Page 2 of How to Best a Marquess

He’d defeated the monster of a man named Bear soon after he’d kissed the lady. Landing a blow to Bear’s right temple, his opponent had dropped like a stone.

Hugh wiped his brow with a towel and dipped a dented metal cup in a bucket of water. The cool drink eased his parched throat. He hadn’t been in the best position to study the woman closely. His teeth had rattled in his skull after Bear’s fist had made jarring contact with his jaw. She’d worn a peacock-feathered mask, and he hadn’t made out the color of her eyes. But he had glimpsed her hair. Had it been as vivid a red as he’d thought?

Could it be her?

He’d only known one female who’d had that hair color. The young girl from his past would be a woman now. His brow creased as he tried to recall the details of the masked female he’d kissed moments ago.

He remembered her lips. Soft and inviting. His daring kiss had paid off in a win. Had she stayed to watch?

He tossed the towel to a boy, one of many he’d noticed working at the Raven Club. “The lady with the peacock mask. Who is she?”

The lad shrugged slender shoulders. “No one asks at the Raven, me lord. The ladies wear masks to gamble and watch the fights.”

Hugh knew secrecy was prized at the club. It was one of the numerous reasons the place took in a fortune in coin every evening.

“Where did she go?”

The boy pointed to a set of doors at the far end of the cavernous room. “Back to the casino floor.”

Hugh had business to conduct at the casino. If he was lucky, he’d spot her on the way and offer his thanks.

The doors led from the boxing room to the main casino floor. It was an ingenious design, in Hugh’s opinion. Every vice resided beneath one roof. Almost every vice. From what he’d been told, the Raven Club did not offer demimondes. Only bored widows looking to gamble and some seeking to engage in a night of physical pleasure.

Not much difference in Hugh’s estimation. He’d enjoyed the attentions of willing widows and actresses since his return from war months ago.

The casino was busy tonight. Every table on the floor was filled with gamblers hoping to win at a game of chance. The crack of the dice across the green baize of the hazard table drew his eye. The sound of the roulette wheel as the little white ball spun and spun combined with the excited shouts of the players and the call of the croupiers. Men and women gazed at their cards in avaricious intensity at the whist, faro, and vingt-et-un tables. Liveried servers with an embroidered R on their waistcoats delivered tumblers of amber-colored alcohol on trays to the gamblers. The scent of cigar smoke wafted to him.

He recognized many of the spectators from the boxing match, now eager to spend their winnings on games of chance. Most would lose. Another efficiency of the club he admired. Have them wager on the fights, then pass through the doors and turn around and give their money back to the club at the tables.

“Lord Castleton is waiting for you upstairs,” a tall, broad-shouldered man with a brick-like chin said. Hugh had learned his name was Brooks and he was the head guard on the casino floor.

Hugh scanned the room for the red-haired woman in the peacock mask, but she was nowhere to be found. He followed Brooks up a winding staircase to a second floor. The man opened the first door on the right.

It was a spacious room with an oak desk, matching leather chairs, and a thick Oriental carpet. Papers beneath polished stone paperweights and leather-bound ledgers were piled upon the desk. A globe rested on an end table in the corner.

Hugh turned at the sound of a throat clearing to find the earl and his countess standing at the sideboard in the corner of the room.

“Welcome, Lord Deveril. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Lady Castleton came forward and curtsied. She was an attractive woman with dark hair and blue eyes. She was also large with child. Her husband, Ian Swift, the Earl of Castleton and the owner of the Raven Club, stood beside his wife.

Hugh hadn’t expected the countess to be present. He’d just stepped out of the ring, so he hadn’t bothered with a waistcoat and cravat. He wasn’t properly attired to meet her.

Hugh bowed. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Congratulations on defeating Bear,” Lord Castleton said.

Hugh didn’t try to hide his surprise. “News travels that quickly?”

“I know everything that happens in the Raven soon after it occurs.” Lord Castleton waved toward a window overlooking the casino floor. “I may not be able to see the boxing room, but my workers below deliver messages with simple hand motions. See for yourself.”

Hugh walked to a window in the paneled wall that overlooked the casino floor. He could see everything clearly from this vantage point—the flurry of the dealer’s hands, the slight sheen of sweat on the gamblers’ faces as they placed their wagers, the painted lips of the masked women as they coyly smiled and flirted, and even the satisfied expression of a waiter who received a gold coin after delivering a whisky to a lucky winner.

He was fascinated. It was like a play, the most absorbing performance of human behavior and emotion he’d ever witnessed. It was intoxicating to gaze down and simply watch. No wonder Castleton was considered one of the most powerful men in all of London before he’d inherited the earldom.

Hugh coveted the man’s good fortune. As well as his dark reputation. Hugh had forsaken his own reputation years ago. After learning of his father and brother’s deaths from pneumonia, he’d resigned his army commission and returned to town. He may have taken his place as the Marquess of Deveril, but he no longer cared what others thought, including his miserable mother who currently resided in the country and whom he’d long ago dismissed from his life. When he’d heard rumors that the Raven Club was for sale, he’d reached out to Castleton straightaway.

The door opened, and Hugh turned away from the window.

He froze as the lady with the peacock mask entered. He was able to study her in detail now. Her eyes were a piercing blue from behind the mask. His initial guess had been correct.