The Viscount's Addiction (2 page)

Ryder pressed closer to the grease-streaked pane. A finely dressed gentleman stood amidst people’s discarded treasures talking with the shop owner. The customer turned, his sharp profile now clearly delineated. Although it had been five years, he knew his cousin Lewis instantly. Lewis looked nearly as pale and hollow-eyed as he did. Obviously, he was still living the life of a gamester, spending his waking hours cloistered in dim gambling hells. This visit to the pawnbroker meant his blunt was spent. He watched as his cousin held up a golden pocket watch for the pawnbroker to examine. The numerous fob charms glinted in the candlelight. Ryder’s hand curled into a fist. The timepiece had been his father’s, and Ryder had inherited it upon his death. So the weasel had gained access to his estate. He clenched his teeth as Lewis eagerly accepted the pittance the broker offered.

Lewis burst out of the shop and rushed past Ryder without even a glance.

“Bloody fool,” Ryder muttered and determined to follow his cousin. He wondered just how long it would take the loser to gamble away a prized heirloom. It had always puzzled Ryder how Lewis had become so completely enthralled with gaming— considering how notoriously unlucky he was at it.

Ryder’s head was swimming and he had some difficulty keeping track of his cousin as he cut a circuitous path through the crowded streets and narrow alleyways. Chances were, Lewis could make his way from the pawnbroker to the card tables in his sleep.

Upon entering familiar territory, Ryder slowed his step. He hesitated a moment before trailing his cousin to one of the town’s most disreputable haunts. The only pretensions the gaming hell had to a legitimate establishment was its cheery white and yellow façade. Lewis pushed through the front door, completely oblivious to the stranger in the black coat following on his heels.

Hazy light filtered through the small, square window of the inner door. His cousin nodded at the guard and was quickly ushered inside. As expected, the door shut promptly in Ryder’s face.

Marley’s cynical eye stared at him through the spy-hole. “The boss ain’t hiring. He’s got thugs aplenty upstairs keeping the bastards honest.”

“I’ve come to play, Scrag.”

Only patrons were familiar with the nickname. Marley had earned the moniker after removing an unruly player with a little too much exuberance. He’d nearly strangled the man when he’d used his cravat to drag him outside.

Ryder took a step back from the door to let Marley get a better look. “Lord Blackwood?”

“Fresh from Newgate.”

“You’ve changed, my lord,” Marley said as he opened the door.

“Really, I hadn’t noticed,” Ryder replied as he squeezed past Marley. He walked up the steps and strode into the smoky, tension-filled atmosphere of the main gaming room.

He squinted through the smoke and spotted his cousin’s blond curls. As he moved farther into the room, a large hand fell heavily atop his shoulder and squeezed.

“And where do you think you’re goin’?”

Ryder twisted his head and eyed the hand on his shoulder. He gave the man a look that caused him to release his hold in an instant.

“This club is for members only.”

“I am a member,” he snarled. “I am Ryder Braddock, Viscount Blackwood.”

“Right, and I’m King George.” The man punctuated his statement with an irritating laugh.

“Pleasure, your Majesty. Sorry, can’t stay and chat. I’m here to play.” Ryder took a step in the direction of the Hazard tables but stopped when the oaf pressed the barrel of a pistol to the base of his skull.

“You are truly beginning to annoy me,” Ryder said.

“What seems to be the problem here, Jenkins?” a familiar voice queried.

“Scrag must be piss drunk again. He’s letting any cutthroat off the street stroll in here. This sod claims he’s a member—says he’s the Viscount of Blakeley or some damn thing.”

“That’s Blackwood, you
royal
ass.”

“Sir, I’m afraid you will have to leave,” the man behind him insisted.

Ryder turned to face him as Jenkins followed his every movement with the pistol still placed securely against his head.

“What are you saying, Fox? Am I no longer welcome in this fine establishment?” Ryder inclined his head toward the crowded gaming room. Fox, the manager, had changed little in the past five years. He scrutinized Ryder’s face for a long moment and then produced a puzzled smile.

“Well, damn it, Blackwood, don’t you look like the devil himself. I’d heard rumor they’d let you out of Newgate.” He laughed and gave Ryder a hearty slap on the shoulder. “I’d always known they’d convicted the wrong man.”

“Amazing, Fox, you and I thinking the same thing all this time.” Ryder motioned with his eyes toward the pistol still aimed at his head. “Mind calling off your lackey?”

“Jenkins, you may go. I’ll handle it from here.” Fox waited for his man to disappear then leaned in as he spoke. “You know, your cousin Lewis has been playing dangerously deep. For the past week, he’s been wed to the tables.”

“I suppose he wants to see how quickly he can deplete my estate. Do you suppose you could get me in on his game without letting on who I am?”

“Do you really think your own cousin won’t know you?”

“It took you a bloody long time to recognize me. And I wonder if you ever would have if I hadn’t mentioned my name.”

“Most likely not.”

“Besides, when he’s in a fever, he only has eyes for his game.” “Too true.”

“Be a friend and lend me a few pounds. I promise to repay you before I leave here tonight.” Ryder began buttoning up his long coat and brushing off the street dust in an effort to make himself more presentable.

“I don’t know, Blackwood. I mean, look at you. You look as if you’ve crawled out from under a—”

“I feel even worse than I look, but I need to teach a lesson to the insolent pup. Will you help me out?”

Fox pulled the cravat from around his neck. “Well at least put this on.” He pulled out a wad of banknotes and peeled off several, handing them to Ryder. “Hold on a minute,” he said as he dashed over to the bottles of liquor lining the walls. He handed Ryder a pint of well-aged scotch. “It’s on the house. A homecoming gift. You look like you need it.”

Ryder shoved the bottle into his pocket. “I always knew I was fond of you, Fox.”

Ryder adjusted the collar of his coat, effectively shadowing his lower face as Fox escorted him to the green baize table. He was in luck. Lewis was playing Hazard. Ryder was quite good at mastering the odds.

“Treat him right. He’s a good friend of mine,” Fox said by way of introduction. He handed Ryder the dice box. “I’m sure these gentlemen won’t mind if you throw.”

Thankfully, the other players were strangers to Ryder. A few gave him odd looks, but his cousin barely glanced at him. Hoping to obscure his features, Ryder leaned forward, causing his hair to drape his face. He altered the pitch of his voice as he placed his stake. The other players put down their bets. The dice rolled well for him. He nicked it on the first wager. After a string of wins, Ryder looked over at his cousin. Lewis’s hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His cousin, suddenly sensing the scrutiny, briefly met his gaze. His nostrils flared for a second, but there was not a glimmer of recognition in his dull brown eyes. Lewis turned his attention to the other players, offering up his familiar smug smile as he pushed away from the table.

“I don’t know about the rest of you gentlemen, but I refuse to play any longer with this filthy, unkempt thief. He doesn’t even have the decency to show his face at the table,” Lewis said before stalking away. He’d used Ryder as an excuse to leave the game before he disgraced himself. Clearly, his pockets were empty, all the money from the pawnbroker having found its way into Ryder’s winning pile.

After rolling his chance point again, Ryder relinquished the dice. His hands were starting to shake. He fumbled and dropped a few coins as he scooped up his winnings.

Needing relief, Ryder uncapped the scotch and downed near a quarter of it. He stuffed the bottle in his pocket and walked over to Fox. He repaid the loan with interest.

“Why don’t you do yourself a favor, Blackwood, and spend the rest on something besides decadent pleasures? Food, perhaps, or a carriage ride home. Go home to Tesslyn Hall. It’s where you belong.”

“Hardly the worst advice you’ve ever given, Fox. But why must I limit myself? Why not have it all? Tesslyn Hall
and
decadent pleasures—not a bad mix. First, though, I must see a man about a watch.” Ryder yanked off the cravat and handed it to Fox. Gooseflesh crawled up the back of his neck. He felt suddenly wrong in his own skin. Agitated, he turned abruptly and clashed shoulders with his cousin. Lewis muttered an oath and moved swiftly away, too preoccupied to realize he’d just run into the end of his future.

Jessie cursed her luck. The freezing rain was now coming down in sheets and Titus, her black Shire, was in no mood to gallop through sticky mud. Instead, he slowed to a gingerly trot, completely ignoring Jessie’s constant prodding. She would have beaten the storm if Mrs. Duckett hadn’t insisted she stay for tea.

Once the barn was in view, Titus picked up his pace. “’Tis a little late now, you stubborn ox. I’m already soaked to the bone.”

She dismounted clumsily, her limbs stiff from the cold. Inside the rundown barn, rainwater streamed through the Swiss cheese roof. She led Titus to the one stall that was fairly dry and swept up an armful of hay. With a chomp, the hungry gelding grabbed the clump of hay from her hands, scattering bits everywhere. Browned grass stuck to Jessie’s wet blouse. She plucked several dry blades from her hair.

“Titus! First you prance daintily home like you’re royalty, and now you greedily snatch your food like you are…like you are royalty.” She smiled, thinking it a clever little quip and wishing that someone besides her horse had been around to appreciate it. She felt her loneliness like a hollow in her heart.

Jessie shoved with all her strength against the warped barn door until it finally rattled shut. A hard wind had kicked up, adding to the misery of the evening. A strong gust pressed her sodden skirt against her legs. Her wet hair wrapped around her mouth and throat as she hugged herself and ran toward the house.

Through the windows she glimpsed the glow of candlelight, but it was not a welcoming sight. It signaled Lewis’s return. He was always such a miserable creature when he came home from London. Nowadays, he returned only when he’d lost everything save coach fare. For Lewis, Tesslyn Hall was a treasure chest to be plundered.

Jessie avoided the crumbling, second step of the stairway then leaped over the puddles gathering in the large fissures in the stoop. The front door, which had once been a mahogany masterpiece, stood slightly ajar. She hesitated a moment then assured herself

that the wind had blown it open before stepping inside. The flickering light cast all the usual familiar patterns onto the peeling paint of the entrance hall. Suddenly, her shadow was joined by another, far more menacing silhouette. The breath froze in her throat.

“Who the hell are you?” a deep voice rumbled behind her.

Shivering now from fear and not the cold, she willed herself to turn around. A tall, hulking figure stood in the open doorway. The wind splattered rain onto the tile floor around his booted feet. He kicked the door shut as he moved toward her. He covered her mouth roughly with his hand, squelching her scream. Through her parted lips, she could taste the warm flesh of his palm.

The candles provided only pockets of light in the huge hall, yet she could tell his eyes were a rare blue, a blue that verged on violet. They stared at her from beneath the sopping brim of his hat. “I’m going to remove my hand, and then you are going to tell me what you are doing in my house.”

He released her and leaned back, propping himself against the wall. His impossibly thick lashes lowered. He looked as if he’d fallen instantly asleep. She no longer felt the urge to scream. The man’s misery was palpable. And even with the bruised dark hollows beneath his eyes and the pallor of his skin, she could not help noticing how handsome he was.

“I assure you, sir, you have most definitely lost your way,” she said, speaking gently as if he were a wounded beast. She moved to the door and took hold of the latch. She opened the door, desperate to have him out. “You see, this is my home. I am Lady Blackwood.” She instantly regretted having told this intimidating stranger her identity.

His lashes fluttered upward, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus. He cocked one black eyebrow in question. “Very amusing,” he drawled. His eyes drifted shut again. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “Now, if you would be so kind as to summon Henry and that bastard of a son of his to come and help me to my room, I would appreciate…” His voice trailed off as he slid down the wall.

Jessie stepped carefully over his lifeless form before racing into the parlor.

Lewis slept slouched in the big chair before a dying fire. His chin was pressed into his chest. A thin thread of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Lewis,” she said and gave his arm a pinch. She wrinkled her nose at the sour smell of alcohol. He blinked several times before seeming to register her presence.

“What the devil?”

“There’s an intruder—a madman—in the entrance hall. With shoulders like this.” She spread her hands wide apart. “Ghostly pale. Unusual eyes—tinged with violet.”

With a frown, he swiped a hand across his mouth. “You’ve let a madman inside, and you’re cataloging his attributes.” With a groan, he slung his legs off the ottoman. “Violet eyes?”

She was sure she heard a quiver in his voice. “Yes. They are absolutely beautiful.” She prodded him to stand up. “He claims this is his house.”

The color drained from his cheeks. “It’s Blackwood. Damn it to hell. Has he escaped?”

She swallowed hard. Sprawled across the marble floor was the man who Lewis often gloated was imprisoned for life. “I fear there is something wrong with him. He collapsed.”

The man still lay where she’d left him. They peered down at him. He looked dangerous even in his inert state. Fear made her clutch at Lewis’s coat. Lewis leaned over, lifted the man’s arm and let it drop hard to the floor. There was only the tiniest quiver of the man’s eyelids. The viciousness of Lewis’s action made her release her hold on his coat.