Prologue
Earl of Gold, that is what society’s elite called Logan, the Earl of Goldthwaite.
The nickname was meant as an insult, he assumed, by the way the ladies curled their upper lips behind their fans or the gentlemen sneered around their glasses of port.
Which perplexed Logan to no end. First because they were all rich. Of course, he was richer than most, he understood that. But a man should think that would mean the elite would respect rather than disdain his wealth.
After all, while they had all inherited from their father’s father’s father, he, on the other hand, had taken a broken title and forged it in gold, lifting himself back up out of the ashes.
Perhaps that was what they disliked, how hard he worked while they leisurely played croquet or whatever ridiculous pursuits they filled their time with. And assumed they were better for it.
Since he’d been a boy, they had all assumed they were better. At school, he’d been shown every single day how much less he was for his father’s debts.
Or mayhap they found him too hard with his shiny outer crust he’d built around himself. But society had helped to form that thick outer layer. Had it not?
He turned his head to the side, cracking his neck, the pop echoing in the empty room.
The Duke of Darlington, who’d been droning on with an endless list of figures, lifted a brow. “I thought you, of all men, would appreciate a thorough accounting of potential sales.”
Logan gave a single bark of laughter, as he looked about the dark interior of the Den of Sins. That’s what the former owners had called this place. He’d yet to decide what he might name it if the sale went through. “I do, indeed.” The place reeked of stale liquor, body odor, and…potential.
Tucked in a seedy corner of the East End near the Docklands, the place made more money than any other endeavor he’d undertaken and his fingers itched to ink the contract that would make this gaming hell his.
Logan gave a cold smile, running his hand through his short blond hair. Perhaps that was the reason they’d disliked him. He’d use any method to make money. He didn’t give a shit about what was respectable. Actually, he didn’t care about most of their rules. They were meant to hurt nearly everyone.
And he wasn’t alone.
Darlington was known within these walls as Daring. A duke and several of his friends had turned this place into a treasure trove of coin. It was not fashionable for lords to own such a place, but Daring had done it anyway.
“Then why do you appear to be completely lost and not listening to a word I’ve uttered in the last five minutes?” The duke kicked out a chair from a nearby table and sat down.
Logan joined him, grabbing a chair and stretching out his long legs in front of him as he crossed his arms over his chest. His casual stance belied the tension in him. He’d make enough money to prove to all of them that he was the best. They’d curl their lips no longer at his sullied name.
Deep down, he knew why they judged him. He’d been ruined at one time, beneath them. Despite the title, everyone knew about the scandal that tainted his family. His father’s disgrace. And no amount of gold seemed enough to elevate his status once again.
Still, he’d collect enough coin to buy and sell all of London just to know that he could. To snub his nose at them. “I don’t understand why you had five partners. This place could make a man rich beyond his wildest dreams.”
Daring drew in a deep breath, carefully assessing the man across from him. His dark eyes glittered with interest and studied Logan’s face.
Logan felt his jaw clench, his fingers flexing under his biceps where they lay hidden.
If the duke chose another buyer…
“You already have several business ventures. This club is a full-time job in and of itself.”
Logan grimaced, recognizing the truth in the words. He didn’t like them but he understood them, nonetheless. “That is a valid point.”
Daring leaned forward. “And forgive me if I am overstepping, but your reputation lacks a certain…”
“Respectability?” Logan asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. This meeting seemed to be going further off kilter with every passing minute.
“Indeed,” Daring chuckled. “Which doesn’t matter to me.”
Logan let out a long breath, his shoulders hunching. Good. He’d never won a popularity contest and wasn’t likely to start now.
“But,” Daring held up a finger, “A gaming hell will not help you move in the right direction. It won’t gain you any respectability if that’s what you’re searching for.”
Logan gave a low grunt in response. The ton’s opinion of him was far less important than his own pursuit of wealth, but he supposed acceptance by the most elite in society would banish the specter of his past forever. And he could only gain more financial footholds with respectability. “It’s a lesser goal, to be certain. But enlighten me, anyhow. How do partners help with that?”
“Not only do they defray the work but they help protect your identity. Someone might recognize you. We wore masks, but occasionally, a discerning eye would recognize one of us anyway. However, the moment your saboteur tries to brag to his friends that he knows the owner of the Den of Sins, another will pipe up that they saw lord so and so or such and such. The two will argue and in the end, most everyone will believe neither has a clue. In that way, no rumor gains momentum.”
“But it isn’t rumor,” Logan answered. He was being petulant because he didn’t want partners even if all of Daring’s points made a great deal of sense. “And I’m not sure I care who in London knows I own this club.” He cracked his neck again. “And who is so and so and such and such?”
Daring laughed low. “My partners will remain my business. But your partners…” He drew a long, thin cheroot from his pocket and took his time lighting it with a nearby candle. “Are also my business.”
Logan rumbled, deep in his throat. Damn the man. He wasn’t going to sign today after all. He knew Daring was stalling now. “If I don’t care who knows I am the owner then why would I need partners at all?”
Daring passed another cheroot over to Logan without a word. Then he took a long draw off it, holding it in his lungs before he let out a puff of breath. “Camaraderie is part of what makes this place a success. Men feel it when they walk through the door. It isn’t just another place where drunks come to part with their money. It’s a place where men can bond. These walls are infused with brotherhood. In other words, you won’t even come close to our profits without partners.”
Horseshit. That’s what Logan wanted to say. But he drew in a long breath and cooled his heating temper. “How many? Partners that is, so that we can close the deal.”
A haze of smoke was filling the air around Daring’s head. “Three at least.”
Logan’s hand slapped his thigh. Too many. “Is that your only stipulation? That I find partners?” Like finding three men to work with him wasn’t going to be difficult enough. He had a reputation for not playing nice with others.
The duke was silent for so long Logan’s skin began to itch again. By force of will he kept himself from shifting in his seat. Finally, the duke mumbled. “There is one other…”