Page 1 of Kiss a Rake at Midnight

One

Dela ChanceSocialClub

London, England

JULY 1827 – EARLY MORNING

Aswas FletcherWestbrook’s wont, he walked through his social club’s now silent and empty rooms with a cup of strong coffee. Tonight, like every other night, the place would teem with glittering guests eager and, in some cases, desperate for a few hours of entertainment.

Cautionand wariness tempered the sense of pride that accompanied these daily inspections. Someone had slipped a threatening note beneath his office door last night.

Thefirst such secret message in months.

“Bloody, sodding hell.”

Fletcherswore beneath his breath before blowing on the scalding, sweetened brew and taking a bracing gulp. Nothing suspicious had occurred since last March when TorrianWestbrook, his cousin and a private detective, had apprehended the offender responsible for setting two fires, as well as sabotaging and vandalizing Fletcher’s enterprises and sending other ominous letters.

Theculprit, MikePrescott, a low-end gaming hell competitor, hadn’t appreciated Fletcher’s scruples or losing elite customers to the classier, and quite frankly safer, establishment. Prescott had grown careless, hence his apprehension and imprisonment.

AsFletcher stood in the card room with its dozens of round tables, black Italian marble fireplace, and the occasional cobalt blue and gold striped damask settee, he pondered this unwelcome and unfortunate turn of events. He honestly believed he’d put that troublesome annoyance behind him for good.

Untillast night.

Hishalf-brother, Leonidas, and the only Westbrook besides Fletcher and their cousin TorrianWestbrook, who knew the whole situation, believed the harassment was over too. So much so the deliriously happy scoundrel had married Fletcher’s new Scottish bookkeeper and currently enjoyed a honeymoon in the South of France.

PerhapsFletcher had grown lax—let his guard down too soon.

Butwhy shouldn’t he have done?

Convictedof attempted murder, arson, and a half dozen other crimes, Prescott rotted away in Newgate.

Onething was for certain.

Hecouldn’t be behind this latest episode.

So, who was?

Perchance, Prescott hadn’t acted alone as he vowed, and his accomplice had become emboldened once more.

Mouthtight, Fletcher searched his memory for unfamiliar faces when he’d made his final surveillance of the club last evening, just before midnight. The mental inventory did little good. New club members were as numerous and common as pigeons in London.

Whatset De la Chance and his other establishments, Ivories & Aces and TheEmporiumTheater, apart from other gaming dens and men’s clubs was Fletcher’s strict, unrelenting vetting of members as well as absolute intolerance for known cheats, rakehells—present company excluded, of course—and randy men on the prowl making overtures toward Fletcher’s female employees.

Heemployed over twenty of the best bodyguards in London to ensure the women remained unharried and the premises were as impenetrable as a cloistered virgin nun behind convent walls. Yet, somehow, someone had managed to not only sneak onto the grounds, but they’d found their way undetected to the private quarters on the club’s other side.

Unlikemany gaming hells, his upper rooms weren’t available for liaisons with bit o’ muslins on his payroll. Fletcher never had and never would employ prostitutes.

Itmust’ve been a guest who breached his inner sanctum.

Butwho?

Whyhadn’t one of his security team seen them?

Fletcher’snape hair stood on end, alerting him that he wasn’t alone.

Slowly, he rotated toward the card room’s entrance, prepared to defend himself with the ugly knife sheathed at his waist. Upon recognizing the small form sauntering through the opening, adorned on either side with heavy royal blue draperies held in place by a thick gold silk cord, he blew out a relieved breath.

SeanKenney, a perpetually cheerful, if somewhat small and frail Irish lad of all work, gazed around the room with the chairs overturned on the tables that he was tasked with returning to the floor each morning. Unlike most of the club’s other employees, Sean and a few others who tended to more menial tasks weren’t required to wear all black.