scandal.
“Yes,” said Jason. He made a series of swift calculations in his head, totaling the rent-rolls of Stanhope’s father and grandfather, the mortgages on their estates, the debts and financial scandals plaguing the family, the codicils added to the wills, and the contents of the will themselves.
Then he said, “You may offer him two thousand pounds.”
George nodded and made his way across the room to where the viscount sat slouched sullenly at the hazard table. The inspector bent and smiled ingratiatingly. “Excuse me, my lord, did I hear you say you had no more ready money? One or two thousand pounds from our bank is at your service, if your lordship shall wish it.”
Stanhope scowled without looking up at George. “I don’t think I shall play any more tonight,” he said. “I’ve had the devil’s own luck.”
At his side, the Earl of Kintray, fat and florid, threw back his prematurely balding head and laughed. “Really, Stanhope, do accept Mr. Page’s liberal offer. Perhaps you may win back what you have lost.”
George said smoothly, “Nothing, I assure your lordship, would give us greater pleasure than to give you the moneys.”
Stanhope sighed. “Oh, very well, let me have two thousand pounds then.”
George made his way to the bank, retrieved the notes, and handed it to Stanhope.
“Perhaps your lordship would oblige me with an IOU and pay the amount at your convenience?” asked George.
“I shall be able to pay it in a couple of months,” said Stanhope.
George smiled. “Your lordship is very kind,” he said, and bowing respectfully, withdrew once again from the table to deposit the IOU with the banker. When he had accomplished this task, Jason beckoned to him once again.
“You may increase the bank to twenty thousand pounds for tonight,” Jason told him. “We’ve been having a good run this month, and we may as well keep this lot happy.”
George nodded. “Very good, sir.”
Satisfied that for the moment everything ran smoothly in the hazard room, Jason checked on the player’s supper room where his staff laid out free wine, as well as Monsieur Leblanc’s incomparable cold buffet, for the gamblers to enjoy gratis before or after their play. Everything looked in order, so he made his way to the large dining room where dinner was still being served to the members of the club who did not care to play.
Having made the rounds, Jason elected to return to his office where he remained for several hours making his daily review of the accounts. It was an activity guaranteed to absorb his complete and undivided attention, and banishing once again the thought of Miranda, the curve of her throat as she had looked up at him, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the ledgers Olly had left for him.
When at last he was finished and had placed a new order for the ivory dice that George had told him they would need, he looked up at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly ten and well past the time for supper.
He rose to his feet, stretching panther-like to work the kinks from his shoulders, and found his thoughts, as iron to lodestone, returning once again to Miranda.
How had she occupied herself during the day? She had refused his offer to go shopping or riding, and with most of Blakewell’s off-limits to women, even serving maids, she would have had very little to entertain her. None of his staff had mentioned her in any of their reports to him during the day, so she evidently had not been wandering the halls.
Had she remained in his private quarters, then? She had always liked to read, and there were certainly enough books to keep someone entertained for weeks. Extinguishing the lamps in his office, he made his way up the stairs and toward the back of the club. But when he knocked on the door, he received no answer.
He hesitated only a second, then pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was not there. A lunch tray had been left on the small table, the sauce of the
“Yes,” said Jason. He made a series of swift calculations in his head, totaling the rent-rolls of Stanhope’s father and grandfather, the mortgages on their estates, the debts and financial scandals plaguing the family, the codicils added to the wills, and the contents of the will themselves.
Then he said, “You may offer him two thousand pounds.”
George nodded and made his way across the room to where the viscount sat slouched sullenly at the hazard table. The inspector bent and smiled ingratiatingly. “Excuse me, my lord, did I hear you say you had no more ready money? One or two thousand pounds from our bank is at your service, if your lordship shall wish it.”
Stanhope scowled without looking up at George. “I don’t think I shall play any more tonight,” he said. “I’ve had the devil’s own luck.”
At his side, the Earl of Kintray, fat and florid, threw back his prematurely balding head and laughed. “Really, Stanhope, do accept Mr. Page’s liberal offer. Perhaps you may win back what you have lost.”
George said smoothly, “Nothing, I assure your lordship, would give us greater pleasure than to give you the moneys.”
Stanhope sighed. “Oh, very well, let me have two thousand pounds then.”
George made his way to the bank, retrieved the notes, and handed it to Stanhope.
“Perhaps your lordship would oblige me with an IOU and pay the amount at your convenience?” asked George.
“I shall be able to pay it in a couple of months,” said Stanhope.
George smiled. “Your lordship is very kind,” he said, and bowing respectfully, withdrew once again from the table to deposit the IOU with the banker. When he had accomplished this task, Jason beckoned to him once again.
“You may increase the bank to twenty thousand pounds for tonight,” Jason told him. “We’ve been having a good run this month, and we may as well keep this lot happy.”
George nodded. “Very good, sir.”
Satisfied that for the moment everything ran smoothly in the hazard room, Jason checked on the player’s supper room where his staff laid out free wine, as well as Monsieur Leblanc’s incomparable cold buffet, for the gamblers to enjoy gratis before or after their play. Everything looked in order, so he made his way to the large dining room where dinner was still being served to the members of the club who did not care to play.
Having made the rounds, Jason elected to return to his office where he remained for several hours making his daily review of the accounts. It was an activity guaranteed to absorb his complete and undivided attention, and banishing once again the thought of Miranda, the curve of her throat as she had looked up at him, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the ledgers Olly had left for him.
When at last he was finished and had placed a new order for the ivory dice that George had told him they would need, he looked up at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. It was nearly ten and well past the time for supper.
He rose to his feet, stretching panther-like to work the kinks from his shoulders, and found his thoughts, as iron to lodestone, returning once again to Miranda.
How had she occupied herself during the day? She had refused his offer to go shopping or riding, and with most of Blakewell’s off-limits to women, even serving maids, she would have had very little to entertain her. None of his staff had mentioned her in any of their reports to him during the day, so she evidently had not been wandering the halls.
Had she remained in his private quarters, then? She had always liked to read, and there were certainly enough books to keep someone entertained for weeks. Extinguishing the lamps in his office, he made his way up the stairs and toward the back of the club. But when he knocked on the door, he received no answer.
He hesitated only a second, then pushed the door open and stepped inside. She was not there. A lunch tray had been left on the small table, the sauce of the
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