No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(86)

Cross leaned forward then, letting his anger show. “Or I take them all. Every last gamer.”

Knight lifted a shoulder. “There are more where they came from.”

“And I shall take them, too.” He paused, then added, “Over and over, I shall strangle the coffers of Knight’s until you can’t afford the wax to keep your tables lit.”

Admiration flashed in Digger’s gaze. “You shall make me a fine son-in-law.”

“I shall see you in Hell first.”

Maggie Knight responded to that, head snapping up, eyes wide, a deer in the hunter’s sight. “You wish me to marry him?” She hadn’t known. Cross resisted the urge to say something to the girl—to comfort her.

“Don’t let the crassness fool you.” Knight barely looked at her. “He’ll make you a countess.”

“But I don’t wish to be a countess.”

“You wish for what I tell you to wish for.”

“Wishing won’t make it so, I’m afraid,” Cross said, ending the conversation by standing and heading for the door. “My apologies, Miss Knight, but I shan’t marry you.”

She exhaled. “That is a relief.”

Cross’s brows rose. “It is, isn’t it?”

“No one should be relieved.” Digger turned to Cross. “We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we, Cross? Longer than you’ve known any of these nobs you call partners.”

Cross stood. “I’ve a rather impressive group of gamers on the floor tonight, Digger. More than I had originally planned. I’m afraid I haven’t the time for nostalgia. You’ll have Dunblade’s debt tomorrow. Or I take Knight’s. Gamer by gamer. Brick by brick.”

He reached for the door handle, already thinking of his next destination.

Of Pippa.

Of the way she smelled and tasted, of her smart mouth and flashing eyes, of her curiosity. She was somewhere in this building, likely gambling or interviewing a prostitute or doing something else scandalous, and he wanted to be near her.

Desperately. She was opium. One taste, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Something had changed in the darkness earlier that evening.

False.

Something had changed earlier than that.

He found he was rather desperate to explore it.

Six days. He wouldn’t waste another second of it in this room. He opened the door. Less than a week, then he would leave her. She would be his pleasure. His one taste. His one mistake.

And afterward, he would return to his life.

“I see I must sweeten the pot. Shall I add in Philippa Marbury?”

The words sent an icy chill through Cross, and he turned slowly, the open door forgotten. “What did you say?”

Knight smirked, cold knowledge in his gaze. “Ah, I’ve your attention now. You shouldn’t have left Sally at the club. Whores are so easily convinced to turn traitor.”

A pool of dread spread through Cross’s gut as the other man continued. “I may not be the great genius you are purported to be, but I know my way around lightskirts. A few extra quid, and Sally told me everything I needed to know. Your plan to lure my big gamers to Pandemonium. The names of all the girls who helped you—every one of them out on the streets now, by the way—and most importantly, the name of the aristocratic lady who happened into your office while you were plotting my demise. Blond girl. Spectacles. Odd as an otter.” Knight rocked back on his heels, his false accent returning. “Sounded right familiar, that one.”

Cross could see it coming. A runaway carriage, too fast to stop.

“Philippa Marbury. Daughter of the Marquess of Needham and Dolby. Future Countess of Castleton. And the sisters . . . cor! One to be married to Tottenham, and the other Lady Bourne!” Knight whistled, long and low, the sound sending fury through Cross. “Impressive, that. Wouldn’t like to see ’em ruined. Wager Bourne wouldn’t neither.

“Terrible thing for an unmarried Lady Philippa to be discovered trottin’ about in a gamin’ hell. And with a pure scoundrel like yourself, no less . . . with your reputation? Why, she’d never be allowed in polite society again. No doubt the old Castleton bird won’t have her baby boy marryin’ her.”

Cross froze at the words. At their implication.

He should have seen it coming.

A memory flashed, the older man leaning over him six years earlier, Cross nearly dead from the beating he’d taken at Knight’s henchmen’s hands.

Insurance.

He should have known that Knight would have had a second plan. An insurance policy. Should have known, too, that it would be Pippa.

What he had not expected was how very angry that made him.

He was at Knight’s throat in three long strides, one large hand wrapping around the other man’s neck and throwing him back against the sideboard, rattling glasses and sending a decanter of scotch toppling to the floor. He ignored the startled gasp from the girl on the opposite end of the room. “You’ll stay away from Philippa Marbury, or I’ll kill you. That’s the game.”

Knight caught his balance and smiled, as though they were discussing the weather and not his imminent demise. “I wouldn’t worry. I shan’t have time to go near her . . . what with all the excitement around my girl’s wedding.”