Page 6 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

“ I almost killed him.” The words tumbled from Melissande’s lips as she resumed her restless pacing across the Turkish carpet in her private office.

Her boots traced the same path they had worn for the past three days—from the window overlooking the main gambling floor to the fireplace, then back to her desk—an endless circuit that mirrored the chaotic spinning of her thoughts.

Her left hand worried at the ruby ring adorning her thumb, twisting it round and round until the skin beneath grew raw.

Ever since she had slipped it onto her finger, her life had slipped into chaos.

Perhaps the ring was cursed. Perhaps all the anger and resentment she had poured into it, all the bitter satisfaction she had derived from wearing the symbol of aristocratic excess, had finally turned back upon her.

Or perhaps it was she who was cursed. Cursed by the very wager she had undertaken, cursed by her own hubris in believing she could play games with human hearts without consequence.

“Do not be ridiculous. You didn’t,” Theo replied from her position in the leather chair, her tone carrying the patience of someone who had been listening to variations of the same self-recrimination for hours.

“Yes, I almost did,” she insisted, her voice rising with frustration as she spun to face her friend.

“He could have fallen on his neck, Theo. He could have broken his spine, or struck his head on a stone, or—” She broke off, unable to voice the darker possibilities that had plagued her sleepless nights.

Theo regarded her friend with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “Well,” she said finally, her tone deliberately casual, “you didn’t kill him. That has to count for something.”

“That’s your response? That’s your wisdom in my hour of greatest crisis?”

“What would you rather I say?” Theo asked with characteristic bluntness.

“That I was reckless!” Melissande burst out, resuming her pacing with renewed vigor.

“You were,” Theo agreed readily. “But you were also exhausted. And when one is bone-tired, one cannot be expected to maintain the best judgment.” Her voice gentled slightly. “When did you last sleep properly? Not that restless dozing you do in your chair, but actual sleep?”

Melissande opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again as the truth of Theo’s words sank in.

She hadn’t slept properly for days, especially with all the preparations for the masquerade and the subsequent cleanup.

Now that the women’s wing was in operation, they had twice as many customers, and Melissande was too nervous to take even a single night off.

On top of that, she worked nights, and the ride with Rivendale was in the morning.

She hadn’t slept for over twenty hours before the outing.

“That’s what I thought,” Theo said, accurately reading her silence. “You were exhausted, operating on no sleep, a cup of coffee, and poor judgment. But it was hardly the calculated cruelty you’re making it out to be.”

“You’re right. But couldn’t he have chosen a more convenient time for his exercise? Who goes out for a ride at such ungodly hours of the morning when decent people are still abed?”

Theo’s mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile. “I’m guessing people who don’t run gaming hells into the ungodly hours of the night,” she said dryly.

Melissande waved a dismissive hand. “And who stands perfectly still when a woman challenges him to a race? Any gentleman with a proper sporting spirit would have accepted immediately.”

“Perhaps,” Theo suggested, “a level-headed person who recognizes that racing on damp ground could be dangerous. Revolutionary though that concept might be.”

“Getting out of bed in the morning can also be dangerous,” Melissande snorted.

But even as the words left her mouth, she could hear their childish petulance.

“You’re right,” she admitted reluctantly, sinking back into her chair.

“He was being cautious and responsible, and I was the one who rode too close, spooking his horse with my reckless maneuvering. I should have known better.”

“True,” Theo agreed. “But ever since taking over the hell, you’ve spent most of your time and energy in pursuit of scandalizing the ton . That kind of single-minded pursuit doesn’t exactly inspire one to act with caution or consideration for others.”

Melissande wrinkled her nose. Theo wasn’t wrong.

She lived for scandal, flirting with married lords only to fleece them of their money, enticing them to spend full nights in the hell until they emptied their pockets, providing every possible pleasurable activity that brought them back time and again.

They deserved this treatment, didn’t they?

Rich solely due to the circumstances of their birth, believing they were superior to everyone else, and squandering their wealth… Yes, they truly deserved to be hurt and humiliated. All of them.

But did Rivendale deserve it?

“Perhaps that needs to change,” she grumbled under her breath.

“Does that mean you’re giving up on your wager then?” Theo asked with a frown.

Did Melissande want to halt the wager? To save Rivendale from potential embarrassment and further harm? After all, what had he done to deserve it?

“Yes?” she asked, waiting for her friend to support or challenge her decision, but Theo remained silent. “No?”

Melissande resumed her restless pacing.

Of course, Rivendale deserved it! He was a marquess.

What had she witnessed that made her think he was different from any other member of his class? He had been rude to her from their very first meeting, looking down his aristocratic nose at her.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted.

“I never thought I’d see the day when Melissande Monroe would back down from a challenge,” Theo observed, her tone neutral.

“The challenge itself is not the issue,” Melissande replied, pausing by the window to stare out at the bustling hell floor below.

“What is the issue, then?”

Melissande bit her lip. “My methods, perhaps?”

“Then change your methods,” Theo suggested, offering the practical wisdom that had made her invaluable as both a friend and business partner.

Melissande let out a theatrical sigh that was only half-feigned. “It is not easy having a genius for a friend. You make it sound so simple.”

“You are extremely clever yourself, Meli,” Theo replied warmly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to double the profits of the hell in the first year after taking control. That kind of success doesn’t happen by accident.”

“Yes, well,” Melissande said with a bitter laugh as she paced back to her desk, “half of that money comes from men thinking I’m too foolish to lead with any real competence, while the other half comes from those who believe women can’t possibly play cards with skill.

They underestimate me so consistently that it’s almost boring. ”

“Precisely,” Theo said, leaning forward in her chair. “You are constantly underestimated by people who should know better. But I think you might be starting to believe that they are right about you.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Melissande lowered herself into her seat.

“Because I have never seen you second-guess yourself as much as you have since this wager began,” Theo replied. She paused, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied her friend’s face. “Unless there’s some other reason for your sudden attack of conscience. Something you’re not telling me.”

Melissande wrinkled her nose, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “The fact that I nearly killed a man should be reason enough for hesitation, I would think. I may be many things, but I’m not a murderess.”

“If that’s truly your only concern, then the solution is simple,” Theo said with a shrug.

“Go to his house. Ask after his health. See for yourself whether he is truly injured or if you’re torturing yourself over nothing.

Once you confirm that he is up and about, you’ll feel better about the situation.

Plus, it would give you an excuse to see him and attempt a more…

gentle approach to your ultimate goal. One that doesn’t involve mortal peril for either party, perhaps. ”

Despite herself, Melissande felt her lips curve into a reluctant smile. “Like I said—a genius.”

There was a long silence as she contemplated whether she truly intended to continue with what she was beginning to think of as a dangerous charade.

Rivendale had already proven to be a far more difficult target than she had ever imagined.

His resistance to her usual tactics, his obvious indifference, and his maddening ability to rile her up made him perhaps the most challenging opponent she had ever faced.

But if she backed down now, she would be ridiculed forever.

The story would spread through London’s social circles like wildfire: how Melissande Monroe, the notorious proprietress of Hades’ Hell, had finally met a man she couldn’t conquer.

Her reputation, so carefully built over the years, would crumble overnight.

On the other hand, if she did not back down, she risked causing him further harm. Not physical, she hoped… but certainly emotional. Surprisingly, that possibility troubled her more than the threat to her own reputation.

When had she started caring more about his well-being than her own success? When had the game become less important than the man she was playing it with?

If she went through with the plan and succeeded in winning his heart, she would inevitably shatter it when the truth came to light. Did he deserve such calculated cruelty, regardless of his aristocratic birth and privileged position?

“Did you hear the news?” Theo suddenly asked.

Melissande leaned back in her seat. “What news?”

“About your sire.”

Melissande shuddered at the word. She knew immediately what Theo meant. “Yes, I know. He died.” She twisted the ring this way and that absently.

“You don’t seem elated.”