Page 88 of How to Tempt an Earl

He was hot on her heels. She wasted no time in opening her trunk and stalking to her wardrobe and tossing garments inside. He grasped her arm and forced her to face him. His face was a dark, towering mask. “Don’t even think about leaving me. I’ll never let you go.”

Resentment and anguish blossomed in her chest. “Truly? Weren’t you the one who said you’d send me away to the country rather than sell your precious club?”

His jaw clenched like a lump of granite. “That was before.”

“Before what? I tire of your games, Ian. Leave. Go to your club.”

Without a word, he stormed from the room and left her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ian’s temper was volatile by the time he stepped foot in the club. Workers and patrons alike stepped out of his path. He was quick to ferret out Hatfield at the hazard table. The wealthy merchant was losing heavily.

Ian clamped a big hand on his shoulder and dragged him out of his seat.

“What the fu—”

“Careful, Hatfield. We have business to discuss outside,” Ian said, dragging the man past his guard and out the front door. Ian threw him against the brick wall. “What happened tonight?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ian wrapped a hand about his thick neck and squeezed. “Talk.”

Hatfield tried to claw at Ian’s fingers, but to no avail. “The bloody idiot was cheating,” he wheezed.

“Impossible. No one cheats in my club. My croupiers would have notified me or Brooks straightaway.”

“He was, I tell you.”

“How?” Ian loosened his grip on Hatfield’s neck a fraction of an inch so the fool could speak.

“He was…winning. That bloody drunkard never wins,” Hatfield gasped.

Ian wanted to throw back his head and laugh. The baron had finally been on a winning streak, and he’d been beaten for it. Of all the rotten luck. Ian released his grip, and Hatfield slid down the wall and clutched his neck.

“Get out of my sight,” Ian said.

Hatfield wasted no time and took off at a run down the street.

Ian returned inside. His gaze scanned the floor restlessly. For the first time, he didn’t get a sense of satisfaction at the busy floor, the crowded tables, the sights and sounds of money pouring into his coffers. He took the stairs two at a time until he was in his office and shut the door. He found himself by the window overlooking the floor.

Again, nothing. No pleasure looking at what he’d normally found a sense of satisfaction in watching. He closed his eyes and saw Grace.

Grace naked, her exquisite body shimmering beneath the glow of the chandeliers.

Christ. He had it bad, didn’t he?

Where was his resolve? The determination that had gotten him through all the difficult years?

She wanted him to choose her over the Raven Club.

He’d never put a woman above the Raven. Ever. It was his kingdom, his home, and his salvation.

Love was for poets and weak men. Fools and the frail, who were dependent upon others for their survival. He opened his eyes and studied the activity below. This was where he belonged.

If she couldn’t accept it, then she couldn’t accept him.

The liquor cabinet called him and he poured himself a whisky, carried the decanter to his desk, and sat in the chair. It was going to be a long night. The door opened and slammed against the wall. Brooks stepped inside the office.