Page 80 of My Rogue, My Ruin
Perhaps it was Northridge’s arrival or the fact that seeing him made him think of his sister, but Archer lost the next hand. And the next four after that. He was just about to throw it in and take his leave when he realized Bainley had asked him a question.
“Rumors abounded that you would never marry, Bradburne. Why the change of heart? Or is it your change of fortune?”
Bradburne.No one had called him by his father’s title until now, and it hung like a pall in the air. His name had always been Hawksfield, and hearing his father’s name applied to him now, alongside the young man’s sly, baiting question, made him thirst for a fight.
Archer did not respond in the way Bainley expected. Calling him out would only draw more attention to himself, and after the unfortunate article in theTimes, he didn’t need any more of that.
He lounged back in his chair and tossed a few more chips onto the pile in the center. “Why, the love of a good woman could induce the devil himself to court a lady.”
“So it’s love, then?”
“I don’t know,” Archer said smoothly. “Is that what the rumors are saying?”
The men at the table broke out in laughter, and Bainley turned red. Archer hadn’t insulted him by calling him a gossip to his face, but the underlying insult was there just the same. Bainley stood, darting a seething look in Archer’s direction, collected his remaining chips, and left without a word.
Thorndale won the next hand and smiled in satisfaction. “It’s about time.”
“Hawk,” a man’s voice said. “May I join you?”
Archer looked around to see Brandt standing there. His longtime friend was immaculately dressed in a moss green coat with gold buttons and gray pantaloons. It had been a game of theirs early on to pass Brandt off as a gentleman in theton, inventing outlandish double identities for him, particularly during the season, but they hadn’t done it for some time.
It had amused them to no end that no one ever recognized Brandt. The privileged had a way of behaving as if their servants were invisible. Archer nodded to the proprietor of the establishment who had escorted Brandt to their table, vouching for the newcomer’s arrival. Though Brandt was not a member, Archer knew the owner would not risk alienating the new Duke of Bradburne.
Archer hid his surprise. Perhaps Brandt had simply wanted a change of scene. “Mr. Brockston,” he said casually. “When did you get back into town?”
“Just today.” Brandt’s bored response could rival any English peacock’s. “Sorry I missed your engagement ball. I heard it was the crush of the season.”
Brandt endured the other men’s curious stares. An invitation to Hawk’s engagement would only mean that he was a close friend of the duke’s. Archer nodded for him to take Bainley’s vacant seat. Brandt placed a stack of chips on the green felt of the table as Archer introduced him to the other players. “Mr. Brockston is a friend of mine from Essex. He is in the export business and manages some of my international investments. He travels frequently, so he is not often in town.”
Brandt settled in like a natural, and play resumed for another hour with Thorndale and Brandt taking most of the hands. Archer was forced to concede that his luck had run out. Or perhaps he wasn’t focused enough. Brandt’s arrival had made him more inclined to stay, but he was considering asking his friend to retire with him to Hadley Gardens and take on the better part of a bottle of aged brandy when a whispered comment at the table beside them stopped him cold.
“Dowager Viscountess Hamilton was attacked…”
He turned and saw Lord Everton holding the men at his table transfixed with the news. “She was attacked?” Archer interrupted. “Where?”
The young lord was eager to share the gossip. “In her home. By the Masked Marauder. Last night. She was beaten severely.”
Archer frowned, exchanging a swift glance with Brandt. Viscountess Hamilton had pleaded illness and had not been at the engagement ball.
“What kind of animal would attack an old lady?” Thorndale said, disgust coating his words.
“How is she?” Archer said.
“Recovering, but Dr. Hargrove says that she is lucky to be alive. My mother is the viscountess’s cousin.”
“This scoundrel has to be stopped,” Bassford growled. “He attacked my carriage several months ago. No one was hurt, thank goodness, but it appears he is becoming more vicious in his attacks. Lady Hamilton is ancient.”
No one remarked that she and the late duke were the same age, but the news certainly dampened the previously jovial atmosphere in the club. Cards lay forgotten on the tables as conversation grew agitated with everyone weighing in on the identity of the bandit, his burgeoning list of crimes, and his newfound passion for violence. Archer felt sick to his stomach.
“Any more news on the duke’s killer, Hawk?” Thorndale asked. “Do they think it’s this masked bandit?”
Archer shook his head. “Bow Street has their suspects, including him.”
“But no leads?” Monti asked, watching him with interested black eyes.
For a moment, something in the man’s tone bothered Archer, and he wondered whether Monti or someone else here could be the imposter. It was certainly plausible.
His body grew rigid. He met Brandt’s stare and knew that he had arrived at the same deduction. Perhaps that would explain the stable master’s presence here. He had come to scope out possible suspects. Archer felt something take hold of his body as his gaze perused the room, meeting familiar and unfamiliar faces in turn. Could someone here know his secret?
