Page 59 of Dukes All Night Long
K ate was proud of the fact that she’d managed to stifle the worst of her tears until she was locked in a room on the topmost floor of the building belonging to the Covent Garden lord known only as “Duke”.
His name was recognized in even the sheltered drawing rooms of Mayfair as women lamented the hours and days their husbands spent tossing more and more money into his purse in the name of upscale gambling.
He was a man whose title and reputation did not come from blood, but the way he’d seemingly melted from the shadows to rule Covent Garden.
She also knew he was a man to be respected…and feared.
She’d begged Walter not to join when he’d finally received a coveted invitation of membership to Duke’s, but no tales of beggared lords, bodily injury, or destroyed reputations could dissuade her brother.
He’d always wanted the best of everything, and membership to Duke’s Golden Hell was considered to be one of them.
Young bucks chomped at the bit to be allowed within the building’s hallowed halls to partake in the luxurious outfittings, high-stakes gaming, and other delights on offer.
The place was not a brothel, strictly speaking, but it was rumored to partner with Lady Night’s—the premier brothel in Covent Garden—to supply endless entertainment to its patrons.
Men gained entry by invitation and a hefty fee; too often, they left in shame, bled quite dry of every asset not entailed.
It preyed upon the weak-willed and those prone to hubris, each man thinking he would be the one to walk from its doors a victor.
Her brother was Duke’s perfect victim.
That evening, only six months into his membership, Walter had demanded she dress in her best gown of navy satin and accompany him in the carriage, refusing to answer any of her questions.
Her stomach sank lower and lower as they drove through London’s streets to Covent Garden.
He remained steadfastly silent, reeking of brandy, even as they’d rolled to a stop in front of Duke’s ostentatious entryway.
Every inch of her body went ice-cold and then numb as foreboding eclipsed every other emotion. “W—What are we doing here?”
Only then did her brother’s eyes turn on her, and she was terrified to realize that she did not recognize the man looking back.
Walter had always been a bit rough, a bit mean and selfish, but he’d never been downright cruel to her.
This was different. She could see that he’d separated himself from their situation—from her —and Kate did not care to find out why that was.
With Mama taken by influenza when Kate was only three, Papa two years in the grave after an unfortunate fall from his horse, and no near relatives to speak of, Walter was all she had.
She was entirely at his mercy, and seeing him like this terrified her.
Without uttering a single word of explanation, her brother ducked from the carriage and left her behind.
She was glad for the privacy and support offered by the enclosed space because she didn’t doubt that the strength would have fled from her limbs had she stood in the street and borne witness to the confrontation with Duke’s rough employees.
The shouting began as soon as her brother had been denied entry into the building.
She was being bartered as his collateral…
Her stomach nearly expelled its contents right there when the words sank in—it would have served Walter right, too.
Eventually, it appeared she’d been deemed a worthy trade because, still in a state of shock and in no fit condition to fight back, she’d been bundled out of the carriage, whisked through the building, and shut away in this room.
The snick of a lock had been all that was needed to break the dam of her emotions.
She barely managed to land on a chair near the oversized desk before she dropped her head into her hands and released the body-wracking sobs of the broken-hearted and humiliated.
Duke watched the young woman from the shadows. The sounds of her unchecked pain filled every corner of his office; the sight of her slim shoulders rising and falling unevenly while she curled in on herself held every scrap of his hawk-eyed attention.
He was transported to a day many years earlier when a girl happened upon a beaten boy crying in the far corner of the hayloft.
Despite his anger and reluctance to accept her help, he’d allowed her to clean the rivulets of blood from his damaged nose and bandage the rest of his scrapes and cuts.
She hadn’t said as much, but he could tell she knew the culprit who’d caused his pain.
She didn’t defend her brother, but merely quietly went about soothing Duke’s injuries and gradually earning his trust. That had been the first of many such encounters between them.
Duke shook himself and slid back through the discreet door hidden behind a swath of black velvet curtains. He needed no candle to descend the narrow switch-back staircase until he reached the kitchens.
“Have some of those scones brought to my study,” he said to a passing maid, lifting his chin in the direction of a tray of the steaming goods. “Fresh tea, as well.”
The kitchen staff began to scurry and, satisfied that the preparations were underway, he exited the heat of the room and made a detour to the cellars where the wine and spirits were kept.
Lighting a single candle along the way, he located the bottles he desired, tucked them beneath his arm, and locked the door securely behind him.
He passed through the main rooms on the first floor, surveying the members who’d escaped their homes and lives to while away hours at his gaming tables and partake in the delights on offer.
That night, several girls from Lady Night’s exclusive brothel had been hired to serve the men.
It was an arrangement that benefitted all parties: men were more willing to spend money on food and drink served by attractive women, Lady Night’s had an opportunity to advertise its services, and the ladies often went home with a respectable number of coins.
He breezed through the rooms, surveying one after another as the tables for cards, dice, and other games of chance came alive.
In the next three hours, every seat would be filled, the buffet planned for that evening would be picked clean, and the men would be well into their cups, willing to throw more and more coins away.
“Baxter,” Duke said, spotting his assistant as he finished a conversation with the burly guard who’d escorted the ladies over from Lady Night’s.
“Yes, sir?”
Duke handed him one of the bottles he’d procured from the cellar. “See that this is brought to Lord Lufton. With my compliments,” he added darkly.
Baxter dashed off to do as he was told. Satisfied, Duke ducked around the corner and slid through another hidden door, ascending the stairs back to his office.