Page 12 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

“Why?” Of course, Bron came from a fully working-class family, whereas Victor came from a strange family that was half nobility, half working class. Bron hadn’t the faintest idea what life in the nobility entailed, nor did he much care.

Victor didn’t know what it entailed, either.

Unfortunately, he did have to care. “One day, I’ll be flung into that life.

And I will have no choice but to be involved in it.

I have to vote in Parliament. I have to ensure my estate is healthy for the people who rely on it, during a time where estates are bleeding dry.

Farmers are leaving for more lucrative jobs, which means less income.

I’ll have to be around nobs on a frequent basis and the last thing I need to add to everything else I’ll have to worry about is making an utter fool of myself.

I was taught much of it as a boy, but that was so long ago. ”

“Bah.” Bron waved a hand. “Who cares?”

“Because, unfortunately, I do have family that have embraced that life and I do not wish to reflect poorly on them.” His thoughts went to Anne, but he shoved that aside.

He’d meant Dantes and Ollie, not her. “I don’t wish to speak the wrong way to someone and unintentionally offend them, and then have bloody gossip spread all over because I didn’t shake their hand the right way or bow the right way, or call them by the correct title. ”

“You’re right, that does sound like hell.

” Bron leaned back and spread his arms wide.

“This is London’s most exclusive gaming hell, and the wait list to become a member is five years long.

But I’ve wanted you to be a member from day one.

It could be a good way to start interacting with them. Of course, you’d get in right away.”

“Thank you.” Victor returned his attention to the booklet, underlining another name. “I doubt it, though. You know I don’t care for card games.”

“Well…” Bron leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That’s not all we have here, you know.”

Victor looked up and cocked an eyebrow when he found a wicked grin upon his friend’s face.

“Women!” Bron shouted in his booming voice and flung his giant hands out to the side once more. “Courtesans, actresses, singers, gorgeous nob widows. We have them all, if you’re so inclined.”

Victor stilled. “Widows come here for entertainment?”

“That they do. Women have the same desires as men, but they have to hide it. Here, they can be as free about that as they wish.” Bron held up two palms in a show of defense. “Now, you have to understand I won’t name them.”

“The Dowager Marchioness of Litchfield.” Victor felt the darkness overtaking him at the thought of Anne coming here.

Or anywhere like this place. Would she? Maybe not.

Yet she seemed right at home at his pub, which was only marginally better than Bron’s.

“You must tell me if she is one of those widows.”

Bron held a look of shock for a moment before a wide grin spread over his face. “Is that the woman you’re sweet on?”

Victor’s knuckles began turning white around the fountain pen.

Bron noticed. “She is, isn’t she? My, my.” Bron leaned forward. “Such jealousy. I’ve never seen that on you before.”

“Does she come here or not?” Victor asked through clenched teeth.

What was the matter with him? What did he care if Anne was a widow who came here for companionship?

It was nonsense for him to care. But in the moment, he didn’t care about being sensical.

Visions of Anne sneaking here under the shadows of night were haunting him.

Bron opened his mouth and let it hang there for a moment. “No.” Then he added a grin at the end. “But that reaction told me everything I need to know about her.”

Victor inhaled through his flared nose, decided it would be best not to respond, and returned to the booklet. There were only a few more races to go through.

“Her husband used to come here,” Bron said, knowing this would reel Victor back into the conversation. “Couldn’t stand the man.”

“I’m not surprised he came here,” Victor replied. “He went anywhere that would let him in.”

Bron leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction. “Wish she would come in, though. You could let her know she’s welcome to join.” He lifted his eyebrows at this. “I could give her a personal tour.”

Victor narrowed his eyes.

Bron laughed knowingly. “Ah, McNab, you can be easier to read than a two-story-high advertisement.”

His task now complete, Victor screwed the cap of the pen back on. “Surely, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Have you considered getting her help?”

“For?”

“Easing back into being a nob. And all of that.”

Victor studied his friend. Bron was one of the few people in the world who knew the full facts of Victor’s life.

He may have enjoyed pestering Victor, but they had been through much together and considering the years they’d partnered up for the horse races, Victor knew he could trust Bron beyond measure.

“You know my family goes to Brighton every summer,” Victor said.

Bron nodded.

“I’ve been toying with the idea of going this year. I don’t want to, mind. It doesn’t appeal to me in the least and I have a business to run here that I don’t like to be away from.”

“Understandable.”

“But my family really wishes me to go this year.”

“Does your dowager marchioness want you to go?” Bron asked, all of the previous humor gone. He clearly knew this was time for serious input.

Victor inhaled deep. “Yes, she does.”

“What, exactly, does your relationship entail?”

Victor looked elsewhere in the room in thought. “Nothing, other than friendship.”

“Do you want it to be something else?”

His attention moved back to his friend. “I don’t know,” Victor admitted. “I’ve never cared about women in that regard before. You know how difficult it is to become successful when you come from nothing.”

“I do.”

“Marriage, family—women in general were too risky for my life. God forbid there be an unexpected pregnancy. I didn’t want it. I knew it would be between them and my pub, and I wanted my pub. That was the only certainty I’ve had in my life.”

Bron nodded. “I understand that as well.” He paused. “I feel like you’re about to say, ‘but.’”

“I am,” Victor admitted. “However, I don’t know what the ‘but’ is.”

“From what I’m hearing, and correct me if I’m wrong…

” Bron took another sip of his whiskey as he considered his next words.

“You are happy to continue on with the bachelor life. You’re quite content with your life as it is.

Your daily routine, the success of the pub, the home you return to every night.

But this dowager marchioness with whom you spend an inordinate amount of time is a temptation. ”

Victor hesitated. But if he were to talk through this with anyone, Bron would be the best person. He didn’t know Anne personally. “Yes.” It was the first time he had ever admitted this to anyone, much less himself.

“What, exactly, are your feelings for her? What, exactly, is this temptation? Is it purely physical? Or is there more to it?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Do you wish to take her to bed? Become her husband? Fool around for years without the attachment of matrimony?”

Victor had thus far been so focused on ignoring these types of questions, he couldn’t even fake an answer.

Thankfully, Bron understood. And he offered the same advice Dantes had.

“Go to Brighton this year, then, and figure it out. Spend time with her. Maybe you won’t like being around her on a daily basis.

Maybe you’ll accept what that jealousy you just showed over the mere idea of her being a patron here meant.

Maybe you’ll have a tryst and get bored immediately.

Maybe you’ll take the years of pining after her off your plate. ”

Victor was not the type to engage in trysts, but Bron didn’t need to know that.

But the appeal of having to worry about one less thing?

Anne had taken up his thoughts for far too long.

As long as Dantes and Vivian had been married—longer, rather.

It was time for him to figure out what his feelings and attraction to Anne meant.

And with everyone in his life suggesting he go to Brighton, perhaps that was a sign.

Most likely, whatever he felt for Anne was nothing he couldn’t move past with time. But at least he would know for certain.

Bron took the horse race booklet back from Victor and thumbed through it. “Are you done with this?”

“Yes. I’ve underlined all the horses that will likely win in June.” Though he didn’t always get it right, he mostly did.

Bron studied one of the pages. “I’ll never understand how you know that. Will you ever share your secret?”

“It’s no secret,” Victor said. “I just know who will win, that’s all.”

“Right.” Bron set the booklet down.

“And as usual,” Victor added, “you keep a third of the winnings.” Bron and Victor had set this up ages ago.

Because Bron was well known as a gaming hell owner, it wouldn’t be unusual for him to place wagers for clients who wish to remain anonymous.

Victor had made a fortune on being able to predict with ninety-percent accuracy of horse race outcomes.

Bron had to do all the legwork, but considering the riches it brought him, he had never complained and was more than happy with the arrangement.

They didn’t bet on every single race, as it would catch too much attention. But Bron would pick one or two races, place the bet, and then they would win. Most of the times, Victor would then come here to the hell to collect the money, but sometimes, Bron would deposit it on Victor’s behalf.

Victor rose up to his feet and the men shook hands before Victor departed.

The family was leaving for Brighton tomorrow, so he had little time to prepare.

He first needed to speak to Keer. Perhaps he would offer up that raise Keer had been asking for and hope he would be amenable to running the place for a few months.

The thought of letting someone else run The Harp & Thistle made him nervous.

But then he thought of Anne. Her beauty, her friendship.

By summer’s end, she could be his, and he could be hers—if that was what he, and she, wanted.

He could know what it felt like to have her hand in his, to be in his arms, to have his lips trailing along her neck.

Yes, he wanted her. It was ridiculous to deny it. But what he felt for her, he still couldn’t bring himself to figure out how to describe.