Vail Basingstoke, Baron Chilton, had learned early on that passions and vices came in all forms.
Some gentlemen had scandalous bedroom proclivities that could only be carried out in the darkest streets of London. Others craved fine spirits that ultimately drowned them in their own weakness.
Everyone was generally of the opinion that a learned man was a respectable one; a man who favored literature and books embodied self-restraint, logic, and reason. Vail, however, a bastard-born son of a whore only titled through battlefield actions at Waterloo, had seen the darkest, depraved actions of men of all stations. From his late mother’s keepers to the soldiers who’d cut down men in war to London’s most learned scholars—all were rotted to the core.
It was that understanding that had allowed him to build himself a fortune and rule the world of his making. It was also what saw him riding down the dangerous cobblestones of King Street with night falling.
He guided his mount, Atlas, down the noisy, overflowing streets. Whores lingered on corners and dandies seeking a thrill on the wild side stumbled drunkenly along. Vail narrowed his eyes on the establishment at the end of King Street. It was not, however, whores, drink, or wagering that brought him here.
He brought Atlas to a stop outside Jack Spiggot’s. Dismounting, he did a quick sweep, searching, and then finding. A small boy came bounding over. “Sorry, guv’nor,” Jeremy Jon said in his coarse Cockney accent. “Oi was tied up.” He collected the reins from Vail.
Having first met the lad one year earlier when Jeremy had attempted—unsuccessfully—to pick his pocket, Vail could wager his entire fortune, and win, just what had occupied him. “I just paid you,” Vail said without recrimination. “Has it been lifted?”
Any of the drunken lords, sailors, and merchants stumbling about would assume they haggled over the fare…or something far more nefarious. That is if they weren’t too deep in their cups to notice something outside their own lust for drink.
A ruddy flush stained the boy’s cheeks. “No one lifts anything from me, guv’nor.”
No, with the child’s fleet feet and ability to wind his way like a specter through the streets of St. Giles, no constable could even come close to nabbing him. And yet, Vail had put Jeremy in his employ. “I don’t want you picking pockets,” he said in a hushed tone. He’d too much need for him and the truth was he’d come to care for the child.
Jeremy nudged his chin up at a belligerent angle. “Sister’s having a baby, guv’nor.”
Another one. The boy had revealed offhandedly some months ago that his sister was married to a cruel bruiser who kept her pregnant and beat her in equal measure. His own mother had been a well-cared for whore, but she’d still been knocked around enough times that Vail had developed a burning loathing for men who’d brutalize a woman. “Here.” Reaching inside his jacket front, he withdrew a small purse and slipped it to the boy. “For watching my mount,” he said from the corner of his mouth when the lad made to reject it. Jeremy Jon had more pride than most grown men combined.
The boy hesitated another moment and then pocketed the purse. Too many lords thinking to help a street urchin tossed those bags over without proper consideration that doing so in a public manner marked them instead…and invariably those coins would prove stolen by the leaders of London’s underbelly. “I don’t want you picking pockets,” he said for the boy’s ears alone. “You’re too valuable.” Those matter-of-fact words weren’t ones he used to inflate the boy’s self-confidence or sense of self-worth. Jeremy proved to be one set of eyes and ears Vail relied on in the Dials who found out the information Vail sought as a book buyer and seller. “If you need more, you tell me.”
Stubborn as the day was long, Jeremy tightened his mouth and met that order with silence.
Vail lowered his head. “Are we clear?”
“Aye, guv’nor.” Jeremy touched the brim of his cap in a smart salute. Vail, however, had told enough lies in his life to recognize them even now in this boy. Jeremy Jon was too proud to ask him for a pence more than he was paid. He’d rather rob and steal than humble himself.
“What have you heard?” he asked from the side of his mouth, as he tugged free his gloves and stuffed them in his jacket.
“Stanwicke was meetin’ wit someone about that book.” Whatever given assignment he doled out for the child, no titles, authors, or specifics were mentioned beyond the first time.
“And?”
“He was asking if he’d the funds to beat yar offer.”
Beat his offer. Vail smiled coolly. The Earl of Stanwicke, notorious collector who’d beggared his family and estates to grow his obsession. Crazed as too many lords often were and all the while Vail profited. “Who was the gentleman?”
“A Lord Derby, sir.” Jeremy adjusted the brim of his cap. “Tall. Bald. But he was dressed loike ’e wasn’t a lord.”
Vail glanced to the doorway of the Coaxing Tom. Like every other Black Legs, the door hung agape as it did morn through night, inviting the weakest of passersby to come sit at the tables and toss down their fortunes. “When did they meet?”
“Two in St. James’ Street, guv’nor.”
Of course. Two lords choosing to meet in the respectable ends of the Dials, they’d not think Vail, ruthless in his business pursuits, would deal on the proper side of London. What they’d miscalculated were the people he had all over London who brought him information just like that shared by Jeremy. “You’ve done well,” he murmured. For the valuably obtained information, he slipped Jeremy another purse.
His informant hesitated, but then shot greedy fingers out and gathered the velvet sack. “Do yar need anything else, guv’nor?”
“Watch Atlas for now.” He glanced about. “I’ll also need you to monitor Derby when he comes ’round. See who he talks to.” The Earl of Derby didn’t deal directly or indirectly with Vail for his purchases and sales. As such, he wanted to know precisely who that nobleman’s connections were.
“Aye, sir.”
Angling his head slightly in that unspoken command he’d given Jeremy at the onset of their partnership, the boy bustled off with Atlas. A carriage rumbled by and Vail waited for it to pass. Then he made his way through the crowded streets. Where the fashionable end of London would be quiet in preparation for the upcoming balls and soirees, this hour was when the seediest hells and streets came to life. Senses alert for the hint of threat, he skimmed his gaze over his surroundings.
Where most every other titled gentleman saw in this area a place for inanity and wicked pursuits, Vail recognized the danger here. And he thrilled in it. His stare alighted on Mr. Andrew Barrett. Brother-in-law to his best friend, Nick Tallings, the Duke of Huntly, the young man had acquired a reputation for being a reprobate like his nearly impoverished father. The younger man wound his way through the streets and then entered through the open doors of The Pill Gilder. Vail gave his head a disgusted shake at the gentleman’s lack of awareness of his surroundings. These areas would see a man, regardless of station, with a blade in his belly.
Vail climbed the steps of the Coaxing Tom. The loud din of raucous laughter attacked his ears. The pungent floral fragrances worn by the whores and gentlemen alike flooded his nose. Long ago, he’d become immune to those cloying scents. With a narrow-eyed gaze, he surveyed the crowded rooms.
The guards stationed at the front door gave him a quick once-over, and then nodded in recognition. “Yar Lordship.”
Silent, Vail lifted his head in greeting. Business drove his purpose this evening. He spied Lord Derby seated at a back table. Portly, with bewhiskered cheeks, the man stole nervous glances about.
Yes, the bookish scholars Vail dealt with were men out of their element in these wicked hells. It was why he’d made a point early in his career to conduct all appointments inside one hell or another. Brooke’s or White’s put a gentleman at ease. Places such as the Coaxing Tom stripped a man of his usual control. Black cloak swirling about his ankles, Vail stalked through the club.
A voluptuous blonde-haired beauty stepped into his path. “Your Lordship,” she purred, pressing herself against his chest. “How lovely it is to see you.” Nearly eight inches shorter than his own six-feet four-inches, she had to go up on tiptoe to reach his mouth. She placed a kiss at the corner of his lips.
Vail lazily wrapped a hand about her waist and pulled her closer. “How long?”
“Been here for nearly an hour,” she whispered close to his ear.
Maintaining the façade, he angled her head and pressed his lips to her throat. “Any company?”
She arched her head back and emitted an exaggerated moan. “None. Has a bag under his table. A pistol in his breeches that he keeps flashing when he checks his timepiece,” the whore, Tabitha, said, barely parting her lips as she spoke.
To anyone observing them, they were no different than every other lord with wandering hands and an eager whore. Since the first time he’d taken Tabitha to the rooms abovestairs nearly four years earlier, however, they’d struck an unexpected-to-Society relationship. One devoid of any carnality, despite Tabitha’s occasional offer to bed him. Theirs was strictly a business arrangement. She was his eyes and ears inside this club and when word needed to reach him, she found a way.
Feeling Lord Derby’s stare on them, Vail cupped Tabitha about the nape of her neck. He dragged her mouth close and kissed her for the other man’s benefit.
Tabitha instantly melted against him. This time, there was nothing false in her breathy moan.
Vail broke the kiss. “Mayhap later,” he said loud enough for the gentlemen passing by them. He swatted her once on the buttocks and turned to go.
“Vail?” she called out, staying him.
Pausing, he looked back.
She drifted closer. “There can be a later,” she murmured, fiddling with the lapels of his cloak. “I can…”
He pressed his fingertips to her lips, staying those words. She’d grown too close. Wanted more. Hoped for something he could not give her. Something he could not give any woman. He’d loved once and lost hard…a young woman who’d rejected him because he hadn’t a coin to his name. From that betrayal, he’d learned to keep his guard up and let no one in.
Tabitha sighed. “You’re the only bloody nob who’s uninterested in a place in my bed, Vail Basingstoke,” she muttered, though he detected the flash of regret in her eyes.
“I don’t bed the women in my employ,” he said to soften the blow of his rejection. Resuming his march to Derby’s table, Vail didn’t wait for an invitation and simply tugged out a chair.
The bald nobleman swallowed; that audible evidence of his nervousness stretched across the din of the room. “Ch-Chilton,” he greeted, pushing an empty glass and bottle of brandy across the table. “A brandy.”
Vail reclined in his seat and then steepled his fingertips together. He proceeded to tap them in a deliberate, silent staccato. “I’m displeased with you, Derby,” he said in a frosty tone.
All the color leeched from the earl’s cheeks. “W-with me?” he yanked frantically at his cravat, rumpling the perfectly tied gastronome knot. “C-Can’t imagine why. I’ve done nothing.”
Abandoning his casual pose, Vail leaned forward and placed his elbows on the surface of the table. “Haven’t you?” he asked in a menacing whisper. “I don’t take well to liars,”—the earl trembled, his legs shaking so hard, he knocked the table and his glass splattered droplets upon the scarred surface—“nor do I deal with men who break their word once an agreement has been reached. Why, those men, I won’t even sell to.” It was the ultimate trump for these men obsessed with their books and manuscripts. Some of the leading peers of Society would cull and hunt down first edition works and rare copies at the cost of their own names and reputations.
Derby lifted his palms in supplication. “Haven’t broken anything. I wouldn’t—”
Vail narrowed his eyes. “Think carefully before you finish that sentence,” he warned.
The earl’s shoulders sank. The book in question was Sir William Dugdale’s first edition work of The Baronage of England. Having discovered it was in Derby’s possession, Vail had taken advantage of the other man’s desperate need for finances to win the script at a favorable price.
The pale nobleman matched Vail’s pose and leaned across the table. “I’ve an explanation. One you can appreciate.”
“Do not tell me what I can, will, or will never appreciate,” he said, coating that warning in ice.
“Of course, of course. Forgive me.” Derby spoke so quickly his words rolled together.
Vail would lay down his life for his siblings and the one person he called friend. But where members of the peerage were concerned, He’d fleece them of their fortunes with a smile and sleep at night all the better for it.
“I was trying to fetch more for it. Surely you can app…?” At Vail’s pointed look, the man’s throat muscles moved. “I want that Chaucer,” he said, giving Vail the first honest truth since he’d joined him. “If I can fetch more, I can pay you more.”
“And if you’d deny my payment for a spoken contract, then you’ll never even set foot inside the auction house when bidding commences,” Vail said flatly. “Are we clear?”
The other man had the look of one who’d imbibed too much and was about to toss the contents of his stomach up for it. “W-we are.”
Vail motioned for Tabitha. The young woman instantly rushed over. “Can oi be of service,” she purred, playing her part to such perfection a Drury Lane actress couldn’t manage.
“If you’ll clear the table?”
Pouting, she made quick work of putting the barely touched bottle of brandy and two glasses onto her tray. Expertly balancing that burden, she withdrew a clean rag from her bodice. Had Derby been cleverer—at all clever—he’d have noted the fabric was of a quality and cleanliness at odds with the establishment they now frequented. After Tabitha dusted the surface and sauntered off, Vail reached inside his jacket and fished out a specific pair of gloves. Carefully pulling on the white cotton articles, he peered down his nose at the earl. “The book.”
“Yes. Yes. Here. I have it.” The older nobleman leaned under the table and fiddled with his valise. He straightened and handed it over.
Collecting it, Vail proceeded to the front page. With the same expert eye that had shaped him into one of the most successful and most ruthless booksellers in England, he took in every detail of the volume in his possession. He noted the coloring and quality of the page and the vibrancy of the ink. Vail paused, lingering his perusal on the author’s name marked on those pages. With his gaze, he traced the specific loops and turns of Dugdale’s flourishing signature. With careful movements, he closed the book.
Wordlessly, he pulled out two items. First, he slid a one hundred pound note across the table. Then he fingered a special cloth sack he’d had made to shield and protect items he acquired. Vail stood. “Do not ever attempt to renege on a deal with me.” He spoke those words as a lethal threat. “I do not take to being made a fool.”
“My apologies, Chilton,” Derby stammered, scrambling to his feet. “I-I’m still able to come bid, then? I’ve more items to sell you in the meantime. If you’d care to—”
“This is all I’ve a need for now.” Never let a person know one’s interest or eagerness. Let a person present the item for bid, then feign disinterest, and walk away…and then later strike the terms of an agreement that fit one’s own desiring. Not bothering with another glance for the man, Vail marched the same path he’d traveled a short while ago and took his leave.
Once outside, he searched the streets, looking not for his mount, but—
His gaze landed on his black lacquer carriage emblazoned with the gold Chilton falcon. With its wings spread and talons curled, he was a predator about to pounce. It was an ideal symbol he’d inherited that perfectly matched the role of hunter he’d adopted. Vail stalked over to that conveyance. Everything about his meetings in King Street was perfectly orchestrated: from Jeremy who collected his reins, to the guards, attired as a driver and footman who returned and traded out Vail’s mount for the carriage to escort him home.
“My lord,” Ernest greeted, a question in his eyes.
Vail inclined his head in the silent, universal statement they’d adopted which confirmed everything had been met without conflict. Book in one arm, Vail climbed inside the carriage and, as the conveyance rolled away from the Coaxing Tom, he leaned back and relished his thrilling triumph over the nobility.