Page 15 of The Rogue's Christmas Gift

“Kitty, are you well?” Winnie’s quiet voice asked, the cool touch of her friend’s hand on her arm jolted Kitty’s eyes open.

In. Out.

“Madame Delcour?” Richmore questioned appearing beside his wife.

The duke had arrived shortly after Pierre and his minions, instructing his son’s maid to take the babe out of the ballroom.

“Madame, what would you like to do?” Siegfried asked from his place in front of her.

“There is nothing you can do. The choice is hers,” Pierre said from somewhere behind the wall of protectors in front of Kitty.

He’d marched in mere moments ago, waving a document in the air announcing to all that he was now the owner of Pleasure House. Surely it was a cruel jest. Kitty hadn’t heard from Jacques’s brother in a sennight and had foolishly hoped that he was out of her life for good. How wrong she’d been.

“It is quite simple Mrs. Delcour. The Court of Chancery has ruled in your brother-in-law’s favor. Pleasure House and all its holdings now belong to Mr. Pierre Delcour,” the Marquess of Belville sneered.

He was a middle-aged man with a proclivity for hitting amongst other things that Kitty did not allow to happen at Pleasure House. He had applied for a membership and tried to gain entrance on several occasions, but she never granted him permission. His station in society, nor the fact that he was a member of the Court of Chancery, mattered to Kitty. The only thing she cared about was the occupants of Pleasure House.

In. Out.

In. Out.

She struggled to breathe; nothing would bring air to her lungs. The spinning room was slowly starting to fade around her, and she could feel herself sway—No.

She was not some simpering debutante who would swoon at the first sign adversity. Katherine Smith would’ve swooned and cried about the injustice of the world, but Madame Kitty Delcour would fight with every single breath in her body. She wasn’t Katherine Smith anymore and hadn’t been for years. Kitty knew who she was, and she wasn’t a person who would allow them to remove her without a fight.

Holding her head higher, she met his gaze. “Why was I not informed that a decision had been made?” she asked, thankful that her voice did not break.

It did not do well to show weakness in front of such men. That was one of the first lessons Jacques had taught her about running a gentlemen’s club.

Lord Woodson, another judge in the court, stepped forward to address Kitty. This one had a predilection for tying his partners up and assaulting them.

Woodson tried to step around the small shield of security protecting her, but was unable to pass them. “My dear Mrs. Delcour, the Court of Chancery is not obligated to inform you when we make a decision?—”

“Tell me Woodson, is it customary for judges in the Court of Chancery to personally come and deliver verdicts?” Richmore challenged folding his long arms over his chest.

His large frame towered over everyone else in the ballroom, and Kitty was thankful that her friend had married such a formidable man.

She couldn’t help the trajectory of her mind as she imagined Harrison standing by her side, facing her foes beside her.

“We felt that this particular case needed our special attention.” Belville flicked his gaze over to Kitty, his beady eyes roaming up and down her form.

A prickle of unease clawed in her chest at the triumphant gleam in the marquess’s gaze. “This is absurd. You don’t have the right to barge in here and tell me that I must relinquish my business to this serpent.” Kitty pressed her fingers to her chest.

Her despair was quickly transforming into anger.

“I’m afraid that the court has every right, and we ruled that Mr. Delcour was indeed an original investor in Pleasure House. He has proved that he provided your late husband the original funds to start the business.” Woodson waved his hand in the air.

Kitty stepped between Richmore and Siegfried to stand directly in front of the other three men. No more hiding, letting others stand up for her. She was a grown woman, owner of her own business, and she would not relinquish it without a fight. “What proof, did he have? I can assure you that he did not provide the funds to Jacques, and in this case, Jacques left Pleasure House to me.” She took a deep breath, willing her nerves to remain calm. This was not the time for fits of fancy. “Even if he did provide any funds to Jacques, it means nothing as I have built this business from nothing. When Jacques died in a duel, I was the one to take Pleasure House from nothing to what it is today. I will gladly give him back whatever funds he claims he provided to Jacques. The business belongs to me.”

“That sounds like an excellent solution to me,” Richmore said from behind Kitty. “What was the amount Delcour, a few hundred pounds?”

“It doesn’t matter what the amount was. What matters is that without my funds this establishment wouldn’t be, so it belongs to me, the rightful owner,” Pierre said, spittle spewing out of his mouth.

Kitty opened her mouth to reply, but before she could say a word, Harrison marched into the room out of breath, clothes disheveled, his glorious red hair that she’d always loved plastered to his forehead.

Did he run there?

Kitty’s mouth was agape in wonder. He was glorious as he stormed across the ballroom floor wearing nothing but a waistcoat. His white shirt clung to strong arms, and his jaw sat tight like an avenging angel ready for war.