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“You are coldly practical, Lucien. You never liked pointless exercises and always dismissed the frivolous pursuits Vi and I get up to. There must be an end goal and a logically planned progression of steps to achieve that goal.”
His brother spoke to innate ruled Lucien used to order his life and actions. “Get to the damn point, Ollie.”
“Whoever this woman is…she has your thoughts in knots. I have never seen you like this before and that tells me…that tells me something about her is different. Very different to have captured you so.”
Lucien’s gut clenched at that assessment. “And?”
“Is there a point in pursuing her? Is there an end goal?”
Lucien gritted his teeth until the flare of unexpected emotion subsided. He was quite aware he was acting out of the ordinary. And for the first time in his life, he did not want to be logical. “She is the sister of an earl.” At the moment there could be no end goal.
“Precisely. Her family nor the lady herself would ever consent to aligning with our family. Our father was a damn butcher,” Ollie said with a rough laugh. “We are businessmen…ruthless loan sharks for those rich nobs who want to borrow money and promise a high interest return so they can keep their lands. They are not our friends, nor do we socialize in the same circle. You know this. So what point is there in thinking about her and having you out of sorts?”
“Perhaps I like the floundering feeling I have,” he said drily.
Ollie laughed. “Do you? Is that why you were in the exercise room last night pounding away at the sandbag? That you are so out of sort has you discomfited. You do not need to admit it to me. I am your brother. I know you best.”
Hell. Lucien scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know there is no end point to it.”
“But?”
He smiled. “I’ve already been captivated by the beginning of it…I want to experience the middle.”
“Even if there is no end?” his brother asked in a tone of amazement.
“Yes.” Lucien stood. “Is Lord Belgrave still in the lower floors.”
“Yes, the man is heavily in debt and truly believes playing for even deeper stakes will allow him to recoup. This nonsensical reasoning of the nobs will forever elude me.”
“Invite him up. I want to see him.”
His brother paused in the act of refilling his glass with brandy. “You want to invite the marquess into your personal office?”
“Yes.”
Ollie arched a dark brow, curiosity settling on his face. “Should I be prying?”
“No.”
His brother grunted, finished his drink, and went over to the peg to shrug into his jacket. Tonight Ollie was dressed in the first stare of fashion. His dark blue superfine coat fitted tightly to his muscled shoulders and accentuated the tautness of his torso. It was the work of an expert but restrained it its simplicity. His shirt was of the finest linen and his muslin cravat was tied in an impeccable l’Irlandaise. Dark breeches under a discreetly striped silk waistcoat in shades of blue. Ollie’s appearance was everything it should be, and at first glance he appeared as a wealthy member of thetonwith refined tastes. As he walked among the patrons, anyone might consider him to be an aristocrat lord like many of those who visited their establishment. That he would be without a mask though would inform their guests he was one of the owners, and their interactions then would be courteous enough for they understood the power the Glendevons wielded under this gambling den’s roof and over their pockets. But those lords still looked down their noses as if Lucien and his brothers were there to serve at their whim. Lucien supposed they did serve their vices and was even wealthier than most because of it.
Ollie left the room and Lucien ran his gaze over the numbers in the ledger under the marquess’s name, tallying up the thousands of pounds the man owed in a matter of seconds. This was accrued during the times when he played against the gambling house itself. The door opened without the benefit of a knock, and Lucien glanced up as the marquess entered, his gaze skipping around the large, masculine decor and the roaring fireplace before they settled on Lucien.
The marquess arched a brow when Lucien waved for him to sit in the chair before his large oak desk.
“I admit I was a bit intrigued to be asked to pay a visit upstairs. I thought it was Edmond Glendevon I was to meet.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to suffice with me,” Lucien murmured coolly. “We are here to discuss the money owed to our house.”
The marquess stiffened and narrowed his eyes. “A bit crass of you.”
“Money is never crass to the likes of us,” he said with icy politeness.
The marquess made a rough sound in his throat. “I believe my man settled what was owed some months ago.”
“Yes, and in that time you’ve accumulated against the house another five thousand pounds.”
“A trifling sum,” he said dismissively, “hardly worth a meeting.”
