A Reputation for Notoriety. Diane Gaston
at the Westleigh town house. He’d not told Xavier his intention. He’d not wanted to be talked out of it.
It was well before the fashionable hour for making calls. Probably well before Ned and Hugh rose. It was half-past nine, a time working men and women were well into their day while the wealthy still slept. But Rhys needed to do this first thing or risk the chance of changing his mind.
The footman who answered the door led him to a drawing room off the hall. Unfortunately, the room was dominated by a huge portrait of the earl. Painted with arms crossed, the image of Earl Westleigh stared down, his expression stern and, Rhys fancied, disapproving.
Let his image disapprove. Rhys knew his own worth. He was determined the world should know it soon enough.
Still the earl’s presence in this house set his nerves on edge. Would he join Ned and Hugh for this interview? Rhys half hoped so. He would relish standing in a superior position to this man who once held power over his life.
But it was far more likely the earl would do anything possible to avoid his bastard son.
Rhys’s brothers, to their credit, did not keep him waiting long. He heard their hurried footsteps and their hushed voices before they entered the room.
Ned walked towards him as if he would offer his hand to shake, but he halted and gestured to a chair instead. ‘Shall we sit?’
Hugh held back and looked solemn.
Rhys calmly looked from one to the other. ‘I believe I’ll stand.’
His response had the desired effect. Both men shifted uncomfortably.
‘Are we to assume your presence here to mean you have reconsidered our offer?’ Ned asked.
Rhys inwardly grimaced. Ned called it an offer? ‘I came to further the discussion of whether I am willing to rescue you and our father from penury.’
‘Why?’ Hugh demanded in a hot voice. ‘What changed your mind?’
Rhys levelled a gaze at him. ‘Call it an attack of family loyalty, if you like. I did not say I’ve changed my mind.’
Ned placed a stilling hand on Hugh’s arm, but spoke to Rhys. ‘What do you wish to discuss?’
Rhys shrugged. ‘Well, for one, it takes a great deal of money to start a gaming establishment. Will I be expected to invest my own money? Because I would not stake my fortune against something so risky.’
‘How is it risky?’ Hugh cried. ‘The house always has the advantage. You know that.’
‘The house can be broken,’ Rhys countered. ‘It is all chance.’ Rhys succeeded at cards by reducing chance.
‘But it is not likely, is it?’ Hugh shot back.
Ned’s eyes flashed a warning to Hugh, before he turned to Rhys again. ‘The monetary investment will be ours.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It is now or never for us, Rhys. We’ve scraped the last of our fortune to bank this enterprise. All we want from you—all we need from you—is to run it.’
They must truly be desperate to devise a plan like this, especially as it involved him. Desperate or mad.
‘A gaming house will not make much money right away unless it can quickly build a reputation. It must distinguish itself from other places. Give gamblers a reason to attend.’ Rhys paused. ‘You want to attract the high-stakes gamblers who have money to throw away.’
‘It must be an honest house,’ Hugh snapped. ‘No rigged dice. No marked cards.’
Rhys gave him a scathing look. ‘Are you attempting to insult me, Hugh? If you do not think me an honest man, why ask me to run it?’
Hugh averted his gaze.
‘No cheating of any kind,’ Rhys reiterated. ‘And no prostitution. I will tolerate neither.’ He’d keep the girls at Madame Bisou’s employed, but he’d have nothing to do with them selling their bodies.
‘We are certainly in agreement with all you say,’ Ned responded.
Rhys went on. ‘Within the parameters of honesty, I must be given free rein in how the house is run.’
‘Of course,’ Ned agreed.
‘Wait a moment.’ Hugh glared. ‘What precisely do you mean by free rein?’
‘I mean I decide how to run it,’ Rhys responded. ‘There will be no countering of what I choose to do.’
‘What do you choose to do?’ Hugh shot back.
Rhys kept his tone even. ‘I will make this house the one every wealthy aristocrat or merchant wants to attend. I want to attract not only wealthy men, but ladies, as well.’
‘Ladies!’ Hugh looked appalled.
‘We all know ladies like to gamble as well as gentlemen, but ladies risk censure for it, so I propose we run the house like a masquerade. Anyone may come in costume or masked. That way they can play without risk to their reputation.’ This had worked for the masked woman who’d come to Madame Bisou’s and caused such a stir those years ago. No one had ever learned who she was.
Rhys had thought this all through. It had been spinning in his mind ever since Ned and Hugh first proposed he run a gambling house. He would call it the Masquerade Club. Members could join for a nominal fee. They could dress in masquerade as long as they purchased their counters with the coin in their pockets. If they sought credit or were forced to sign a promissory note, they must reveal their identity.
He continued explaining to Ned and Hugh. ‘This is my plan thus far. It is not up to negotiation. If I come up with a better idea, I will implement it and I will not confer with you beforehand.’
‘See here—’ Hugh began.
Ned waved a hand. ‘Leave it, Hugh. As long as it is honest and profitable, what do we care how the place is run?’ He turned to Rhys. ‘Anything else?’
‘I want half the profit.’
‘Half?’ Hugh shouted.
Rhys faced him again. ‘You risk money, but it is my reputation that will be at risk. We can charge a nominal subscription and call it a gaming club, but there is still the risk that it will be declared illegal. I must be compensated for that risk.’ Besides, he intended to give Penny a portion of his profits, as part of the sale, and Xavier, too, if he was willing to help.
‘I think your terms are agreeable,’ Ned responded. ‘Shall we discuss how much money you need to get started?’
Rhys nodded, but tapped a finger against his lips. ‘I do have a question.’
Ned looked up suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
‘Does the earl know you wish me to do this?’
The brothers exchanged glances.
‘He knows,’ Ned answered.
And was not happy about it, Rhys guessed. Something Rhys counted upon. Besides earning a profit, Rhys wanted the gaming house to provide him another pay-off. He wanted to rub the earl’s nose in the fact that it was his bastard son who pulled him from the brink of ruin. Rhys wanted revenge against the man who sired him and never, ever, acknowledged that fact, who had instead turned him away without a penny, not caring if he lived or died.
He tapped on the back of a chair with his fingertips. ‘Very well, my brothers—’ he spoke sarcastically ‘—I agree to run your gaming house.’
The two men who so resembled him visibly relaxed.
‘On one more condition,’ Rhys added.
Hugh rolled his eyes. Ned looked nervous.
‘Our father—’ Rhys spoke this word with even greater sarcasm ‘—Earl Westleigh, that is—must publicly acknowledge me as his son. It must