The Rogue's Wager (Sinful Brides #1)(99)

“She is one of us,” Calum retorted. He lifted his gaze to the glass panel that only the proprietors knew of that oversaw the gaming floor. “You owe her.”

That handful of words left a charged tension in their wake. For in a world where he was not driven by emotion, feelings, or any sentiments that could weaken, Ryker did honor the code of the streets. For the decision she’d made to join the ton, Helena had once been a member of their street family. She’d scrapped and clawed alongside them. And more, when he, Calum, Adair, and Niall, the other members of their clan, had struggled with the skills needed to survive in their new world, Helena had proven adept in ways they never had, or would ever be able to. Her business acumen had singlehandedly helped build their empire. With a silent curse, he stalked off.

“Adair showed her to your office,” Calum called after him. Since Helena had left, Adair looked after the books. On a good day, Adair could never be Helena with numbers on a bad day.

Gaze trained forward, he marched through the clubs. Averting their gazes, lords hastily stepped out of his path.

No, Ryker didn’t welcome, or accept, interruptions to his daily routines. Helena had been schooled in that. They all had. And yet, something brought her here.

He exited the gaming hell floor, and made his way up the stairs to the offices. The wood stairs groaned in protest at his shifting weight.

Had Diggory’s men, bent on revenge for Helena’s act that day against their revered master, found their way into polite Society? He reached his office and froze.

A tall, broad figure stood outside his doorway. Arms clasped at his back, his brother-in-law, the Duke of Somerset, waited. “Black,” he greeted solemnly, this man who belonged to a people Ryker despised, and yet who’d also stepped in to save Helena. For that alone he had Ryker’s respect.

Ryker inclined his head.

“Helena is inside,” the other man murmured.

Ryker reached past him and pressed the handle. They may be joined as families now, but he’d never call Somerset brother. Wordlessly he entered the room and closed the door.

From where she sat perched on the edge of a chair before his desk, Helena jumped up. “Ryker.”

“Helena,” he said tersely, and made for the sideboard. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass. “What do you want?” he asked, carrying his drink to his desk.

“It is lovely to see you, too,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. Unhurriedly, she reclaimed her seat.

Ryker sat behind the cluttered mahogany piece and got to the heart of it. “Diggory’s men?”

Her smile withered. “No. It is not that. Them,” she amended.

Some of the tension left his shoulders, but he remained tightly coiled. To let one’s guard down meant a man’s ruin. That wariness went for those you called family, and the thieves on the street.

Laconic as she’d always been, Helena smoothed her gloved palms down the front of her skirts, drawing his attention to the new attire she wore—elegant blue satin skirts adorned in crystal beading, befitting a duchess.

He peeled his lip back in a sneer.

Bringing her chin back a notch, she held his gaze. “I require a favor, and know the rule on the element of surprise.”

So that was why she came at this late hour. Cradling his glass between his hands, Ryker leaned back and inclined his head.

“I have not been . . . completely welcomed by Society.”

Burned on one cheek, the bastard daughter of a duke, and the sister of a club proprietor, had she expected she would be? “Oh?” he drawled.

Her frown deepened. “I didn’t expect it would matter to you whether I find my way amongst Society.”

She was only partly correct. Part of him, a weak, pathetic piece deep inside he’d sooner slay himself than admit to, did care. Still, he said nothing. You didn’t show your weakness. Not even to a sister, begging a favor.

“Questions surround our family,” she went on when he still said nothing.

He arched an eyebrow. “When did you ever give two damns what anyone said about us?” He’d raised her better than that. Disappointment filled him.

“I don’t,” she said pragmatically. “They can all go hang.”

If he were capable of smiling after all the sins he’d ratcheted in his life, this would have been the time for it.

“Society wonders about you,” she explained. “You are a duke’s son.”

“A bastard,” he said, bluntly. “I am a bastard.” He lifted his glass in salute. A child who hadn’t mattered a jot to the man who’d given him life. How easily his sister had forgotten that key distinction of her own blood, too.

Helena drew in a deep breath, and then spoke on a rush. “They also talk about my husband. Speculate there is bad blood between you.”

Ah, so this is why she is here. The Duke of Somerset. When he’d sent Helena away for her safety, never had he believed she would bind herself in name, forever, to one of those fancy toffs. “Ah.” Ryker turned his lips up in a humorless smile.

“He did not ask me to come,” she said, hurriedly. “Robert said the ton could go hang with their opinions.” The duke rose another notch in his silent estimation. Helena scrambled forward in her chair and turned her palms up. “But I care, Ryker. I love my husband, and they are saying rotten things about him.” Her mouth tightened. “They say he is ashamed of you because of your birthright and role at the club.”