“Bloody hell, I can’t believe the line of people standing out there waiting for you to open the doors,” Andrew said, staring out the window of Drake’s office at the Twin Dragons.
Its inauguration tonight was the talk of London, not only among the aristocracy but among the wealthy who bore no titles. Entry into the Twin Dragons was by invitation only, each one hand-delivered to the elite, those who could afford membership. The aristocracy. The newly rich. Railway barons. Manufacturing barons. Those who dared to reach for something better. Americans. And the ladies. Ladies were being allowed into what had once been the men’s inner sanctum. And that was causing quite the stir.
Leaning back in the chair behind his desk, Drake dared not browse the expectant crowd, because he knew if he did, he would search for her, and he didn’t want to experience the disappointment that she hadn’t come.
It had been six weeks since Wigmore had been put in the ground. Grace had informed him that Phee was again attending balls and dinners, concerts and theater. She was being wooed and courted. Any day now he expected to read about her betrothal in the Times.
From her he had received but one missive, which said simply, “No child.”
He should have been relieved. Instead he’d felt his last opportunity to regain her in his life melt away. Not that the circumstances would have been ideal. But it might have been a chance for them to start over. It might have—
“I can’t believe how different the place looks,” Rexton said.
Drake’s brothers had arrived early, intent on sharing the reopening of the Twin Dragons with him. They held no resentment, no grudges that the duchess had handed him her portion without recompense. He was touched by their loyalty, their goodwill toward him. They embraced his good fortune as though it were their own.
“I wanted ladies to feel welcome here,” Drake said. “It was too dark before.”
He’d done much of the work himself, hammering, painting, papering, rearranging. The more punishing the task, the more likely he was the one to do it. Anything to make his muscles scream and ache, anything that resulted in exhaustion, so that when he finally went to bed he could sleep without dreams, without thinking of Phee.
Not that his plan garnered him much success where she was concerned. She always hovered at the edge of his consciousness and he could do little to eradicate her from his mind. It didn’t help that as he oversaw the arrival of new furnishings and their placement that he envisioned her handling the delivery of furniture at his residence. A residence that was now too blasted empty, the only sound his hollow footsteps. He could smell her on his pillow, his sheets, and his desire for her would only sharpen.
“I’m not sure how I feel about playing against women, taking their money. Not very gentlemanly,” Rexton said.
“Never bothered you to take Grace’s money.”
“He could never beat Grace,” Andrew said. “I could, though.”
“Because you cheat,” Rexton announced.
“So does she. Did you never figure that out?”
“I wouldn’t expect my sister to be so underhanded.” Rexton lifted the glass dragon from its perch on Drake’s desk and examined it.
“Careful with that,” Drake said. Rexton arched a brow at him. “I don’t want it broken.”
“Pity it’s already broken. Part of its tail is missing.”
Not missing exactly. Rather it was nestled within a small pocket in Drake’s waistcoat, so it was always with him, so he always carried a reminder of Phee.
Carefully, Rexton returned it to its place. “It’s an exquisite piece. I can’t imagine Jack Dodger having such whimsical objects in his office.”
“But then it’s not his office,” Drake said with a smile. It hadn’t been in some time, but tonight it truly felt like Drake’s. Perhaps he was going to be able to generate some excitement after all.
“I assume he’s coming tonight?” Andrew asked.
“He and Claybourne, along with their families, should be here anytime now.” He’d given them a private tour the day before. They’d been impressed with the alterations. While most of the main floor would cater to both genders, he’d added private salons for each. A rather fancy dining hall created a pleasant atmosphere for a gent to bring a lady for dinner. Another room would offer dancing. He was expanding beyond vice.
A soft knock sounded.
Drake peered over at the doorway and saw the duke standing there. He quickly came to his feet. “Your Grace.”
Greystone held up a bottle. “Anyone care for some good scotch before the masses are allowed inside?”
“Absolutely,” Drake said. Grabbing four glasses, he set them on the corner of his desk.
“Where’s Mother?” Andrew asked, as the duke wandered in.
“With Grace and Lovingdon, ordering people about, making sure all is in order before the festivities start. It means a great deal to your mother that you allowed her to have a role in planning tonight’s unveiling.” The duke poured two fingers into each glass. As Drake reached for his, the duke said, “Oh, wait, something else first.”
He slipped a hand inside his jacket and withdrew a small leather case. He extended it toward Drake. “Just a little something to mark your success.”
Drake hesitated a moment. Fine things came in leather boxes. “I haven’t had the success yet.”
Greystone winked. “But you will.”
Drake took the offering and slowly folded back the hinged lid. Inside he found nestled among velvet a gold pocket watch and chain. On the cover, finely etched in exquisite detail, was a dragon. He wasn’t certain he’d ever received such an exquisite gift. He had no words. “It’s remarkable.”
“You and I have always had the dragon in common. It seemed appropriate.” Greystone patted his waistcoat pocket where his own watch was protected. “A father passes his watch down to his firstborn son, so of course mine will go to Rexton.”
“Not for many years yet, please, Father,” Rexton said.
Greystone grinned. “Not for many years yet.” Sobering, he gave his attention back to Drake. “But I wanted you to have a watch as well. Doesn’t come with a storied past, but each watch must begin its tale somewhere so it can be carried on down the line. There’s an inscription.”
Taking the watch from the case, holding it in his palm, Drake carefully opened the cover and read the words etched in delicate script.
To my first son
—Always, with love and pride
Drake swallowed down the hard knot that had lodged in his throat. His chest tightened. His eyes stung. He lifted those eyes to the man standing before him. “I don’t know what to say, Your Grace.”
The duke nodded slowly, his lips curling into a slight, wry smile. “ ‘Thank you, Father,’ would be nice.”
Drake shook his head, or he thought he did. He seemed incapable of moving. His voice was locked. Every muscle in his body was locked. He had stood in a crowd and watched his father hang. He saw his father’s fists, his rage, his ugliness. He saw . . .
He saw . . .
He saw the duke holding his hand the first time they boarded a ship. He’d been terrified, but hadn’t voiced it, yet the large, sure hand had been there all the same, calming his fears.
He saw the duke crouched beside him, pointing out and explaining Stonehenge, the pyramids, the Roman Colosseum, the Great Wall of China. He saw the duke climbing a mountain with him and revealing the world from its summit. He saw the duke teaching him to ride a horse, correcting him with a stern voice when he misbehaved, insisting he learn his lessons, never allowing him to shirk his responsibilities, patting him on the shoulder for encouragement, carrying him on his back when he was younger and grew tired.
He saw now that the man on the gallows had merely given him life. The man standing before him had gifted him with a life, and a remarkable one at that. But more, he’d always shown him kindness and love.
Everything within Drake unknotted, unlocked. Swallowing hard, he held the duke’s blue gaze. “Thank you, Father.”
Greystone smiled, his own eyes misted, and he blinked them several times. It wouldn’t do for a duke to be caught weeping or displaying unbridled emotion. “You’re most welcome. A bit of advice, though. Never look at your pocket watch when you’re waiting for a lady to ready herself so that you might go out. It will drive you to madness. A woman’s five minutes are never fewer than twenty. Now let’s get this on you, shall we? See how it looks.”
Taking the watch from Drake, the duke leaned low and close, striving to hook one end of the gold chain around a button.
Drake’s heart went out to him as he watched him struggle. “I can do that.”
“I’m not blind quite yet.”
“I’d give you my sight if I could,” Drake told him.
Greystone succeeded in securing the chain to the button and stuffed the watch into the proper pocket on the waistcoat. Straightening, he patted Drake on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t take it. A father always wants better for his son than he had for himself. You are well on your way. And now it’s time for the toast.”
Rexton passed around the glasses.
Drake’s father lifted his glass high and in a strong voice said, “To your success, my son. May tonight be merely the first step of a remarkable journey.”
“Hear! Hear!” Rexton and Andrew said.
They all clinked their glasses before tossing back their scotch. The warmth from the liquid going down was nothing compared to the warmth Drake felt for these men surrounding him.
He had them because he’d once been forced to climb down a chimney flue in order to steal valuables from a fancy residence.
What an odd turn of fate, that the man who sired him had in a strange way been responsible, after all, for giving him a family.
Drake stood in the shadowed balcony—one aspect of Dodger’s that remained untouched—and looked down as the main floor of the Twin Dragons filled with the curious. Tomorrow more gaming tables would be added, but for tonight much of the space had been left open for dancing. An orchestra played. Liveried footmen served champagne. People drank, laughed, wandered. By all observations and accounts, tonight was a success. Yet something was missing.
Then he saw her. Phee. She’d come. He’d hoped but hadn’t truly expected her to accept the invitation. She was more beautiful than ever, dressed in pale green silk and dark green velvet. Long white gloves that rode past her elbows hid hands that had once caressed him. Her hair, held in place with pearl combs, revealed a slender throat that he desperately wished to nibble. And he knew she’d have arrived on a cloud of orchids. He rather imagined that her fragrance had wafted up to the balcony, that even now he could inhale her scent. Although he knew it was impossible.
No shadows seemed to be hovering about her. She greeted those she knew with a smile. He stayed where he was because he didn’t want to see that smile wither. He didn’t want to see ghosts dim the sparkle in her eyes. He didn’t want his presence to ruin her enjoyment of the evening.
Even as he argued that she came knowing he’d be here, he couldn’t convince himself that she’d be glad to see him.
“People are beginning to speculate that the owner of this establishment is a phantom,” Avendale said as he placed his forearms on the railing and leaned forward.
“Avendale, for God’s sake—”
“They know you’re up here watching. I daresay you have a more potent stare than Jack Dodger. A shiver went through me every time your gaze landed on me.”
“Must be guilt that caused the shivers as I wasn’t giving you any notice at all.”
Avendale grinned. “So who is garnering your attention this evening? Ah, could it be Lady Ophelia Lyttleton, returned from her uncle’s? Nasty bit of business that. Wigmore killing himself while cleaning a pistol. Although I can’t say I ever really cared for the man.”
An accident was the story they had all decided on. Simpler that way.
“Something is different about her,” Avendale continued.
“Who?” Drake asked, coming to attention.
“Lady Ophelia. I ran across her at Hyde Park, thought to stop, have a quick chat, offer my condolences. Strangest thing. While we’re talking, she notices her lady’s maid’s nose is turning pink from the sun and insists that she use Lady Ophelia’s parasol. Can you imagine a lady giving her maid her parasol?”
He could quite well imagine it of Phee.
“She is suddenly quite intriguing,” Avendale said. “I’ve decided to pursue her.”
Drake hardly had time to give any thought to it before he grabbed Avendale by the lapels and slammed him back against the wall. Still holding the duke in place, he growled, “I’ll not have her touched by the likes of you.”
“The likes of me? I’m a bloody duke.”
“You’re a bloody scoundrel.”
“What’s going on here?”
Peering over at Lovingdon, Drake realized he was making quite the spectacle of himself. Unclenching his fists, he released his hold on Avendale and stepped back, but he’d be damned if he was going to apologize.
Jerking on his waistcoat, Avendale said, “I seem to have struck a nerve. Thought I might. I don’t know why you won’t admit you have a fondness for Lady Ophelia.”
“Just stay clear of her or I’ll cancel your membership here.”
“I can’t have that now, can I? Not when things are on the verge of getting most interesting. Ladies in a gaming hell. They shall be the ruination of us all, but what fun we’ll have along the way. Lovingdon, I’m off to the card room. Hopefully you’ll join me there.”
“Perhaps after I dance with my wife,” Lovingdon said, but his gaze never left Drake.
Avendale wandered away. Drake took a deep breath. Phee was perfectly capable of warding off the man’s advances.
“Grace wondered if you were coming down,” Lovingdon said. “Everyone is asking after you. They’re all rather interested in meeting the enigmatic owner of the Twin Dragons.”
Drake nodded. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“He’s not going to pursue her.”
When Drake looked at him, Lovingdon added, “Avendale. I don’t know why he was trying to get a rise out of you, but he has no interest in marriage.”
“Neither did you.”
Lovingdon chuckled. “That’s true.” He sobered. “Do you love her?”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel for her. I hurt her badly.”
“Yet she came tonight. Your moment of triumph and she’s here. That has to count for something. Think about it. Meanwhile, I’ve been too long without my wife, so excuse me while I return to her.” Lovingdon left.
Drake walked back to the balcony and gazed out. He spotted Phee immediately, as though she were the brightest star in the night sky. Suddenly he desperately wanted to hear her voice, inhale her scent. He wanted to look into her green eyes and see for himself that she was all right. That her uncle’s death was behind her. That there were no more shadows, no more ghosts.
But getting to her required walking through hordes of people who delayed his passing with congratulations, and questions, and praise. He greeted them all as quickly and politely as he could, all the while striving to keep her within his sights.
She was standing in a circle of young ladies. He knew them. They had been the ladies who had been tittering around him at Grace’s wedding. Ladies who found him a curiosity, nothing more. Ladies who would never consider him as a serious suitor. He was not nobility. He was a club owner, and while that club would now extend memberships to women, it didn’t negate the fact that he worked. Long hours. Tedious hours.
Like half the gentlemen in this room.
Suddenly Phee stepped back and accidentally knocked into a footman carrying a tray filled with flutes of champagne. The tray upended, the flutes crashed to the floor. He heard Phee’s cry of dismay right before she knelt on the floor beside the footman and began to assist him in placing shards of glass on the tray, while everyone stood around and gaped.
In two long strides, he was crouched beside her in time to hear her say, “I’m so sorry. That was extremely clumsy of me.”
“It was my fault,” the footman said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Drake waited until she set the glass on the tray. Then he grabbed her hands before she could retrieve any more. She lifted her eyes to his, and within hers, he saw the worry and concern over broken glasses and spilled champagne.
“You are a lady of the nobility,” he said. “You do not clean up messes.”
“I was clumsy, not looking where I was going. It was my fault. The least I can do is help clean it up.”
“You needn’t worry about it. I’ll see to it.”
She studied him, her gaze roaming over his face. She squeezed his hands. “You’re the owner of this establishment, Drake Darling. You don’t clean up messes either.”
He grinned. “No, but I pay good money to people to do it for me.”
Standing, he brought her to her feet, then turned to the crowd. “This will all be taken care of shortly. Please return to the merriment.”
He gave his attention back to her. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her, a thousand things he wanted to do with her. But he had no right to impose on her, not after his deception. He almost told her he missed her—desperately. Instead he said, “I’m so glad you came, Lady Ophelia, but I don’t want to ruin your evening. I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”
Her mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Dance with me.”
Not a question, but a command. It was her way. As it was his. One didn’t ask when one thought the answer might be no, although why in the world she thought he wouldn’t dance with her was beyond him.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, offering her his arm and leading her into the dance area.
She hadn’t planned to come. She had stroked her fingers over the gilded invitation he sent and convinced herself it would do neither of them any favors if she attended.
But she’d been unable to stay away.
For long moments they simply waltzed, gazing into each other’s eyes. She felt as though everything was being communicated, even though no words were being spoken.
“What a fool I was,” she finally said, “to have rebuffed your previous invitations to dance. You’re quite good at it, while I was quite insufferable.”
“I won’t argue with you there.”
She laughed lightly. “Now you decide to be honest with me?”
“I shall never lie or deceive you again. You have my word on that.”
“I shall never give you another cut direct. You have my word on that.”
“I’ve missed you, Phee.”
“I don’t see how you had time. I remember Dodger’s from before, when I visited once with Grace. You’ve made it all very elegant, but it took a lot of work. You had to have been very busy with it,” she told him.
“Not so busy that I couldn’t find moments to think of you. I’ll redo any of it if it’s not pleasing to you.”
“This is your place, Drake. Not mine. It’s quite the talk of the town. Now that you’ve come down from the balcony, I daresay, the ladies will be swarming to your side once we stop dancing.”
“Then we won’t stop dancing.”
Something warm settled in her chest, tightened it. She didn’t want to stop dancing, didn’t want the other ladies fawning over him. “That would create quite the scandal after we worked so hard to avoid it.”
“I don’t think anyone would fault me for keeping you in my arms when you’re so beautiful.”
She didn’t feel beautiful, not really, not where it counted. “I wasn’t a very nice person before.”
“You had your reasons.”
“To strive to make others feel small because I felt small is hardly commendable.”
“Perhaps we both suffered from the inability to see you clearly.”
“I see myself quite clearly now.”
“I’m not sure you do. The last time I saw you, you told me that you weren’t the woman who lived in my residence, and yet I know she was the sort to kneel down to help a footman clear up broken glass.”
She was certain she was blushing. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“You can deny it all you want, but you are the woman I fell in love with. You’re strong, Phee, when you need to be strong. You’re courageous. You carry on when it might be easier to crawl into bed and pull the blankets over your head. I told you that you were a servant and while you hadn’t a clue regarding what you were supposed to do, you forged ahead. When your memories returned, you rescued your aunt even though it meant facing your past. You are quite remarkable.”
This was the reason she almost hadn’t come. She didn’t want to hear of his love and devotion.
This was the reason she’d come. To be near him again, to hear of his love and devotion. And she missed him so very much.
“Without my memories, with no tarnished past”—with no memories of Wigmore to intrude—“I was free to fall in love with you. I do love you, Drake. At first I was hurt and so angry but when I take in the entire tapestry of my life, my happiest, most joyful moments have been with you.”
“Marry me.”
Not a question, but a command. It was his way. As it was hers. One didn’t ask when one thought the answer might be no, although why in the world he would think she wouldn’t marry him was beyond her.
“How can you want me knowing all you know about me?” she asked.
“How can I not?”
They were no longer dancing, but standing in the midst of dancers with his large gloved hands, his wonderful large, scarred, powerful hands cradling her face as though it were made of the most delicate spun glass. “How can you love me knowing what you know of me?” he asked.
Tears stung her eyes as she smiled. “How can I not?”
“Marry me,” he repeated.
She bit her lower lip, nodded. “Yes. All right. On one condition.”
“You can name a hundred conditions, a thousand. I shall meet every one.”
She laughed lightly. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
“I know how much I love you. I know how desperately I want you in my life. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“Oh, Drake. I don’t know that I’m worth all that.”
“I’ve told you before: you’re worth everything. Name your condition.”
“I won’t be Lady Ophelia after we marry.”
“You’ll be marrying a commoner, but the title of Lady comes from your father. You can keep it.”
“I don’t want to. I want to be Phee Darling or Mrs. Darling. No more, m’lady. Just Mrs.”
“You don’t have to do this for me, Phee.”
“I’m not. I’m doing it for me, and because I want the world to know that I’m incredibly proud to be your wife. We’ll be equal, Drake. You and I. That’s how it should be. How I want it.”
“Then that’s how it shall be.” Angling her head, he took her mouth as though he owned it, because he did. He owned all of her, heart, body, soul. How had she thought that she could live out the remainder of her life without him?
She was vaguely aware of the sounds of feet brushing over the floor silencing, the final strains of a waltz drifting into silence. When Drake drew back, she was aware of all eyes upon them and her brother elbowing his way between couples.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked when he finally reached them.
“I’m marrying your sister,” Drake announced.
“Not possible.”
“You haven’t the means to stop me.”
Somerdale sighed and turned to Phee. “Ophelia, you can’t marry a commoner.”
“I believe I can.”
“But the terms of your trust—if you marry him, your trust is forfeit. Your money comes to me.”
“Unless I’m willing to wait until I’m thirty,” she said, holding Drake’s gaze. “It’s a considerable sum.”
Slowly he shook his head. “Not even if it included the crown jewels.”
For a woman who had once hoped to avoid marriage altogether, she couldn’t believe how happy she was. “Don’t lose it all at one gaming table, Somerdale.” She turned her attention back to Drake. “Kiss me once more, my darling rogue.”
Taking her in his arms, he did just that.