The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(29)

“Did you hear me?” Ryker, who never repeated anything, asked the question a second time.

If he learned of what had transpired last evening and . . . her skin burned all the hotter . . . this morning, he’d lop the other man’s hands off. She quirked a brow. “Is that a question?”

He folded his arms. “Do you know anything of it?” he asked bluntly.

One could never out-question Ryker. She shook her head. “No. Nothing.” She wet her lips. “Why do you expect I would know . . . ?” Her nervous ramblings trailed off at the slight narrowing of his gaze. “No.” She tipped her chin up defiantly. “I don’t know anything about any gentleman in the private suites.”

Ryker said nothing for a long while, continuing to study her with the same unrelenting, fierce stare that had earned him the reputation as one of the most ruthless men in the streets of St Giles.

“Is that all?” she asked, commandeering his inquiry.

He gave a brusque nod, and again she reached for the handle.

“Helena?”

She stiffened.

“I didn’t mention anything about a gentleman in the private suites.” Her stomach dropped, and she cursed her loose tongue. “There were rules.”

Were rules?

No word master, she still picked up on that defining term. Fear blotted out coherent thought.

“You ask for more control in the running of the club, and yet . . .” He arced a single black eyebrow up. “It was reported that you had one of the guests in your chambers.”

The world came to an abrupt screeching halt. He knows. Panic slapped at her. Of course he knew. He knew everything. His summons had nothing to do with her accounting. His earlier inquiries about the books all had been nothing more than a bit to cleverly test her loyalty and word. How neatly she’d walked into his trap. “It was a mistake.”

He tightened his mouth. “Yes, it was.”

Silence descended, and she shifted back and forth on her feet. Surely that was not all he’d say on it? Surely, there would be some charged response beyond “Yes, it was.” Helena hugged her books close. “Is there anything else you require?” How was her voice so calm?

“That is all.”

Helena nodded. Perhaps she was more a coward than she’d ever believed. Abandoning her previous fight, she jerked the door open and raced from Ryker’s and Calum’s knowing eyes. She sprinted down the halls, her breath coming fast from her exertions. Skidding to a halt outside her office, she threw the door open. As soon as she was safely inside, she closed the door and let fly a string of curses.

There had been little reason for her to withhold anything of what had transpired last evening between her and the nameless gentleman. So why had she not shared the truth of it?

Helena slowly banged the back of her head against the door. How could she have been so foolish as to leave her door open? As it was, her brothers had questioned her judgment and ability to care for herself. Inevitably, they would have learned of the nobleman who’d found his way to the private suites.

Leaning against the door, she borrowed support from the oak surface. Even with her brother’s stern-faced disapproval, there was certainly a deficit in her character. For in this moment, she was not thinking about the inevitable ramifications of lying not once, but twice to Ryker . . . but the stranger in all his golden perfection. Her breath quickened.

And brother’s disapproval be damned, she’d not trade that night—or Robert’s kiss—for anything.





Chapter 7


Rule 7


The club, and those who live in it, come before anyone else. Always.

The following morning, in order to get a grasp on the midweek floor activity, Helena abandoned her usual bookkeeping work in favor of the observatory that overlooked the gaming floor.

Nay, her scan of the Hell had nothing to do with the golden-haired gentleman who’d made her blood race, and her skin tingle. Nothing at all.

Liar.

Thrusting aside thoughts of Lord Robert With-No-Surname from where she now stood, Helena continued her sweep of the gaming floor.

The roulette tables were full.

The faro tables were not.

Ten partially empty tables in total, three less than the previous week.

She froze. Those mundane details and her midnight visitor now forgotten, she took a step closer to the glass window and peered down. Mayhap she needed spectacles for more than reading and her calculations now, because it looked a good deal like . . . it looked very much like Ryker was speaking to someone.

Nay . . . a gentleman. She briefly rubbed her eyes. Surely not. But the sight remained.

Ryker didn’t speak to anyone. Niall, Calum, and Adair, they often did. Ryker, never. He generally moved as a specter among the gaming floors, avoiding gazes, and assessing his empire, and that was all. She scrabbled with her skirts. What if he’s replacing me because of my folly . . . ?

Helena registered the door opening, and then closing. “Helena,” Calum said with a heavy amount of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

She lifted her hand in an absent greeting, but remained fixed on the teaming on the floor below. “I’m assessing the tables,” she explained, vaguely.

For a solitary figure like Ryker to suddenly form a pair, with a stranger, was reason to give one pause, indeed. All the more peculiar when Ryker, coldly emotionless and reserved, engaged a portly, smiling, and wildly gesticulating man in discourse.