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Chapter Eleven
Dash rapped hisfist on the carriage roof to stop. Haversham’s was clogged with gentlemen who had done their duty and now were ready for more male pursuits. The staff would be overwhelmed with the arrival of the pleasure-seeking men, giving him the perfect cover to ask questions.
From his taller stature, he was able to see over the group of young bucks who waited in a queue to gain admission. Haversham stood at the door greeting the future of England, which at this moment didn’t stir confidence with their loud, uncouth behavior. He winced at the memory that he had behaved in the same manner at that age, believing himself to be quite daring. Waiters hovered close by to offer drinks to the men who needed no further liquor. They had already enjoyed more than Lady Billingsworth’s watered-down fruit punch.
Haversham, a savvy businessman, knew that spirits meant men took more risk and gambled with little attention. Over-imbibing helped men along the path to stupid decisions. Which of the group would ruin his future and curse tonight’s folly for years to come?
The atmosphere was one of a university pub. Ribald comments and challenges laced the air. Escaping the forced politeness of the balls, the youths were ready to shed their gentlemanly behavior and seek unrestrained adventures to prove their manhood.
Waiting for the entrance to be cleared, Dash cursed under his breath. His timing was off all night. First arriving too early at the ball and now to appear unaffected by the ridiculous scene in front of him when all he wanted to do was take Haversham to a dark alley and beat the answers out of him. Dita’s distress stirred everything savage in him. He had never seen her so undone. The only other time he had seen that look of utter vulnerability was the night he severed their relationship. The way she battled the shock and pain, fighting not to cry, her gorgeous eyes glassy with unspent tears. What he would do to undo that moment. It had been out of his hands. But now he would die before he allowed her to suffer further. Roddy’s life depended on Dash remaining his usual methodical and careful self and not ruled by his feelings. But having Dita in the mix was testing all his resolve.
Upon spotting Dash, Haversham directed the boisterous crowd to move aside and allow him entry. Spending enormous amounts of England’s money at the club gained him special treatment.
“Haversham, tonight will fill your already well-lined coffers.”
Dressed in his signature outfit, a red brocade waistcoat and black coat with an open collar with no cravat, Haversham closely examined Dash’s formal wear. At least Dash had pulled apart his valet’s sculpted cravat, which now hung loose around his neck. Tonight’s blue silk waistcoat and black coat were in deep contrast to Dash’s usual unkempt black dress. The fact wasn’t lost on Haversham.
“Oh, the rumors are true.” Haversham grinned, unfazed by his missing front tooth.
“To which might you be referring? There are so many.” Dash adopted his weary attitude. “Gossip is spread by wicked people.” Dash paused. “Proverbs 16:28, in case you don’t know your Bible.”
Dash doubted that Haversham had ever attended church or opened a Bible. “And what wicked tale am I the center of tonight? The latest about you is that you’ve reconciled with your half-brother the duke.” Old Leicester never acknowledged Haversham since his mother was a prostitute at a local brothel. His son, the present duke, abhorred the scandal and shunned Haversham.
Haversham didn’t flinch with the insult. Unless one paid attention, he wouldn’t catch the slight narrowing of the club owner’s glare and an almost imperceptible shift to the right. But Dash was paying attention.
“As true as you are in need of a rich wife.” Haversham was aware of everyone’s debts including Dash’s.
“Touché.” Dash glanced at the hazard table before meeting Haversham’s eyes. “I’m to meet Clifton here. Has he arrived yet?”
Haversham returned Dash’s stare with nary a blink. The only reaction was his jaw muscles tightening before he diverted his gaze to the crowd. “I haven’t seen him tonight.” His voice didn’t change in inflection. “Yardley, Vinson, and Weber have arrived if you’re looking for a game.”
Haversham bowed his head in false deference and headed to the crowd of bucks.
Dash, caught in the rowdy crowd movingen forceto the tables, almost staggered at the weight of someone falling into him. Dash twisted to warn off the drunken fool.
“Sorry, ole man. In a rush and all that.” Frankland shrugged, his eyes red with drink.
Dash had to control the urge to not wring the bastard by his cravat.
Frankland, unaware of his peril, leaned closer, reeking of brandy. “You sly dog, bagging the prize of the Season. I saw you making nice as if… offering the lady your jacket.”
“One more word out of your mouth, and you’ll never see your mother again.”
Dash didn’t get enough satisfaction from how quickly Frankland paled and stuttered. “I meant… my apologies.” He backed up and quickly blended into the crowd.
If it weren’t for protecting Perdita’s reputation in this morning’s fiasco, he’d have Frankland and Cole in the alley right this moment. Perdita did not need her name linked with his at this time. He was helpless to intervene in rumors were it ever discovered that she had been near Haversham’s. Anything he might say would only escalate the gossip.
Impatient on this fool’s errand of getting anything from Haversham, who was a skilled manipulator and liar, Dash pushed through the gathered men. He had to get into Haversham’s office. It was unlikely he would discover anything in the club. After gathering impressions from Yardley and Vinson about Roddy, he would assess the best way to break into Haversham’s sanctuary.
The area was well guarded. Men would kill to gain access to the ledgers stored there, containing every titled gentleman’s true fortune. And a few years ago, Dash would have done anything to prevent the knowledge of his estate to be revealed.
Dash wasn’t as interested in the ledgers as he was in finding the reason Haversham sent the note to Roddy. It didn’t add up that Haversham would implicate himself if he was behind the kidnapping.
From his years of play, Dash knew the schedule of everything that happened at the club. He also was friendly with Whitaker, Haversham’s man of business, who handled the ledgers. Every night, Whitaker sat at the table at the back of the club, keeping meticulous records of each gentleman’s debts. And at closing in the early morning, Whitaker took the ledger to the safe in Haversham’s office upstairs. The office also had an exterior stairwell that led to the alley near the club’s large stables reserved for the guests.
The best chance of breaking in would be after the man of business had taken the books upstairs and the men were departing. There was always a flurry of activity, making it the best time to search. The guards would be distracted, tired, and not expecting any intruders after the ledgers were secure in the safe. Dash would enter by the alley entrance.
Making his way to his table, Tessa, a prostitute who was newly arrived in the past six months, smiled at Dash. The young woman, barely out of her teens, sauntered through the crowd selling her wares as Haversham required. Dash at first had taken her under his protection, pretending to hire her only to take her upstairs to spare her from the demands of the other men.
