Alex discarded his empty glass and rose. “Think I’ll go and take a last look at the pit.”

He was referring to the main room of the club, where the vast majority of gambling took place. A small balcony, shielded by a wooden fretwork screen, rather like a minstrel’s gallery, was positioned high above one end of the gaming room. Accessed by a small staircase, it allowed the three owners to look out over the floor and watch the games in progress below—and keep an eye on the club’s patrons. As former snipers, all three of them enjoyed the elevated position.

Ben got to his feet too. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

Seb chuckled and drained the last of his brandy. “Sounds like you’re going to need all your wits about you tomorrow, dealing with that wife of yours. Think she’s ever seen the inside of a gaming club before? Maybe you should bring her downstairs and teach her how to play roulette. I’d be more than happy to—”

“She’s not going anywhere near the public side,” Ben said firmly. “And you’re not going to be teaching her anything.”

Seb gave a chuckle. “Spoil sport. In that case, I’ll wish you good night. And good luck.”

Chapter 10.

The Tricorn Club in St. James’s was a newly established gentlemen’s club, but in the few months it had been open, it had, according to Pieter, gained a reputation for deep card play and extravagance in both food and “gentlemanly entertainment,” which Georgie took to be a euphemism for “attractive, available women.”

At ten o’clock in the morning, however, this enclave of elegant depravity was remarkably quiet. Pieter turned the carriage into the stable mews behind the imposing stone-clad building.

“Georgiana Caversteed, this is a—”

“—terrible idea,” Georgie finished with a grimace. “Yes. I know. I know.”

She’d told Pieter of Wylde’s reappearance, of course. The Dutchman had simply raised his bushy brows and said he’d warned her against her foolish scheme at the outset. He opened his mouth to say more now, but Georgie was in no mood for a lecture. She raised the hem of her cloak, stepped down onto the cobbles, and tried to ignore the butterflies churning in her stomach.

She’d barely slept a wink last night, turning over all the possible outcomes of this meeting in her mind. What did Wylde want? A monthly allowance? A lump sum? How much would this debacle cost her?

“Please wait for me here. I shouldn’t be long.”

The back door of the club swung open to reveal a mountain of a man dressed in black-and-gold livery. His size was such that Georgie wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was a former boxer or wrestler. Certainly, his crooked nose and cauliflower ear spoke of an interesting life.