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He could help her, by Jove. He could wipe out her destitute state in one fell swoop. Or he could’ve had he not recently financed the quarry project. In any case, he was not without resources. Why refuse his offer of help?

“If you’ve enough takers, I’d rather…” He broke off. “Who’s playing?”

Harrison ticked names off with his fingers. “Myself, Sir Geoffrey, Lord Hardasher—”

“Love to,” Caden said, slapping his back. “Where and when?”

Harrison flashed a surprised grin. “Gentlemen’s parlor, and now.”

** *

Caden peeled up his cards, pretending to study his hand while eyeing Hardasher, on his immediate left.

The man brooded better than a hen guarding eggs which refused to hatch.

Granted, the poor sot had loo’d the last several rounds, while Caden had managed to snag at least a third of the pot five times running.

Any man’s pride would be pricked, especially in light of Caden quashing his scheme to get Anna alone earlier. Not the man’s day.

His mouth curved upward at the thought. He could be forgiven for taking enjoyment out of Hardasher’s failures as concerned Anna, couldn’t he? He hadn’t had the best day himself. Misery and all that.

“Thurgood’s grinning like the cat who stole the canary,” Harrison announced wearily. “I’ll take it as a sign. Pass.”

Caden winked at his young friend and tossed some coin onto the table to raise the stakes. “Trump.”

A collective groan sounded as, one by one, the other players slid their cards toward the table’s center.

“Never say you win again?” Hardasher grumbled accepting the deck as the game’s next dealer. He shuffled the cards, a marked scowl on his face. “With luck like yours it’s a wonder you didn’t take the grand prize this afternoon as well.” After a beat he added, “Or did you?”

The man’s thinly veiled slur on Anna’s virtue rankled. Never mind Caden had made advances.

“The prize of a beautiful woman on my arm? So I did.”

Hardasher arched a brow. “You’ve become fast friends since the first night when you asked if I recognized her.”

“Are we playing or would the two of you rather yammer like a couple of kitchen maids?” asked Sir Geoffrey, seated to Caden’s right.

He ignored the outburst.

Anna had secured his promise to not approach Hardasher to question him about her. But he hadn’t brought her up. Hardasher had. Would she consider that splitting hairs? Probably.

He sprawled in his chair, slinging one arm over the back, and responded to Hardasher. “You didn’t, as I recall. Recognize her that is.”

Hardasher pursed his thin lips as he dealt. “Indeed. I’m convinced I never laid eyes on Miss…Jones is it? before this weekend.”

“Mrs. Jones,” he corrected absently. Tension he hadn’t realized he held eked out of his shoulders. The man did not know her. “Last hand for me, I’m afraid.”

Harrison rallied the others. “That gives us one last chance to recoup our losses, lads. Ante up.”

One by one they tossed coins onto the table.

Tight-lipped, Hardasher slanted Caden a look. “As I recall, she did look familiar, however.”

A chill skittered up his spine. Something about the man’s canny tone, as if he knew something Caden did not. Impossible, he assured himself. Of all the party’s attendees, he alone knew the woman’s true identity.

“Right. Then you realized you’d seen her earlier in the day, alongside Lady Wentworth,” Caden said.

Several players in turn demanded replacement cards. Hardasher doled them out accordingly.

Caden gave the signal to keep the hand he was dealt. In truth, he hadn’t a clue which cards he held .

Hardasher added two cards to the discards, before peeling off replacements. He fanned out his hand, viewing his cards, then grinned.

Caden resisted the urge to repeat his last statement. Did Hardasher know Anna or not? Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t. Still. He had followed the two of them into the recesses of the manse.

Good God, Anna’s paranoia was catching.

Hardasher tapped a blunt finger under his nose. “The thing is, over the last several months, a sizable ad has run repeatedly in the Times , seeking information on the whereabouts of a lady bearing a striking resemblance to Mrs. Jones.”

An ad? Who placed ads for missing persons? Runners might. Beads of sweat formed between his shoulder blades to trickle slowly down his back.

Other than admitting to falling on hard times, Anna’s answers had been deliberately vague. Might she have committed a serious crime such as stealing something valuable in order to survive?

He rolled the idea of a thieving Anna over in his mind. He simply could not fathom it. He needed to rein in his imagination, by jove.

“What was the woman wanted for? Let me guess. Murder?” With a chuckle, he studied his hand for the first time. God awful.

Harrison chuckled alongside Caden. “Right. Lady Wentworth’s hired a murderess.”

A small smile played at the corner of Hardasher’s mouth.

Eyes on his cards, he gave an unhurried reply.

“No murder involved. Evidently the lady in question was abducted during the wee hours of her wedding night.” He paused, his glance sliding toward Caden.

“…to Baron Bolton. He’s offered a substantial reward for her safe return. ”

“How in hell does one steal a bride on her wedding night?” Harrison demanded, clearly appalled. “You’d think the groom would pay better attention. ”

Several men snickered in commiseration. Not Hardasher, whose eyes remained on Caden.

“Bolton?” Caden all but spat. “That drunken lech? He’s old enough to be her father.”

Across the table from him, Harrison folded his hand. “Calm yourself, Thurgood. It’s not as if your angel-faced rescuer married Bolton. The sketch merely resembled her.”

“Photograph,” Hardasher put in.

“Photograph, sketch.” Caden waived a dismissive hand. “Harrison’s correct, Hardasher. Whoever you saw emblazoned on that advertisement couldn’t possibly have been Mrs. Jones.”

Hardasher cocked his head. “Out of curiosity, how are you so certain?”

Baron bloody Bolton, that’s how. He knew Bolton. The baron had once numbered amongst his late father’s posse of immoral, over-imbibing, gaming-hell cohorts. The lout wasn’t fit to carry Anna’s gold slipper now safely ensconced in Caden’s chamber, much less marry her.

Caden propped his elbow on the table. “Simple. Bolton needs an heiress to fund his estate thanks to years of neglect under his watch. Lovely though Jones is…” He shrugged and left the rest unsaid. Anna was no heiress.

“It’s true Bolton’s estate has seen better days.” Hardasher broke off, revealing his cards with a smirk. “Trump, I believe.”

A grumbling consensus ensued.

“Congratulations, Hardasher. Looks like Lady Luck finally smiled on you.” Caden shoved back from the table, prepared to rise.

Hardasher scooped-up his share of the winnings.

“I detected an air of censure concerning Bolton, Thurgood. I submit many amongst the nobility must wed in order to restore the family coffers. Not all can be born a Claybourne, with access to the Claybourne connections and fortune, and thus the ability to withstand a few years bad luck. Men do what they must to survive.”

Harrison looked aghast. “I say, Hardasher.”

Caden sent Harrison a quelling look. No need for the afternoon to degrade into a cock fight, when he himself couldn’t care less what Hardasher thought of him, never mind he had it all wrong.

True enough, the Claybourne estate boasted substantial wealth. But not because buckets of money had passed down through generations, as Hardasher insinuated. Nor had Zeke married into money.

Instead, through ingenuity, hard work, and wise investing, his brother amassed the fortune necessary to restore the estate after their own ne’er do well father drained it nearly dry.

Caden had benefited, of course. Quarterly stipends, club memberships, the use of familial estates.

Better still, under Zeke’s tutelage, he learned the art of investing well to grow a tidy nest egg of his own—the very nest egg he’d pilfered recently in his efforts to re-purpose the quarry.

Not that Zeke thanked him for it. Mayhap it had not been the best time to say no thank you to his brother’s strings.

At least he still had his skill at the tables.

“The point is, Lord Hardasher, Mrs. Jones lacks the means to save the hapless Bolton, victim of tradition though he may be. And now, gentlemen, I bid you good day. Thank you for an”—He patted the bulging pockets of his waistcoat containing the coin he’d won—“enriching afternoon.”

He made his way to the exit with a spring in his step, a whistle on his lips, and a plan forming in his mind.

True, he had made up his mind to cut Anna a wide berth for the remainder of the party.

However, the news he had to share with her thanks to Hardasher’s illuminations changed things.

She would appreciate knowing she had nothing to fear from the man, that he had simply confused her with a hapless woman who’d had the misfortune to marry Bolton.

He snorted. In all likelihood, the poor chit had not been abducted at all, but had wised up after the ceremony and fled the scene.

***

Caden scrutinized his appearance in the dressing mirror beside the wardrobe. Clean shaven, tawny waves oiled and tamed. Crisp white shirt, simple cravat. Black superfine, lint-free and expertly pressed from his jacket to his trousers.

He snorted even as he inspected the sheen on his boots. He’d never worried overmuch with his grooming. He didn’t really need to. Women found him appealing. They liked his looks. They lapped-up his charm. Why should Anna be immune?

Still. He felt more than a little foolish, actively trying to make a favorable impression. But, damn it, he would have her eyes on him and him alone.

He pulled his pocket watch from his waist coat and checked the time. Early.

A pounding on his door sounded alongside someone—Harrison?—calling his name in a frantic manner.

He strode for the chamber door, jerked it open, and found Harrison, fist elevated, mouth open, in the midst of bellowing Caden’s name. He was shirtless.

“Something’s missing from your attire. Give me a moment. I’ll think of it.”

“Oh, bloody ha ha. I’m half dressed because I’m having a wardrobe malfunction. ”

“An interesting choice of words.”

“Literally, Thurgood. My armoire is jammed shut. Damned door won’t open. I gave a good yank and broke the handle clean off. I tried to pry the thing open ’til my fingernails practically tore off.” He held out his hands for inspection.

Caden huffed out a laugh. “Only you, Harrison. Give me a moment.” He slipped off his dinner jacket and hung it over the valet. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can figure a way to free your clothing.”

For once, Harrison’s uniquely bumbling ways would work in his favor. He wouldn’t arrive downstairs so early he’d appear over eager. Women didn’t like that. Or so he assumed. Prior to Anna, he’d never had cause to test the theory.

Harrison trotted ahead. “I appreciate this, Thurgood. Shouldn’t take more than a moment with both of us working at it.”