A Reputation for Notoriety Read online

  RAISING THE STAKES…

  As the unacknowledged son of the lecherous Lord Westleigh, John “Rhys” Rhysdale was forced to earn a crust gambling on the streets. Now he owns the most thrilling new gaming establishment in London.

  Witnessing polite society’s debauchery and excess every night, Rhys prefers to live on its fringes, but a mysterious masked lady tempts him into the throng.

  Lady Celia Gale, known only as Madame Fortune, matches Rhys card for card and kiss for stolen kiss. But the stakes are raised when Rhys discovers she’s from the very world he despises.…

  The Masquerade Club: Identities concealed, desires revealed…

  Rhys intensely wished for this gaming house to be a success. He would settle for nothing less than it becoming London’s most desirable place to gamble—a place both gentlemen and ladies would be eager to attend. Not for the profit it would earn, but to show he could be the best at whatever he tackled.

  The challenge exhilarated him in a way he’d not experienced since the stimulation of battle. Only, this time there was no carnage in its wake.

  This time there was a beautiful woman here to enjoy herself, and it was his job to see that she did.

  “Good evening, madam.” He bowed. “I am Mr. Rhysdale, the proprietor of this establishment. It will be my pleasure to assist you. What game do you wish to play?”

  She lifted her eyes to him. Through the black mask he saw they were an intriguing green. Her hair, walnut-brown laced with gold, was loosely piled on her head.

  Who was she?

  “Mr. Rhysdale.” She nodded, and her voice was surprisingly soft and reticent. “I would like to play whist, but I do not have a partner.”

  How he would relish partnering her himself, but he did not play in his own gaming house. He would have to find a gentleman willing to be her partner, but he’d gain no enjoyment from the task.

  Rhys wanted her for himself.

  * * *

  A Reputation for Notoriety

  Harlequin® Historical #1141—June 2013

  Welcome to…

  The Masquerade Club:

  Identities concealed, desires revealed…

  This is your invitation to Regency society’s

  most exclusive gaming establishment.

  Leave your inhibitions at the door,

  don your disguise and indulge your desires!

  This month club proprietor Rhys, the most renowned gambler in London, finally meets his match.…

  A REPUTATION FOR NOTORIETY

  June 2013

  Rhys’s friend Xavier, the most devilish rogue in town, prefers to gamble with ladies’ hearts.

  Don’t miss his story, coming soon!

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and DIANE GASTON

  The Mysterious Miss M #777

  The Wagering Widow #788

  A Reputable Rake #800

  Mistletoe Kisses #823

  “A Twelfth Night Tale”

  Innocence and Impropriety #840

  The Vanishing Viscountess #879

  Scandalizing the Ton #916

  The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor #943

  “Justine and the Noble Viscount”

  *Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady #972

  *Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress #1009

  *Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy #1057

  †A Not So Respectable Gentleman? #1101

  Born to Scandal #1117

  **A Reputation for Notoriety #1141

  *Three Soldiers

  †spin-off from The Diamonds of Welbourne Manor

  **The Masquerade Club

  And in Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

  The Unlacing of Miss Leigh

  The Liberation of Miss Finch

  Did you know that these novels are also available as ebooks? Visit www.Harlequin.com.

  Author Note

  A Reputation for Notoriety is the first of two books in The Masquerade Club, a series in which identities are concealed and desires revealed. The Masquerade Club is a gaming hell (a gambling establishment) in Regency London, like those where in reality many a gentleman—and lady—lost vast fortunes playing cards or rolling dice.

  My own history of card-playing is not so dramatic. As children, my sisters and I played at gambling with our own toy roulette wheel and a real set of poker chips. We learned to play five-card stud and twenty-one. Game-playing, especially if for real or imaginary stakes, could easily consume a whole day, and often took up a great part of our summers.

  My father had no interest in cards, but my mother and aunt (the Aunt Loraine in my dedication) loved to play. Whenever we got together with their sister and our cousins we could hardly wait to get out the cards.

  The card game we played was Shanghai, a complicated rummy game that we adapted to make even more challenging. We played for money. Fifteen cents was the stake, but extra nickels could also be won (or lost). These games were competitive and cutthroat and riotous fun. Even now when we see our cousins we break out the cards and play Shanghai.

  The gambling hells of the Regency were, I dare say, not anything like playing Shanghai with my cousins, but I like to think we were not too dissimilar from Jane Austen and her characters, who spent many evenings playing such card games as Loo, Commerce and Cassino.

  I hope you enjoy The Masquerade Club, Celia—and Rhys, who has A Reputation for Notoriety.

  Visit my website at dianegaston.com or send an email to [email protected].

  In fond memory of my Aunt Loraine,

  who taught me to enjoy life, no matter what.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Prologue

  London—June 1819

  Rhys noticed the woman as soon as she appeared in the game room doorway. Taller than fashionable, she held her head high as she perused the room. Her face was half covered by a black mask reminiscent of those he’d seen in Venice, crowned with feathers and painted with gilt filigree. A large garnet was set between the eyes. Visible still were her full lips, tinted and enticing.

  In her deep red gown, matching the reds, greens and golds of the game room, she might have been an item he’d personally selected. He watched as she moved gracefully through the room, stepping carefully as if uncertain the space worthy of her. Did she intend to play hazard? Or one of the other games? He was keen that this woman should admire what he’d done to the gaming hell and enjoy herself.

  He wanted her to return.

  Rhys intensely wished for this gaming house to be a success. He would settle for nothing less than it becoming London’s most desirable place to gamble, a place both gentlemen and ladies would be eager to attend. Not for the profit it would earn, but to show he could be the best at whatever he tackled.

  The challenge exhilarated him, in a way he’d not experienced since the stimulation of battle. Only this time there was no carnage in its wake.

  This time there was a beautiful woman here to enjoy herself and it was his job to see that she did.

  She paused in the middle of the room and he quickly made his way to her.

  ‘Good evening, madam.’ He bowed. ‘I am Mr Rhysda
le, the proprietor of this establishment. It will be my pleasure to assist you. What game do you wish to play?’

  She lifted her eyes to him. Through the black mask he saw they were an intriguing green. Her hair, a walnut-brown laced with gold, was loosely piled on her head.

  Who was she?

  ‘Mr Rhysdale.’ She nodded and her voice was surprisingly soft and reticent. ‘I would like to play whist, but I do not have a partner.’

  How he would relish partnering her himself, but he did not play in his own gaming house. He would have to find a gentleman willing to be her partner, but he’d find no enjoyment in the task. His friend Xavier would play cards with her if Rhys asked, but women much too easily succumbed to Xavier’s handsome features. No, Rhys would not pass her on to Xavier.

  Rhys wanted her for himself.

  Chapter One

  London—May 1819, one month earlier

  Rhys and his friend Xavier sat at a table in the dining room of Stephen’s Hotel. They had just been served their food when Rhys glanced towards the doorway.

  Two men stood there, scanning the dining room.

  Rhys knew them. Had known them since childhood. Viscount Neddington, né William Westleigh, and his brother Hugh, the legitimate sons of Earl Westleigh.

  His brothers.

  Rhys turned back to his food.

  Xavier put down his fork with a clatter. ‘What the devil?’ He inclined his head towards the doorway. ‘Look who is here.’

  Rhys glanced up. ‘They are looking for someone.’

  Stephen’s Hotel catered to military men, or former military men like Rhys and Xavier. Not the usual stamping ground of the Westleighs.

  Rhys waited for the inevitable moment one of the Westleighs would notice him and slip his gaze away as if Rhys had never existed. Over the years when their paths had crossed, Neddington and Hugh always tried to act as if he’d never existed. Certainly that was their wish.

  Ned, the elder, taller brother, turned his head in Rhys’s direction. Their eyes locked, but this time Ned did not look away. This time he nudged his brother and the two walked straight for Rhys’s table.

  ‘They are headed here,’ Rhys told Xavier.

  His friend blew out a breath. ‘I’ll be damned...’

  Rhys continued to hold Ned’s gaze. Rhys always stood his ground with the Westleighs.

  They stopped at the table.

  ‘Rhys.’ Ned inclined his head in an effort, Rhys supposed, to appear cordial.

  ‘Gentlemen.’ Rhys would be damned if he’d greet them by name and pretend an intimacy that had never existed. He gestured towards Xavier. ‘My friend, Mr Campion.’

  ‘We are acquainted.’ Ned bowed in acknowledgement.

  ‘We are indeed.’ Xavier’s tone was sarcastic.

  Rhys cut another piece of meat. ‘Are you merely paying your respects, or do you seek me out?’

  ‘We seek you out,’ Hugh replied, his voice taut and anxious.

  Xavier glanced from one man to the other, obviously curious as to the purpose of this unusual visit.

  Rhys made his expression neutral. Years of card-playing taught him to conceal his thoughts and emotions. He certainly had no intention of revealing anything to a Westleigh. He lifted a piece of beef into his mouth.

  ‘Forgive us for interrupting your dinner.’ Ned’s tone was conciliatory, if somewhat stiff. ‘We need a word with you.’

  They needed a word with him? Now this was unique.

  Rhys deliberately kept his attention to his plate, but he gestured to the empty chairs at the table. ‘Have a seat.’

  Hugh, shorter and always more hot-headed, emitted an indignant sound.

  ‘We would prefer to speak in private.’ Ned seemed anxious to avoid offending Rhys in any way.

  Xavier straightened. If his friend were carrying a sword, Rhys suspected he’d have drawn it.

  Rhys gazed at the two men, seeing only the boys they once were. The bitter memory of their first encounter, when Rhys was nine, flashed through his mind. He’d confronted them with what he’d just learned—that they shared a father.

  That moment, like countless others from their childhoods, had resulted in flying fists and bloody noses.

  Rhys stared into eyes identical to his. Dark brown, framed by thick eyebrows. Like his, Ned’s and Hugh’s hair was close-cut and near-black. Rhys might be taller and thicker-muscled, but if he stood side by side with these two men, who could ever deny they were brothers?

  He exchanged a glance with Xavier, whose lips thinned in suspicion.

  Rhys shrugged. ‘Wait for me in the parlour off the hall. I’ll come to you as soon as I’ve finished eating.’

  Ned bowed curtly and Hugh glowered, but both turned and walked away.

  Xavier watched their retreat. ‘I do not trust them. Do you wish me to come with you?’

  Rhys shook his head. ‘There never was a time I could not take on both Westleighs.’

  ‘Just the same, I dislike the sound of this,’ Xavier countered. ‘They are up to something.’

  Rhys took another bite of his food. ‘Oh, they are up to something. On that we agree. But I will see them alone.’

  Xavier shot him a sceptical look.

  Rhys took his time finishing his meal, although he possessed no more appetite for it. In all likelihood this would be an unpleasant interview. All encounters with Ned and Hugh were unpleasant.

  Xavier clapped him on his shoulder before parting from him in the hall. ‘Take care, Rhys.’

  Rhys stepped into the parlour and Ned and Hugh turned to him. They’d remained standing.

  He gestured. ‘Follow me to my rooms.’

  He led them up the two flights of stairs to his set of rooms. The door opened to a sitting room and as soon as Rhys led the men in, his manservant appeared.

  ‘Some brandy for us, MacEvoy.’

  MacEvoy’s brows rose. MacEvoy, a man with an even rougher history than Rhys, had been his batman during the war. Obviously he recognised Hugh Westleigh from the battlefield.

  ‘Please sit.’ Rhys extended his arm to a set of chairs. It gave him a perverse pleasure that his furnishings were of fine quality, even if the items had been payment for various gambling debts. Rhys was doing well, which had not always been true.

  MacEvoy served the brandy and left the room.

  Rhys took a sip. ‘What is this about, that you must speak with me now? You’ve made such a point of avoiding me all these years.’

  Ned glanced away as if ashamed. ‘We may not have...spoken to you, but we have kept ourselves informed of your whereabouts and actions.’

  Ned was speaking false. Rhys would wager his whole fortune that these two had never bothered to discover what had happened to him after his mother had died and their father had refused any further support. The earl had left him penniless and alone, at a mere fourteen years of age.

  No use to contest the lie, however. ‘I’m flattered,’ he said instead.

  ‘You’ve had a sterling military record,’ Ned added.

  Hugh turned away this time.

  ‘I lived,’ Rhys said.

  Hugh had also been in the war. The two former officers had come across each other from time to time in Spain, France and finally at Waterloo, although Hugh had been in a prestigious cavalry regiment, the Royal Dragoons. Rhys ultimately rose to major in the 44th Regiment of Foot. After the disastrous cavalry charge at Waterloo, Rhys had pulled Hugh from the mud and saved him from a French sabre. They said not a word to each other then, and Rhys would not speak of it now. The moment had been fleeting and only one of many that horrendous day.

  Ned leaned forwards. ‘You make your living by playing cards now, is that not correct?’

  ‘Essentially,’ Rhys admitted.

  He’d learned to play cards at school, like every proper schoolboy, but he’d become a gambler on the streets of London. Gambling had been how he’d survived. It was still how he survived. He had become skilled at it out of necessity, earning enough to p
urchase his commission. Now that the war was over his winnings fed the foundation of a respectable fortune. Never again would his pockets be empty and his belly aching with hunger. He would be a success at...something. He did not know yet precisely what. Manufacturing, perhaps. Creating something useful, something more important than a winning hand of cards.

  Hugh huffed in annoyance. ‘Get on with it, Ned. Enough of this dancing around.’ Hugh had always been the one to throw the first fist.

  Ned looked directly into Rhys’s eyes. ‘We need your help, Rhys. We need your skill.’

  ‘At playing cards?’ That seemed unlikely.

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’ Ned rubbed his face. ‘We have a proposition for you. A business proposition. One we believe will be to your advantage, as well.’

  Did they think him a fool? Eons would pass before he’d engage in business with any Westleigh.

  Rhys’s skin heated with anger. ‘I have no need of a business proposition. I’ve done quite well...’ he paused ‘...since I was left on my own.’

  ‘Enough, Ned.’ Hugh’s face grew red with emotion. He turned to Rhys. ‘Our family is on the brink of disaster—’

  Ned broke in, his voice calmer, more measured. ‘Our father has been...reckless...in his wagering, his spending—’

  ‘He’s been reckless in everything!’ Hugh threw up his hands. ‘We are punting on the River Tick because of him.’

  Earl Westleigh in grave debt? Now that was a turn of affairs.

  Although aristocrats in severe debt tended to have abundantly more than the poor in the street. Ned and Hugh would never experience what Rhys knew of hunger and loneliness and despair.

  He forced away the memory of those days lest he reveal how they nearly killed him.

  ‘What can this have to do with me?’ he asked in a mild tone.

  ‘We need money—a great deal of it—and as quickly as possible,’ Hugh said.

  Rhys laughed at the irony. ‘Earl Westleigh wishes to borrow money from me?’

  ‘Not borrow money,’ Ned clarified. ‘Help us make money.’

  Hugh made an impatient gesture. ‘We want you to set up a gaming house for us. Run the place. Help us make big profits quickly.’