A Reputation for Notoriety

‘I thought you came to play cards.’ Xavier nudged him.

‘I have,’ he responded. ‘But I have not been here in a year. I am taking stock of the room.’

At that moment, a buxom woman with flaming red hair hurried towards them. ‘Monsieur Rhysdale. Monsieur Campion. How good it is to see you. It has been trop longtemps, no?’

Rhys smiled both at the pleasure of seeing her again and at her atrocious French accent. ‘Madame Bisou!’ He leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek and whispered in her ear, ‘How are you, Penny?’

‘Très bien, cher,’ she responded, but her smile looked stressed. She turned to greet Xavier before Rhys could ask more.

In those difficult London days of his youth Madame Bisou had been Penny Jones, a decade older than he and just as determined to free herself from the shackles of poverty. They’d both used what God had provided them: Rhys, his skill at cards—Penny, her body. But she did not spend all the money she earned on gin like so many of the other girls. She’d saved and invested and finally bought this place. She’d been running it for almost ten years.

‘Why has it been so long since you have been here?’ She took Rhys’s hand and squeezed it.

‘I am asking myself that same question.’ Rhys smiled at her, genuinely glad to see an old friend.

Her tone changed to one of business. ‘What is your pleasure today, gentlemen? Do you wish a woman? Or a game of chance?’

Xavier answered her. ‘A game of whist, if we can manage it.’

Rhys would have preferred merely to watch the room for a little while, but Penny found them two willing high-stakes partners.

When the play was over, Rhys and Xavier collected their winnings, more modest than most nights, but Rhys had to admit to being distracted. They moved on to the supper room. One of the girls began a flirtation with Xavier. Rhys spied Penny sitting in a far corner.

He walked over to her. ‘It is not like you to sit alone, Penny. Is something amiss? Might I help?’

She sighed wearily and appeared, for the moment, much older than her forty years. ‘I have lost the heart for this, Rhys. I wish I could just walk away from it all….’

Rhys’s heart beat faster. ‘Are you thinking of selling the business?’

‘How can it be done? I cannot advertise.’ Her gaming hell was illegal. ‘I am too weary to even think how to accomplish it.’

This was unlike her. Penny always found a way to do precisely as she wished.

Rhys’s nostrils filled with the scent of opportunity.

Fate was shoving him in the direction he must go. He was the solution to Penny’s problems. He could save his old village. He could enrich his coffers.

All he must do was sell his soul to the devil.

His father.

The next day Rhys presented himself at the Westleigh town house. He’d not told Xavier his intention. He’d not wanted to be talked out of it.

It was well before the fashionable hour for making calls. Probably well before Ned and Hugh rose. It was half-past nine, a time working men and women were well into their day while the wealthy still slept. But Rhys needed to do this first thing or risk the chance of changing his mind.

The footman who answered the door led him to a drawing room off the hall. Unfortunately, the room was dominated by a huge portrait of the earl. Painted with arms crossed, the image of Earl Westleigh stared down, his expression stern and, Rhys fancied, disapproving.

Let his image disapprove. Rhys knew his own worth. He was determined the world should know it soon enough.

Still the earl’s presence in this house set his nerves on edge. Would he join Ned and Hugh for this interview? Rhys half hoped so. He would relish standing in a superior position to this man who once held power over his life.

But it was far more likely the earl would do anything possible to avoid his bastard son.

Rhys’s brothers, to their credit, did not keep him waiting long. He heard their hurried footsteps and their hushed voices before they entered the room.

Ned walked towards him as if he would offer his hand to shake, but he halted and gestured to a chair instead. ‘Shall we sit?’

Hugh held back and looked solemn.

Rhys calmly looked from one to the other. ‘I believe I’ll stand.’

His response had the desired effect. Both men shifted uncomfortably.

‘Are we to assume your presence here to mean you have reconsidered our offer?’ Ned asked.

Rhys inwardly grimaced. Ned called it an offer? ‘I came to further the discussion of whether I am willing to rescue you and our father from penury.’

‘Why?’ Hugh demanded in a hot voice. ‘What changed your mind?’

Rhys levelled a gaze at him. ‘Call it an attack of family loyalty, if you like. I did not say I’ve changed my mind.’

Ned placed a stilling hand on Hugh’s arm, but spoke to Rhys. ‘What do you wish to discuss?’

Rhys shrugged. ‘Well, for one, it takes a great deal of money to start a gaming establishment. Will I be expected to invest my own money? Because I would not stake my fortune against something so risky.’

‘How is it risky?’ Hugh cried. ‘The house always has the advantage. You know that.’

‘The house can be broken,’ Rhys countered. ‘It is all chance.’ Rhys succeeded at cards by reducing chance.

‘But it is not likely, is it?’ Hugh shot back.

Ned’s eyes flashed a warning to Hugh, before he turned to Rhys again. ‘The monetary investment will be ours.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It is now or never for us, Rhys. We’ve scraped the last of our fortune to bank this enterprise. All we want from you—all we need from you—is to run it.’

They must truly be desperate to devise a plan like this, especially as it involved him. Desperate or mad.

‘A gaming house will not make much money right away unless it can quickly build a reputation. It must distinguish itself from other places. Give gamblers a reason to attend.’ Rhys paused. ‘You want to attract the high-stakes gamblers who have money to throw away.’

‘It must be an honest house,’ Hugh snapped. ‘No rigged dice. No marked cards.’

Rhys gave him a scathing look. ‘Are you attempting to insult me, Hugh? If you do not think me an honest man, why ask me to run it?’

Hugh averted his gaze.

‘No cheating of any kind,’ Rhys reiterated. ‘And no prostitution. I will tolerate neither.’ He’d keep the girls at Madame Bisou’s employed, but he’d have nothing to do with them selling their bodies.

‘We are certainly in agreement with all you say,’ Ned responded.

Rhys went on. ‘Within the parameters of honesty, I must be given free rein in how the house is run.’