“It’s expected to forget details about someone like me,” Tom assured. “After all, I’m not really that important. Am I?”
“Well, you are a friend of the Duke of Blackwood. How the hell did you manage that?” And the man did look upset, as if the friendship should have belonged to him.
Tom smiled slowly then leaned back in his chair, trying to appear secretive. “The strangest people do come across my path. You know, pleasure-seekers and all that.”
“Blackwood’s a pleasure seeker?” Turnbridge guffawed.
Tom said nothing. Happy to lure the man deeper and deeper into his trust. And Blackwood was a pleasure seeker. But his pleasures were in the form of books and conversation, as opposed to the mewling sitting before him who clearly only cared for the most hedonistic and cruel pursuits.
“I heard,” Tom ventured, “that there was a wager made about Lady Elizabeth… about ruining her.” He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, giving the air of consideration. “And I thought, well, that sounds a good game. Something along my line, after all.”
Turnbridge stilled, his slightly too full lips parting. “Along your line?”
“Yes,” Tom affirmed, locking gazes with the cruel man. “It is the only sport that’s truly worth doing. Isn’t it? The breaking of a lady.” He shrugged. “Taking by force? Only powerful men know the pleasure.”
Turnbridge coughed then suddenly a hard glint lit his eyes. “I see, I have found a fellow spirit. Even if we are not from the same rank.” Turnbridge’s lip curled. “It is surprising how that can occur.”
Tom sensed the lord might pull back and so said, “Of course, we are not the same, but you might fancy my coin in the pot, and someone who loves the hunt. Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose I would,” Turnbridge allowed.
Tom cocked his head to the side, forcing himself to be pleasant. “Well, then it might be nice to find a few other gentlemen who like the same sort of pursuits as we do. Perhaps we could work together. Perhaps we could make a practice of it, wagering on the ruination of young ladies. I do enjoy a fresh piece. Don’t you, Lord Turnbridge? There’s nothing finer.”
“The best bit?” Turnbridge said slowly? “Spoiling it and throwing it aside. After all, what can one do with the spoiled piece, but toss it like it’s refuse.”
“Indeed,” Tom agreed even as he dug his nails into his own flesh to keep from breaking Turnbridge’s teeth. “I’ve seen a good many pieces thrown into the gutter. It’s where they belong, after all.”
Tom knew the words. He knew the part he had to play, even though the words tasted like filth on his tongue.
He waved for a servant for brandy.
The servant did not hesitate, good servant that he was.
Tom knew that the servant probably didn’t care for serving him.
Tom didn’t care.
After all, servants had to cling to the rules that gave them feelings of power, just as he had struggled to find power too. He could not wish them any different.
One of the footmen in crimson livery quickly brought him a brandy.
Tom drank it slowly, willing his plan to work. “Well then, what is the stake in the wager?”
“A hundred pounds,” Turnbridge said.
Tom resisted a frown. “So little?”
“It’s not truly about the coin,” Turnbridge explained. “But we could wager more to make it more interesting?”
Tom inclined his head. “Then let us make a new wager.”
Turnbridge stared at him for a long moment, then looked up and waved.
Three gentlemen were sitting in the corner, laughing, gossiping away.
“Over here, chaps,” Turnbridge called and with that, they quickly came over to him.
As they approached, the three kept talking rapidly about the ring, broken teeth, and a good right hook.