Page 10 of How to Best a Marquess

Her already warm cheeks grew alarmingly hot, along with other parts of her that she refused to acknowledge. Her eyes became riveted on his angular jaw and wide, sensual mouth. “And you? What are your plans?”

He rested a hand on the table beside her. His fingers were long and tapered, his knuckles calloused, certainly not the hands of a marquess. He didn’t cage her in, but neither did he stand a respectable distance from her. She could feel the heat of his body and smell the crisp, masculine scent of his cologne.

“Prizefighting. The club makes a tiny sum from the fights. The winners then gamble their winnings on the tables, promptly returning it to the club.”

She knew this. She also knew prizefighting was against the law, but that didn’t stop men and even women from attending the fights in droves.

“To start, I intend to increase the number of fights and invite champions like Gentleman Jackson, Tom Crib, Jem Belcher, Bill Richmond, and even American Tom Molyneux,” he said.

“You think they’d box here?”

“No. But they’d attend. People would line up to show off their skills knowing one of the champions was in attendance. Thousands of spectators attend Fives Court in Leicester Fields in St. Martin’s Lane to watch the sparring matches. I don’t expect to rival that number, but plenty will come if they know the champions will referee or simply watch.”

This was an unexpected tactic that even her brother hadn’t thought of, and a part of her was concerned. Would Hugh’s efforts exceed hers? Would they be more profitable?

She pushed the thought aside. Her plans must come to fruition. The women needed her. She couldn’t afford to lose. “I also insist on learning everything else you plan. An invisible rope, remember?” She tossed the words back at him, but instead of having the intended result, Hugh’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

“I’m counting on it.”

…

She was going to drive him mad.

The most virile servers.

The idea of young men lining up for Ellie’s perusal… It was reckless and scandalous. Where was her chaperone?

More importantly, where was her brother, Castleton? Hugh knew without a doubt the earl had no notion of his sister’s plans. Most likely, he believed she’d ensconce herself in the office surrounded by thick ledgers while she gave orders to the burly guard, Brooks, on how best to run the establishment. The earl probably believed his sister would rarely step foot on the casino floor.

They’d all been wrong. Her idea of a women’s gambling room was impressive. God knew, he’d encountered his fair share of ladies, widows and married ones, who sought out adventure. In his case, they’d blatantly propositioned him for a night of pleasure. He’d obliged the widows. As for married ladies, he’d never stick his prick up their skirts. Not when there were plenty of others, women who knew his expectations and would not place demands on him.

But Ellie was different.

Special.

For as long as he lived, he’d never forget the girl of his youth.

He wanted the Raven Club for his own purposes. The boxing was a strong draw for him, just as enticing as the business. He found stepping into the ring and facing an opponent exhilarating and fair after experiencing five years in the military where battles were often unfairly fought and soldiers often faced opponents ill-equipped, outnumbered, and unprepared. He was in control in the ring, and he craved the same control over his future. Owning the club was the key to ensuring power over his fate. His title wasn’t enough. It had belonged to his brother, and he’d never coveted it.

Yes, he wanted the club, but now he wanted to protect Ellie as well.

Damn.

What was she thinking?

He’d broken her heart in the past, not because he’d wanted to, but because he’d had to. His mind slipped into the past. His father’s words echoed in his head.

“I forbid you to marry the girl. I will not have the marquessate associated with that family. There are rumors Castleton was responsible for his brother’s death to gain the earldom. He still owns that sinful gambling club. Stay away from the Castleton chit. If not, you won’t get a shilling from me, boy. Do you understand? Not a shilling. You think she will want to live as a beggar on her own family?”

No amount of pleading had worked. His parents had always been cold and harsh, and the marquess and marchioness had been adamant. Do as he was told or suffer the consequences. He’d had no power then, no choice, and he’d hated it.

Could he be that selfish? Could he marry Ellie with empty pockets? He’d only been eighteen years old, yet he’d known the answer. Hugh had too much pride to beg to his brother-in-law, the Earl of Castleton, for the rest of their lives. Ellie had been raised in luxury. She’d never gone without the finer things in life. Dresses and jewels. Balls, garden parties, theaters, and operas. Champagne toasts and six-course dinners. She may have been willing to give that up, but would she have grown to regret her decision?

Would she have come to resent him?

He’d done what was right for her then. He’d met Miss Isabelle West, who was now Lady Fabry upon her marriage to an old earl, in the gardens that fateful night. He knew what the outcome would be. He hated the kiss, hated every damned second of it. Isabelle had clung to him like a vine, and he’d felt nothing but revulsion. Yet, he hadn’t pushed her away and knew Ellie would find them.

In hindsight, he’d sacrificed Ellie in vain. If only he’d known he’d inherit the title. The fact had left a painful knot inside him for years. But he didn’t regret looking out for Ellie.