Chapter One
Derek Marcus Andrew Kent, the Duke of Chase, did not usually consider murder.
Tonight was an exception.
As he stood near the fireplace, leaning against the marble mantel, sipping his brandy, he watched the events unfold with a shudder of horror.
He had seen many a shocking thing in his time. Men gambling their entire fortunes away, destroying their families on the toss of dice or the turn of a card. It was part of life when one had more money than one knew what to do with. More often than not, instead of doing something sensible or productive for all, some did things that were absurd.
Tonight was the most absurd of all.
As he watched Lord Craven and the Marquess of Halford tossing dice from a cup in the candlelit room, he swallowed the acrid taste of disgust crawling up his throat. The scents of cologne and courtesans’ perfumes wafting through the air did not help.
Even through the loud, boasting roars of the men and ladies of the night winning and losing at the tables, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Craven and Halford, a man he’d always thought decent.
What was transpiring this night was not typical.
And because of the shocking nature of it, a crowd of bucks, dandies, rakes, and rogues gathered about, hanging on each roll. Those gentlemen stood with eager anticipation, smoking cheroots, drinking their brandy, laughing, guffawing, and making loud noises of shock and amusement as the dice rolled.
The wager was a lady, and not just any lady. A young lady. The Marquess of Halford’s eldest daughter.
Chase could scarcely believe it was truly happening, but happening it was. A wave of disdain for the men cheering and laughing as if the young lady was nothing more than a broodmare at market swept through him.
He shouldn’t have been shocked. It was a general attitude of many gentlemen regarding the ladies of their family. They were nothing more than pawns to increase wealth, power, and lands.
It was, of course, illegal to wager a daughter, a sister, a wife, but illegal to aristocrats often meant nothing, as he well knew. The truth was, there was a precedent in it.
After all, the Duke of Richmond had lost his own son’s hand in a gambling wager, and that son had had to marry a young lady over that wager. There’d been no choice for the young people. Oh no. Honor dictated the bet be upheld.
Honor.
Chase took a long drink, unable to resist the tug that he do something. Anything to end the inhumanity.
It was as if history was unfolding right here, but what the devil was Halford thinking? He was a scholar. A lover of artifacts and history. He had no great reputation for lechery or misdeeds. He was more likely to be seen in a quiet corner, sipping brandy and reading. Not wagering his fortune, let alone his daughter.
On the other hand, Lord Craven had a reputation of being an absolute bounder. Everyone knew this. Yes, he had wealth, but no one liked him. He was not a man of substance. As a matter of fact, he was older and had a reputation for leering at the young ladies.
Chase had heard of Victoria Kirby, daughter of the Marquess of Halford. Her reputation was all but legend in the ton. She was difficult, unpleasant, and unattractive—according to popular opinion. It was a reputation that she had gained for herself, because, well, when one apparently was not a diamond of the first water, sometimes one’s tongue was the only weapon one had.
He’d never met her himself, but he rather admired that fortifying reputation she’d developed.
Unfortunately, it seemed that her father had grown tired of her marriage-less state and was taking matters into his own hands. Halford was important enough that a man like Craven would be thrilled at the familial attachment…and Craven definitely had a gleam in his eye that suggested he quite liked the idea of winning said young lady, as if she were a pile of coins.
Craven was all but salivating as he clutched the dice cup in his ringed hands. The lech clearly knew he was about to gain a young lady of great fortune, good family, and a wife who would hate him. A young wife he could break like a filly.
A terrible thing that some men seemed to enjoy.
A young lady of Victoria Kirby’s reputation would certainly hate a man like Craven. She had a reputation for intelligence, for wit, and for the ability to cut a gentleman down—something, once again, that Chase admired.
Something Craven would love to blot out.
Blast, he could take it no longer, and before he could think another thought, his feet were guiding him over to the table.
He stood between the two gentlemen and placed his snifter down, declaring his intention to stay. “This is a devil’s bargain,” he drawled.
Halford shrugged. “Devil’s bargain it may be, but happening it is.”
Chase ground his teeth but asked with deadly calm, “Are you truly gambling your daughter away?”