Ian’s temper was volatile by the time he stepped foot in the club. Workers and patrons alike stepped out of his path. He was quick to ferret out Hatfield at the hazard table. The wealthy merchant was losing heavily.
Ian clamped a big hand on his shoulder and dragged him out of his seat.
“What the fu—”
“Careful, Hatfield. We have business to discuss outside,” Ian said, dragging the man past his guard and out the front door. Ian threw him against the brick wall. “What happened tonight?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ian wrapped a hand about his thick neck and squeezed. “Talk.”
Hatfield tried to claw at Ian’s fingers, but to no avail. “The bloody idiot was cheating,” he wheezed.
“Impossible. No one cheats in my club. My croupiers would have notified me or Brooks straightaway.”
“He was, I tell you.”
“How?” Ian loosened his grip on Hatfield’s neck a fraction of an inch so the fool could speak.
“He was…winning. That bloody drunkard never wins,” Hatfield gasped.
Ian wanted to throw back his head and laugh. The baron had finally been on a winning streak, and he’d been beaten for it. Of all the rotten luck. Ian released his grip, and Hatfield slid down the wall and clutched his neck.
“Get out of my sight,” Ian said.
Hatfield wasted no time and took off at a run down the street.
Ian returned inside. His gaze scanned the floor restlessly. For the first time, he didn’t get a sense of satisfaction at the busy floor, the crowded tables, the sights and sounds of money pouring into his coffers. He took the stairs two at a time until he was in his office and shut the door. He found himself by the window overlooking the floor.
Again, nothing. No pleasure looking at what he’d normally found a sense of satisfaction in watching. He closed his eyes and saw Grace.
Grace naked, her exquisite body shimmering beneath the glow of the chandeliers.
Christ. He had it bad, didn’t he?
Where was his resolve? The determination that had gotten him through all the difficult years?
She wanted him to choose her over the Raven Club.
He’d never put a woman above the Raven. Ever. It was his kingdom, his home, and his salvation.
Love was for poets and weak men. Fools and the frail, who were dependent upon others for their survival. He opened his eyes and studied the activity below. This was where he belonged.
If she couldn’t accept it, then she couldn’t accept him.
The liquor cabinet called him and he poured himself a whisky, carried the decanter to his desk, and sat in the chair. It was going to be a long night. The door opened and slammed against the wall. Brooks stepped inside the office.
“If it was anyone else, I’d be tempted to shoot,” Ian said.
“Anyone else would have knocked.” Brooks’s gaze went to the decanter on the desk. “You plan on drinking yourself into a stupor?”
Ian raised his glass in salute. “Precisely.”
“You don’t want to box me in the ring this time?”
“Why bother? I still carry the bruises from our last bout.”
“I can only assume you are having wifely troubles again.”
“She wants me to pick. The Raven or her.”
“I see. I thought you said she’d changed her mind after she accompanied you to the Raven. She didn’t leave the place screaming and yelling, did she?”
“No, she didn’t.” His mind burned with the memory of their lovemaking. She’d been sweet and wild, and he’d never forget the taste and feel of her. Men would die to possess that kind of pleasure.
He’d thought she’d come to terms with it. True, they’d never discussed it. He’d always sensed an awkwardness around the topic, and he’d kept himself distant from her in the day. He’d feared his strong attachment to her. He still did. Vulnerability was not something he had ever experienced before. It frustrated him, made him uncomfortable.
“It’s because of her father. Things were progressing until you carried the baron to our home battered and bruised,” Ian said tersely.
“Should I have left him in the alley to die?”
Ian downed his glass. “No. But she blames the club, blames me. We are back to the beginning.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know, dammit.”
“Have you told her what you do with the profits?”
“She discovered that on her own by going through my ledgers. She’s quite intelligent.” He recalled the night he’d found her in his study asleep in his chair, the ledgers spread all around her. It had led to another bout of passionate lovemaking. He screwed his eyes shut and still the image of her would not leave him.
Damn.
“She sounds perfect for you.”
“Not perfect enough. I won’t get rid of the Raven.”
“Then it’s going to be a long night. I’ll fetch more whisky.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grace cried herself to sleep that night. Ian had never returned home, and she assumed he slept at the club. Had he been with another woman?
She recalled the masked women who frequented the club, many of whom she suspected would eagerly invite him to their bed. Would he accept?
She felt a nauseating sinking of despair. She could not allow her thoughts to turn in that direction. Still, though she may not be wise in the ways of men, it was imperative that she face the truth. He didn’t want her as much as he wanted the Raven Club. He wanted her gone.
She got up, summoned Rose, and dressed. Checking on her father, she was relieved to find him still asleep and breathing peacefully this time. She ate a quick breakfast in the breakfast room—alone—then called for her maid once again.
“Rose, please help me pack my trunks. We are going on a trip.”
“A trip? To where?”
“Home.”
“But isn’t this our home now?”
“No. I am taking my father home. I will care for him there. I wish to see Adam as well.”
The explanation pacified Rose, and she set to work packing Grace’s clothing.
It was a convenient plan. She needed the time away from Ian and his home to think. Her father would be more comfortable in his own residence, and she could see to his needs.
Having spent an afternoon packing, she allowed the two burly footmen, whom she’d first seen when arriving here, to carry her trunks down. She met them in the vestibule and instructed them to place the trunks aside just as there was a knock on the door.
Jenkins came forward to open it. Brooks stood in the doorway.
“My lady,” he said, his dark eyes noticing the trunks in the corner. “Are you going on a trip?”
She glanced behind him before inwardly shaking her head. If her husband was with Brooks, he would not have knocked.
“I feel the need to return home.”
“You are home.”
If one more person reminded her of that fact, she would scream out her frustration. “I’m taking my father home. Dr. Stedler said it would be safe for him to travel the short distance in a padded carriage.”
“I see.”
Did he? Had he spent the evening with Ian? His clothing was rumpled. and his dark hair looked as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it, but then again, Brooks never seemed overly concerned with his appearance.