“Seriously, West, I’m worried about you.”
West waved his concern aside. “It’s too late forme to change. I’ve been living too long in the underworld, drowning in vice and sin. I don’t know how to exist up here, on terra firma, with the sunshine seekers.”
Walking through the doors of a gaming hell wasn’t just about the cards, and the clink of the money on the table, the surge of excitement, and the heart-pounding risk of it all.
The cards led to the drinking. The drinking led to losing at cards. Losing at cards led to more drinking. Which led to waking up in strange beds, not remembering how he got there, with pain spiking his mind and an empty feeling in his chest.
And the emptiness led him back through the doors to hell.
He knew what he did was wrong; but he couldn’t stop the cycle.
He’d more than lived up to his father’s curse. He was sin incarnate. Dangerously depraved. Wicked Westbury.
He’d managed his fall from grace so thoroughly that there was nothing left of light or idealism in him. Especially since the death of his brother five years past. “My shirt smells like a gin manufactory. I’ll have to borrow one from you.”
“The barkeep broke a bottle of gin over your head.”
“And where’s my coat?”
“Ruined. Torn and bloody. Left it at the Staircase.”
“I had a wallet containing several banknotes in that coat!”
“Then you shouldn’t have taken it off, rolled up your shirtsleeves, and started a fight with a giant.”
“At least I still have my trousers on.” West grinned. Then winced. His jaw hurt like hell. “I seem to recall an infamous incident involving you sprinting bare-arsed through the streets of London being chased by a pistol-waving viscount.”
Rafe shook his head. “Seems like it happened to someone else entirely.”
“Makes a good story, though.”
“A cautionary tale. I could have ended up with a bullet in the back, bleeding and bare-arsed on the public streets.”
“I anticipate just such an ignoble end to my blighted life.”
“You’d leave your sisters to fend for themselves?”
West finished his ablutions and donned a fresh shirt. “My uncle isn’t the most attentive of fellows, but he’d have their best interests at heart. I can’t understand why no one’s offered for Blanche, at least. I was hoping her lack of dowry would be overlooked because of her beauty, propriety, and accomplishments.”
“Hasn’t she set her cap for Laxton? Maybe that’s frightened the suitors away.”
“Laxton’s a conceited prig of a dandy. I keep telling her to set her sights on someone else. No matter, I’ll replenish our coffers soon enough. All I require is one good night at the tables. One fateful night where Lady Luck nestles on my lap and whispers seductive things in my ear.”
Rafe ground the tip of his cane against thecarpet. “That’s what all wicked rogues tell themselves. Just one more drink. One more game of cards. One more meaningless liaison.”
West shrugged. “I never said I was redeemable.”
“I won’t be here to save you next time. I’ll be gone for months.”
“You call punching me and dragging me to a fusty old gentleman’s club saving me?”
“Just be more cautious in future, will you? I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m gone.”
Rafe threw him one of the coats he kept at his club and West put it on. “I’ll be all right. Let’s leave. I don’t like these mildewy clubs. Too many doddering old autocrats telling tales of their youthful exploits. Enough to drive a duke to drink.”
“As if you require an excuse.”
The two men were on their way out when West overheard his eldest sister’s name. “Hold a moment.” He caught Rafe by the arm. “I think they’re talking about Blanche.”