Page 35 of The Brothers Hawthorne
Where angels fear to tread, have your fun instead.The warning came back to Jameson.But be warned: The house always wins.
Next, archway number three. Rohan pulled a velour curtain barely back. Inside, there was a spiraling staircase, the same shade of gold as the atrium’s granite floor.
“Lust.” Rohan let the curtain drop. “There are private chambers upstairs. What members use those chambers for”—he gave Jameson a moment toimagine—“is up to them.” Rohan’s eyes hardened. “But lay a hand on anyone who does not want a hand there or who is too inebriated to consent, and I cannot guarantee that you will stillhavea hand in the morning.”
That just left two archways. As they approached the first, Jameson realized that its curtain was much heavier than the others. The moment Rohan pulled it back, they were hit by the roar of a crowd. Past the archway, Jameson could see what looked to be two dozen people, and beyond the crowd—a boxing ring.
“Some of our members like to fight,” Rohan stated, lingering for just a moment on that word. “Some like to place bets on the fights. I would caution you against the former, at least as far as facing off against our house fighters is concerned. Those who fight for the Mercy never pull their punches. Blood is shed. Bones are broken.” Rohan’s lips pulled back from his teeth into something like a smile. “Caution must be exercised. If you end up in a disagreement with another player at the tables, however, you’re welcome to take the disagreement to the ring.”
“Wrath?” Jameson guessed with an arch of his brow.
“Wrath. Envy. Pride.” Rohan dropped the curtain. “People end up in the ring for all kinds of reasons.” Something about the way Rohan said that made Jameson think that the Factotum had spent time in the ring himself. “As you explore the Mercy, note that bets may be placed in four of the five areas. Members bet on fights and on the tables, of course, but the first two rooms I showed you each have a book, and those books hold moreunconventionalwagers. Any wager written into one of those books and signed for is binding, no matter how bizarre. And speaking of binding wagers…” Rohan produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a velvet pouch and handed it to Avery. “Your transfer came through, untraceable, just how we like them. You’ll find five-thousand-pound, ten-thousand-pound, and hundred-thousand-pound marks inside. These chipswillbe handed over to me at the end of the night.” His teeth flashed in another smile. “For safe-keeping.”
The three of them made it almost full circle around the room, to the final arch. “Greed,” Rohan said, his lips curving upward. “Beyond this curtain, you’ll find the tables. We offer an eclectic selection of games. Ms. Grambs, you’ll want to concentrate on those where you’re playing against the membership, not the house. And as for you…” Rohan shifted his gaze from Avery to Jameson. “Don’t wager anything you can’t afford to lose, Jameson Hawthorne.” Rohan leaned forward to speak directly into Jameson’s ear, his voice a silky whisper. “There’s a reason that men like your father aren’t allowed back.”
CHAPTER 26
JAMESON
Stepping into the gaming room was like stepping back in time to a ballroom from eras past. The towering ceilings made Jameson wonder just how far underground they were. He focused on that question, not the more obvious one: How long had Rohan known that Ian was Jameson’s father?
And what else does he know?Jameson pushed back against the thought. He needed to focus on what mattered.Let nothing escape your notice. Take it all in. Know it. Use it.
The walls of the ballroom were made of pale wood. Gold moldings covered the ceiling, like something out of a Venetian palace. The shining white marble floor was partly covered with a massive, lush carpet, sapphire in color, struck through with gold. Ornate tables, obviously antique, were positioned strategically around the room. Different shapes, different sizes.
Different games.
At the closest table, a dealer dressed in an old-fashioned ballgown handed a pair of dice to an elderly gentleman.
“Hazard,” a voice said to Jameson’s left.That Duchessstepped into his peripheral view. “The game you’re watching? It’s called hazard.” The duchess’s gown was jade green tonight, made from fabric that flowed with her movements, slit on either side up to her thighs.
Like Avery, she was holding a velvet pouch.
“It’s the predecessor of dice—or what you Americans call craps,” the duchess continued. “But a bit more complicated, I’m afraid.” She inclined her head toward the man with the dice. “The person throwing is known as the caster. He picks a number no lower than five, no higher than nine. The number chosen dictates the conditions under which you win or lose. Fail to do either after the first throw, and the number thrown becomes a part of the game as well.” She smiled. “Like I said, it’s complicated. I’m Zella.”
Jameson raised a brow. “Just Zella?”
“I’ve always been of the belief that titles tell you less about the player than the game.” Zella gave a graceful little shrug. “You may use mine if you wish, but I do not—unless there’s a reason to.”
Every instinct Jameson possessed converged into a single thought:There is a reason for everything this woman does.
“And what about the two of you?” Zella said. “What would you like to be called here at court?”
“I’m Avery. He’s Jameson.”
The fact that Avery had answered the question let Jameson be the one to ask: “Court?”
“It’s how some people refer to the Mercy,” Zella said. “The bed of power and all that, just rife with politics and intrigue. For example…” Her dark brown eyes roved over the room—and the copious amounts of attention the three of them were now attracting. “Almost everyone here tonight is now wondering if we know each other.”
Avery studied the duchess. “Do you want them to think we do?”
“Perhaps.” Zella smiled. “The Mercy is a place where bargains are struck. Deals made. Alliances formed. That’s the thing about power and wealth, isn’t it?” she said, addressing the question to Avery. “Men who have a great deal nearly always want more.”
The duchess held out an arm to Avery, who took it, and then and only then did Zella offer Jameson the other. He took it as well, and she led them through the room, a promenade that he knew with every bone in his body served her purpose—whatever that purpose was.
“Men,” Jameson echoed. Aside from the dealers—all female, all dressed in old-fashioned ballgowns—there were very few women in this room.
“It’s rarer for women to be granted membership,” Zella said. She shifted her gaze to Avery. “You must be quite remarkable—or have something the Proprietor wants very much.”