did that, Nelly.”
The older woman grinned saucily over her shoulder as she carried the plates away while Vee blinked in shock. “You own this, Galahad? This is your clandestine Brighton business? A respectable inn where gambling isbanned?”
He sipped his tea slowly, taking his time because he was as uncomfortable that his secret was out as he was talking about himself. “You don’t have to sound so surprised that it’s respectable, as my place in the docks is respectable, too.” He tapped the table between them to make that point. “I’ll have you know that everything there is aboveboard and compliant with all the laws. I pay every person who works for me a decent wageandI pay all my taxes. I just happen to cater to a crowd who enjoy a controlled raucous atmosphere, like to wager, and prefer to do it in a house that doesn’t cheat them in the process.” He rearranged his cup back on its saucer rather than look at her. Went to change the subject, then huffed in defeat.
“Contrary to what you might think, Miss Venus, I don’t keep a brothel. I don’t bait bears or dogs or innocent chickens for sport and I certainly don’t take a man’s marker or offer him a line of credit when he runs out of coin, then intimidate him until he bankrupts himself or makes his family homeless to pay it back. I run as honest a business there as I do here.”
“But it’s called The Den, Galahad. A name that has certain connotations.”
“Well, I could hardly call it The Basket of Kittens, now, could I? It’s a bawdy club on the wharf side that needs to appeal to the sort who wander there. A man needs to earn a decent living, Miss Venus, and fluffy little kitties ain’t going to cut it.”
“You certainly earn enough of a decent living to be able to live at the Albany and have Hoby make your boots.”
He shrugged again, struggling to hold her gaze, preferring to sip the still-scalding tea rather than let her see the truth in his eyes. “There’s easy money to be had in gaming, and only a fool wouldn’t want a slice of that pie. I’m an ambitious man and I’ll make no apologies for that.”
She found his defensiveness of his dockside club both fascinating and ironic. “Which begs the obvious question as to why you haven’t tried to replicate that success here, when Brighton is famous for gambling above all else?”
“I wanted to diversify.” He was fiddling with his teacup again, and something about the tense set of his jaw told her there was more to it than that. He was hiding something. Something he would rather nobody else knew.
“That makes absolutely no business sense, and you know it.” She folded her arms and stared until his eyes rose to meet hers. “What is the real reason you bought into this place?”
He glanced around and, noticing Nelly pretending not to listen to them intently from the bar, sighed. “I need to stretch my legs and walk off some of that big dinner. Fancy joining me?”
“Is that an unsubtle attempt to change the subject as usual, or a subtle way of hinting that you’ll miraculously answer my question in private?”
He smiled his usual cocky smile to cover the hint of vulnerability she briefly saw skitter across his much-too-handsome face. “I guess you’ll have to risk taking a turn with me beneath the moonlight to find out.”
Chapter Ten
I hate Hampshire! Hugh has hired some awful actress to play our mother and I am supposed to tell anyone who asks that our father froze to death while walking in the Cairngorms! Obviously, out of loyalty to our dear, long-lost papa, I have refused most vociferously to take any part in it…
—from the diary of Miss Venus Merriwell, aged 17
“At least the snow’s slowed.” Gal pointed to the fat, full moon in the oddly ethereal purple sky, stalling for time. He was still in two minds about how much of the truth to tell her as they walked side by side out of the inn and onto the seafront. He hadn’t offered her his arm, because that felt too intimate, especially when the conversation seemed doomed to be more personal than he was comfortable with. Yet something told him that he should have such a conversation with her. Be more of himself for once—for her again—because…And there is another dark path I’m not sure I want to venture into!“Although the sky ahead looks pretty foreboding still.” What had he been thinking even considering telling her any of his truth? When life had repeatedly taught him that if you didn’t keep all your cards hidden, someone would exploit the weakness in your hand. “Maybe we will get snowed in?”
Venus being Venus, she cut him no slack. “You were going to tell me why you bought half The Mermaid.”
“Was I?”
“If you’re not, I shall leave you to your evening constitutional in peace.” She prodded him with her finger as he pondered where to start the tale, reading his reticence entirely correctly. “And if you dare try to make your explanation sound impersonal, when it is clearly intenselypersonal, I’ve decided I shall instantly cancel our truce and never waste my time trying to converse with you ever again. Either we are going to become the unlikeliest of friends or we remain reluctant acquaintances. The choice is yours, Galahad.”
The quaint English phrasein for a penny, in for a poundsprang to mind. Because knowing Venus and her big ol’ brain, the moment he told her one thing, she’d ask him about everything. To his own surprise, because he very much liked the idea of them being friends, he found himself starting at the beginning.
“I’m guessing you remember my father?”
Her nose wrinkled in disgust, her tone immediately all outrage. “I doubt any of us could ever forget Gervais Sinclair! That man was an evil, vile, malicious…” Gal held up his palms in surrender in case she used every foul adjective in the dictionary—all of which would have been entirely appropriate.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not sorry he’s dead, either.” Neither was he sorry that his odious sire had died in jail where he had always belonged, nor did he harbor any guilt that he had been the one to send him there. After deserting his ailing mother—twice—his malevolent father had deserved nothing less. As Venus had been there the day Gal had turned his own flesh and blood over to the authorities, there was no point going over that old ground when it was the older that had always been the most pertinent. “He abandoned my mother shortly after I was born, so I never knew him growing up. It was my grandpa who helped my mother raise me, and because she wasn’t in the best of health, bless her, he did the lion’s share of the parenting.”
“What was wrong with your mother?”
“She was born with a lung disorder and sometimes struggled to breathe properly. Not all the time—it flared up especially in cold weather—but when it was up it made life hard for her. Running around after an exuberant little boy didn’t help matters, I suppose, so Grandpa did all he could to ease her burdens.” It felt peculiar speaking about it when he never had to another living soul before. Yet the memories were always there, so strong and clear and poignant they might have happened yesterday.
