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Mariel’s throat constricted as they reached the corner of Hereford Street. She dreaded entering the house, facing her mother’s unabashed joy at her impending marriage and her father’s palpable relief.
Her spirits sank lower and lower as she and Penny neared the end of the block.
When they were within steps of the town-house its door opened and a man emerged.
He turned towards them and the sun illuminated his face. ‘Mariel?’
She froze.
This man was the one person she’d thought never to see again, never wished to see again. He was the man to whom she’d been secretly betrothed—the man who had just inhabited her thoughts.
The man who had deserted her.
Leo Fitzmanning.
AUTHOR NOTE
One of the delights of my writing career was collaborating with Amanda McCabe and Deb Marlowe on The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor anthology. We’d known each other and been friends even before our Mills & Boon® days. In fact we went on a Regency tour of England together, visiting Mayfair and Brighton and Bath, seeing all the Regency era houses and museums. One of our highlights was a venture on our own through Hyde Park.
It was such a great thrill to be invited to do the anthology together. We were given carte blanche to create it any way we wished.
The three of us gathered for a weekend of history and brainstorming at Historic Williamsburg, Virginia, where we created The Fitzmanning Miscellany, the group of siblings and half-siblings who became the heroes and heroines of our novellas and the connected books.
These characters just leapt from our imaginations that day, as if they were real people waiting for us to knock on their door and interview them. A NOT SO RESPECTABLE GENTLEMAN? is Leo’s story and, sadly, the last of the Welbourne Manor series. It has been such a pleasure.
Diane
The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor books:
SNOWBOUND AND SEDUCED by Amanda McCabe
(in Regency Christmas Proposals) THE SHY DUCHESS by Amanda McCabe HOW TO MARRY A RAKE by Deb Marlowe A NOT SO RESPECTABLE GENTLEMAN? by Diane Gaston
About the Author
As a psychiatric social worker, DIANE GASTON spent years helping others create real-life happy endings. Now Diane crafts fictional ones, writing the kind of historical romance she’s always loved to read. The youngest of three daughters of a US Army Colonel, Diane moved frequently during her childhood, even living for a year in Japan. It continues to amaze her that her own son and daughter grew up in one house in Northern Virginia. Diane still lives in that house, with her husband and three very ordinary housecats. Visit Diane’s website at http://dianegaston.com
Previous novels by the same author:
THE MYSTERIOUS MISS M
THE WAGERING WIDOW
A REPUTABLE RAKE
INNOCENCE AND IMPROPRIETY
A TWELFTH NIGHT TALE
(in A Regency Christmas anthology) THE VANISHING VISCOUNTESS SCANDALISING THE TON JUSTINE AND THE NOBLE VISCOUNT (in Regency Summer Scandals) GALLANT OFFICER, FORBIDDEN LADY* CHIVALROUS CAPTAIN, REBEL MISTRESS* VALIANT SOLDIER, BEAUTIFUL ENEMY*
*Three Soldiers mini-series
And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:
THE UNLACING OF MISS LEIGH
THE LIBERATION OF MISS FINCH
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
A Not So
Respectable
Gentleman?
Diane Gaston
MILLS & BOON
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To Amanda McCabe and Deb Marlowe, my fellow
creators of The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor and its heroes and heroines, The Fitzmanning Miscellany.
Prologue
Spring 1826
Flames.
White hot, blinding red and orange and blue. Flames roaring like a dragon, weaving through the stable, crawling up the walls, devouring everything in its path.
Leo Fitzmanning still saw the flames, felt their heat, heard the screams of his horses, as he entered the mahogany-shelved library of a London town house. The scent of smoke lingered in his nostrils and his muscles ached from battling the fire for nearly two days.
One moment of inattention, one second of carelessness, had cost him his stable and two outbuildings. He’d failed to notice the peg holding the lantern had become loose. The lantern fell, spreading flames in an instant.
He blinked the vision away and faced the man he’d waited nearly a month to see.
Mr Cecil Covendale rose from the chair and extended his hand across the paper-cluttered desk. ‘Good day, Fitzmanning.’ His manner seemed affable. That was a good sign. ‘How are you faring since the fire? You appear uninjured.’
News apparently travelled swiftly the ten miles between Welbourne Manor, on the outskirts of Richmond, and Mayfair.
‘Only minor burns, sir.’ He accepted the older man’s handshake.
The stables, his horses and two outbuildings would cost a great deal to replace, a fact of which Covendale was, no doubt, aware.
‘Word is you almost lost the house.’ Covendale’s expression showed only concern, not the disdain Leo expected in response to his failed enterprise. ‘What a pity that would have been.’
Not for those who would rejoice at seeing Welbourne Manor destroyed. Recompense for its scandalous past, they would say, although Leo aspired to revise its reputation. To Leo and his siblings, Welbourne Manor was a beloved place. He would never have forgiven himself if he’d lost their safe haven, the house where they spent their unconventional childhood.
‘The house is untouched.’ Leo shrugged. ‘The rest can be rebuilt.’
If one had the money, that is. Would Covendale guess nearly all Leo’s funds had been invested in the stud farm, now nothing but ashes?
His mind reeled with all the tasks he’d left undone by keeping this appointment. Finding stables for the few surviving horses. Making arrangements for his stable workers, who had suddenly lost the roof over their heads and all their worldly possessions. He’d left them at the Manor, raking through the ashes, making certain that no glowing embers hid beneath the debris, hungry for more destruction. He ought to be working beside them, preparing to rebuild.
But nothing would have kept him from this appointment with Covendale. The man had already put him off for weeks. Some matters were even more important than Welbourne Manor.
‘I presume you know why I wished to speak with you,’ Leo began.
The smile faded from Covendale’s face. ‘I do indeed.’
Hairs rose on the back of Leo’s neck. Why the change in expression? ‘Your daughter told you?’
‘She did.’ Covendale lowered himself into his chair. He did not ask Leo to sit.
Leo’s muscles stiffened. ‘Then you know I have come to ask your permission to marry her.’
‘I do.’ Covendale sighed and shook his head as if in dismay. ‘How do I proceed?’
Leo heard the fire’s roar again. ‘I assure you, the loss of my stable is only a minor setback. Your daughter will want for nothing.’
Leo would recoup his losses, he vowed. He’d borrow the money from his brother if he had to. Rebuild his stables to be grander. Make his stud farm even more prosperous, more respected.
‘Perhaps.’ Covendale winced. ‘But—’
Leo cut him off. ‘Are you concerned about her inheritance? I have no need of her inheritance.’
Mariel’s great-aunt had bequeathed her a considerable fortune, to be bestowed upon her at age twenty-five if she remained unmarried, sooner if she married with her father’s approval. If her marriage did not meet her father’s approval, however, the fortune would be forfeited to some obscure and frivolous charity.
Leo pressed on. ‘I ask your approval of our marriage only because I will not have Mariel give up her money for me.’
Leo and Mariel had discussed this. She’d insisted her father would never approve of Leo. They’d considered running off to Scotland, but even though Mariel did not care about the money she stood to lose by eloping, she did care about the scandal it would cause her family, especially her younger sisters. Leo also had no wish for scandal. He planned to gain society’s respect by producing the finest horses in England, even finer than his brother Stephen’s horses. Furthermore, Leo would not take a penny of Mariel’s money. It would always remain under her control.
He gave Covendale a steady look. ‘I assure you, the money will remain in Mariel’s hands. I will sign papers to that effect. We can make the arrangement before the marriage, if you like.’
Covendale raised a hand. ‘Enough, Fitzmanning. This matter between you and my daughter has come as a complete surprise to me. I knew nothing of this—this—courtship before Mariel informed me why you sought an appointment.’
Leo had no defence for the secrecy, except that Mariel had desired it. ‘Mariel and I have known each other since childhood, as you well know. She and my sisters have remained friends. We became reacquainted while she visited with them.’
In January, amidst Charlotte’s wailing children and her barking pugs, Leo had found Mariel again. No longer was she the annoying girl with plaited hair who’d joined his sisters in trailing after him. Mariel had transformed into a woman so lovely that, for that first moment of glimpsing her again, he’d forgotten how to breathe. They met again at Charlotte’s house and eventually contrived further meetings in secret. No one knew of their attachment, of the strong bond that quickly grew between them. No one knew that Mariel was the reason Leo left his brother’s employ to establish his own stud farm. To make a loving, respectable home for her at Welbourne Manor.
Covendale waved a hand. ‘Never mind that. When did you last speak with my daughter?’
It had been the day they’d discussed setting up this meeting. ‘About a month ago.’
Since then there had been no opportunity to contact her. He’d thrown himself into setting up his farm to keep from missing her and to make the time fly.
Covendale glanced away, seeming to mull over something. He rubbed his face and turned back to Leo. ‘A month can be a long time. Much can happen.’
Leo sprang towards the desk and came within inches of Covendale’s nose. ‘Has something happened to Mariel? I demand you tell me. Is she ill? Is she hurt?’
‘Neither!’ The man recoiled. ‘She is betrothed!’
Leo stepped back. His brow knit in confusion. ‘Betrothed? Yes. She is betrothed to me.’
‘Not to you.’ Covendale glanced away. ‘She is betrothed to Lord Ashworth.’
Ashworth?
Edward Ashworth?
Ashworth had been a schoolmate of Leo’s, an affable boy who’d grown into a decent man. He was titled, wealthy and well liked by everyone, the epitome of an ideal husband.
Covendale handed Leo a sheet of paper. ‘It is all arranged. Here is the special licence. I could show you the marriage settlement papers….’
Mariel’s and Ashworth’s names were written legibly on the sheet of paper that allowed couples to marry elsewhere than a church and which waived the reading of the banns. The paper was signed by the Archbishop.
Leo shoved the paper back to Covendale. ‘Does Mariel know of this?’
Covendale coughed. ‘Of course she knows of it.’
‘I would speak with her, sir. Send for her.’ Mariel would never do this. Not without telling him.
‘She is not here.’ Her father raised his shoulders. ‘She and her mother are in Herefordshire at Ashworth’s estate.’
At Ashworth’s estate?
Leo forced himself to meet and hold Covendale’s gaze. Inside, his emotions flamed like the stable’s burning rafters.
Why would she go there, if not …?
Covendale went on. ‘Ashworth is a fine man, from a decent family. His is an old title. Mariel is not a foolish girl. She knows this is an excellent match for her. A real step up.’ He made a mollifying gesture. ‘You must look at this situation from my point of view. Do I approve your suit or the suit of a young man who possesses a title? Who will be better for my daughter?’
Leo glared at him. ‘You cannot force Mariel to marry. She is of age.’
‘I am not forcing her,’ the man insisted. ‘Her age is of issue, of course. That cannot be ignored. At twenty-one she’s practically on the shelf. Her mother and I despaired of her ever making a good match. I believe she herself was becoming somewhat desperate—but, then, perhaps that is why she considered marrying you.’
Leo ignored that put-down. ‘No. We pledged our devotion to each other.’ Mariel’s love was genuine. He would wager everything he possessed upon it.
Although most of what he possessed was now mere ashes.
Covendale clucked. ‘Devotion? My poor, poor fellow. Devotion is fleeting. Whatever pretty words passed between you and my daughter are no match for what really matters.’
‘And that is?’ The fire again roared in Leo’s ears.
Covendale shifted in his chair. ‘A good name. Connections. Status in society.’ He leaned closer. ‘That is what my daughter desires and deserves. She will not have that if she marries you.’
So that was it? Good name? Status? Leo intended to build those things for himself. And he was not without connections. His father and King George had been fast friends, for God’s sake.
Covendale smiled. ‘Like all young women, she wishes to marry respectably.’
Leo’s fists tightened. ‘Have I ever conducted myself in any way that was not respectable?’
‘Not that I’ve heard.’ The man wagged his finger at Leo. ‘With the exception of courting my daughter in secret.’
Leo burned as if the flames continued to surround him.
Covendale made another mollifying gesture. ‘You must look at this situation rationally. Given a choice, Mariel cannot debase herself with—with a man of your birth.’
A bastard, he meant.
‘Your father, for all his titles and high friends, flouted the manners of proper society. What is more, he and your equally scandalous mother reared you in a most amoral atmosphere …’
Was this explanation necessary? Leo had always lived with knowledge of his origins.
His father, the Duke of Manning, left his wife to set up housekeeping at Welbourne Manor with the equally married Countess of Linwall. They lived together for twenty years in unmarried, free-spirited bliss, producing Leo and his two sisters from their unsanctified union. His father’s two legitimate sons, Nicholas, now the duke, and Stephen, a successful horse-breeder, spent nearly as much of their childhood at Welbourne Manor as Leo did. Also reared there was Justine, Leo’s half-sister by a French woman his father bedded before meeting his mother.
Society called the lot of them The Fitzmanning Miscellany. But not to Leo’s face, not if they wished to avoid broken bones.
Leo’s hand curled into a fist. ‘My brothers were reared at Welbourne Manor.’ Except Brenner, his mother’s legitimate son, the current Earl of Linwall. Leo and his siblings had not known Brenner until after their parents died. ‘Do you consider them scandalous?’
‘Of course I do!’ Covendale exclaimed. ‘But they are legitimate. Society accepts them for that reason alone. You, however, would not be accepted anywhere if not for the fact that your father was a duke. It was the only reason I ever allowed Mariel to befriend your sisters.’
Leo damned well knew society merely tolerated him. And his sisters. The difference between being the legitimate son and being the bastard had always been made crystal clear to him.
Truth be told, even his brothers treated him differently, albeit out of love for him. Nicholas and Stephen were forever trying to shield him from the consequences of his birth, to make it up to him for the shabby treatment by others. Their efforts were almost as painful as the barbs he’d endured as a schoolboy. Or the cuts, as an adult.
Society expected him to become a libertine like his father, but he was determined to prove society wrong. From the time he’d been a mere lad, he’d made certain his behaviour was unblemished.
A man should be judged by his own character. And by his achievements. Leo intended to reach the pinnacle in both.
Mariel understood that. She’d supported him. Admired his drive. It had never mattered to her that his father had not been married to his mother. She’d loved him.
Leo faced Covendale and looked directly into his eyes. ‘I do not believe any of this. This daughter you speak of is not the Mariel I know. She would not marry merely for a title. It is impossible.’
The older man pursed his lips. ‘Well, there is also your financial situation. A stud farm is nothing to Ashworth’s fortune. And now, with the fire, you have several buildings to replace, not to mention livestock. Even if we could ignore the vast inequality between your birth and that of Ashworth, you presently have nothing to offer my daughter.’
The fire. For all Leo’s grand thoughts about achieving the pinnacle of respect, the ashes of his former dream revealed his failure.
Covendale turned all sympathy. ‘I realise this is difficult for you. It is difficult for me that she left it to me to inform you, but I assure you, Ashworth came courting her and it has resulted in this.’ He picked up the special licence.
Leo shook his head. ‘She would have contacted me. Told me herself if her sentiments had changed.’
Her father held up a finger. ‘It almost slipped my mind. Mariel did leave word for you. She wrote you a note.’ Covendale opened a drawer and withdrew a sealed, folded sheet.
Leo took the paper from the man’s hand and broke the seal.
It read:
Dear Leo,
No time to write a proper note. I meant to be there in person, but Father will explain it all.
Wishing nothing but good to you, Mariel
It was written in her hand. The paper even smelled of her.
He crushed it in his fist. Father will explain it all.
‘I’m sorry, boy,’ Covendale said quietly.
The fire roared inside him again and flames filled his vision.
The special licence. Mariel’s absence. Her note.
His failure.
There was no more denying it. She’d chosen respectability over him. A legitimate husband over a bastard one. And, without knowing, a wealthy man over a failure.
‘I do not know what else to say to you,’ Covendale said.
Leo barely heard him.
He thought about losing his horses, his stable. Losing Mariel was a thousand times worse. The pain was so intense he had to fight to remain upright. It was as if his insides were consumed by flames and what was left was ashes, a void that never could be refilled.
Respectability be damned. Stud farm be damned.
What had all his conscientious behaviour and hard work brought him? A pile of cinders.
Being jilted by Mariel.
He forced himself to rise to his full height.
‘You are correct, sir. There is nothing more to say.’ He nodded to Covendale. ‘Good day.’
Leo turned and strode out of Covendale’s library, out of the town house, into the grey afternoon drizzle.
And the emptiness that was now his life.
Chapter One
June, 1828—two years later
Loud pounding forced Leo from a dead sleep.
He opened his eyes and was stabbed by a sliver of sunlight, harbinger of a fine spring London day. He clapped his hands to his head.
Too much brandy. Now he was paying the price.
More pounding. A caller at his door.
Why the devil did Walker not send them away?
Walker was Leo’s valet, but likely not out of bed himself. He and Leo had engaged in a bout of celebratory drinking after Leo returned from the card tables the previous night.
Walker might act as Leo’s valet, but he looked nothing like a gentleman’s gentleman. He’d been a ruffian from the Rookerie, caught by circumstance in Paris and hungry for a new life. Leo encountered him by accident and they had become more than gentleman and gentleman’s man. They’d become friends … and now business partners.
The pounding resumed and Leo could just make out the voice of a man demanding to be admitted.
He groaned and roused himself from the bed, searching around the room for the clothes he’d shed the night before. The sound stopped and he sat back on the bed. Excellent. Walker would deal with it. Send the caller away.
Once, Leo would have been up and out to his stables at dawn. He’d have done a half day’s work by this hour. He rubbed his face. That had been an age ago. A different lifetime. Being in London brought back the memory, but he’d carved out a new life for himself—from very rough rock, he might add—but it was a life that suited him surprisingly well.
Walker knocked and entered his bedchamber. ‘Your family calls.’
His family? ‘Which ones?’
‘All of them.’
All six? His brothers and his sisters? ‘What the devil do they want?’
‘They would not tell me,’ Walker replied.
Leo ran his hand through his hair. ‘Why didn’t you make some excuse? Say I was out?’ It did Leo no credit that he’d avoided them for the fortnight he’d been in town, but he’d been busy. Besides, they’d never understand the direction his life had taken while he’d been away.
Walker cocked an eyebrow. ‘I thought it unwise to engage in fisticuffs with a duke, an earl and one tiny, growling dog.’
Good God. His sister Charlotte brought one of her pugs.
‘Very well. I will see them.’ He pulled his shirt over his head. Walker brushed off his coat with his hand.
Leo’s siblings had, no doubt, come with help to offer and would scold him for his behaviour, which had taken a downward path since last he’d been in London, although he trusted they’d never know the half of it. Let them believe the stories about him, that Leo was as much a libertine as his father had once been, but they would not know that Leo had faced situations their father would never have imagined facing.
He shoved his arms into the sleeves of the coat and pulled on his boots. ‘I have the feeling I will not enjoy this.’
He left the bedchamber and entered the sitting room.
His brothers and sisters immediately turned to him. They stood in a circle. In fact, they’d even rearranged his seating into a circle.
‘Leo!’ Nicholas spoke first. As duke, he was head of the family. ‘Good morning.’
Charlotte’s pug yapped from under her arm.
Justine rushed over to him, clasping both his hands. ‘Leo, how good it is to see you. You look dreadful.’ She touched his cheek and spoke with some surprise.
‘Indeed.’ Brenner joined her.
He must look a sight. Unshaven. Rumpled clothes. Bloodshot eyes.
Brenner searched his face. ‘Are you unwell?’
‘Not at all,’ Leo replied. ‘Late night.’
Brenner and Justine comprised the most complex of his unusual sibling relations. She was his half-sister by his father, and Brenner, now Lord Linwall, was his half-brother by his mother. They were married to each other. Their love affair happened right after Leo’s parents died.
Brenner flashed him one more worried look before wrapping his arms around Leo in a brotherly hug. The others swarmed around him. Charlotte burst into tears and wept against his chest. Nicholas and Stephen slapped him on the back. Even the pug raced around his feet and tried to jump up his legs. Only Annalise held back, but that was typical of her. She was observing the scene and would probably make a painting of it and call it The Return of the Prodigal Son.
Only he had no intention of returning to the well-meaning bosom of his family. He was just passing through, literally waiting for his ship to come in.
‘What are you doing here?’ he managed to ask.
Nicholas clapped his hands. ‘Come. Let us all sit and we will tell you.’
One of the chairs was set just a little inside the circle. That was the one they left for him.
Nicholas leaned forwards. ‘We are here out of concern for you.’
Of course they were. ‘Concern?’ They intended to fix things for him. Take care of him as they’d always done.
‘We are so afraid for you, Leo!’ Ever the dramatist, Charlotte punctuated this with a sob. ‘What will become of you?’ Her dog jumped onto her lap and licked her face.
This was all nonsense. ‘What the devil are you talking about?’
Nicholas spoke. ‘You are spending your time drinking, womanising and gambling.’
He certainly looked the part this morning.
‘It won’t do,’ Nicholas went on. ‘It is time you found some direction in your life.’
‘Some useful occupation,’ Stephen explained.
‘Before it is too late,’ Charlotte added.
It appeared that rumours of his rakish living had preceded him. To be sure, he often stayed up all night playing cards, but he womanised hardly at all and actually drank very little.
Except for this morning.
They could not know of his more clandestine dealings, one that nearly got him killed, and others that skirted the law and earned him a great deal of wealth.
Leo started to rise from his seat. ‘I assure you, I am well able to handle myself.’
Brenner, who was seated next to him, put a hand on his shoulder and silently implored him to stay in the chair.
He sat back down. ‘Do not trouble yourselves about me.’
‘But we do,’ whispered Annalise. ‘I mean, we must trouble ourselves.’
Brenner took on a tone of reasonableness. ‘We understood your need to get away, to travel. It was good for you to see something of the world, but now—’
‘Now you are just drinking and gaming,’ Justine broke in. ‘You avoid the family. You avoid healthy pursuits.’
How easily they believed the worst of him. And how readily they assumed it was their job to fix him.
‘You cannot know my pursuits.’ He gritted his teeth.
‘Oh, yes, we can.’ Nicholas levelled his gaze at him. ‘We have ways of finding out everything.’
Not everything, Leo thought. They obviously knew nothing about his investments. He’d wager a pony that they had never heard of what he and Walker had been through. And they’d never known the real reason he had fled England, why he still had no use for London society.
One after the other they begged him to change his life, to abandon his pursuit of pleasure. They implored him to care about something again, to invest his hopes and dreams in something.
He ought to tell them, but the shipment of goods he was expecting was not precisely done to the letter of the law. Not that it would hurt anyone.
‘The thing is …’ Nicholas glanced towards Brenner, who nodded approval. ‘We have a surprise for you.’
Stephen moved to the edge of his seat. ‘We’ve rebuilt the stable at Welbourne Manor! And the outbuildings. Bigger and better than before. It is all ready for you. Complete with a fine breeding pair from my stables, already in residence at the Manor. Say the word—today, if you like—and I’ll take you to Tattersall’s to buy more horses. If you need money—’
Leo felt the blood rush to his face. ‘No.’
Charlotte piped up. ‘Nothing has changed at Welbourne Manor. Even the servants are the same. Halton, Signore Napoli, Thomas—’
‘It is waiting for you,’ Justine added. ‘What do you say, Leo?’
Leo regarded each of them in turn. ‘I sold Welbourne Manor to all of you. It is not mine any more. I no longer wish to breed horses. And I am not staying.’
‘Leo—’ Brenner began.
‘No.’ He spoke firmly. ‘I do not need help. And I especially do not need for you to tell me what to do.’
‘We are not …’ Brenner protested.
It was no use to explain to them. He did not need them to help him. He did not need anyone. He’d proven it to himself. He had left the country after losing everything, and, almost out of nothing, built a solid fortune. Without a good name. Without top-lofty connections. What’s more, he no longer sought the good opinion of the ton. He’d discovered self-reliance was more valuable than what society thought of him.
‘I refuse to discuss this further.’ Leo kept his voice firm. ‘If you continue, I will walk out the door.’ He softened. ‘Tell me about yourselves. How are you faring? How many nieces and nephews do I have? I confess to have lost count.’
He only half listened as they proudly filled him in on their children, their lives. When they spoke, their faces glowed with contentment and deep satisfaction. They were happy and that gladdened him.
But their visit brought back memories. Of his dreams for Welbourne Manor, and a similar happiness that had almost been within his reach.
Late that night Leo again sat at a card table at a Mayfair gaming hell. Tucked among discreet buildings off St James’s Street, the place buzzed with men’s voices and women’s laughter. Smoke from cheroots filled the air. Disquieting. Smoke always disquieted him.
Leo held excellent cards. Perhaps a run of luck would settle the restlessness that had plagued him ever since his siblings’ visits.
‘Did you hear about Kellford?’ the man on his right at the whist table asked as he rearranged his cards.
Leo lifted his eyes from his own hand without any great interest in Baron Kellford. He’d known Kellford in Vienna. ‘Your turn, sir.’
But the man clearly would not throw down his card before disgorging his precious on dit. Did he have a trump card or not?
Leo’s opponent rearranged his hand. Again. ‘The news is quite amusing.’ Pressing his cards against his chest, the fellow looked from Leo to the other two men at the table. ‘Kellford is soon to be flush in the pocket.’ He leaned back, waiting for one of them to ask for more.
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