lay together hours after the sun had set and the trays of dinner brought to their room had been discarded on a table near the door. Jasper held Jane while she slept, his body content from their lovemaking, if not his mind. In the Fleet Street building today, he’d begun to believe he could finally leave the gambling life. Like Mrs Robillard’s letter, the stranger had reminded him how tight a hold it still had over him.
He pressed a kiss to Jane’s temple and inhaled her sweet perfume, searching for the calm she offered, but he failed to find it. During their first few minutes in bed when her eyes had held his, more than friendship had passed between them. Remorse had stopped him from reaching out to seize it. If he’d never gone to America, if he’d rejected Uncle Peter’s vices instead of embracing them, then he’d be worthy of Jane’s heart.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the clock beside him chimed twelve times and exhaustion made his thoughts spin faster. She was doing everything she could to free him of this life while he was clinging to it, and risking her peace of mind and her safety in the process. He took a deep breath, concentrating on Jane’s steady breaths and the softness of her cheek against his arm to try to settle himself. In his mind he pictured her beneath him, crying out in pleasure at his touch, laughing with him at jokes and sharing his troubles. It settled him for a while, but the later it grew, the more the agitation inside him continued to build. He should stay here tonight with her, but he wanted to go to the hell. If Lord Fenton or Captain Christiansen had connected him to the club, then they might confront him tonight, allowing him to deal with them instead of worrying about what they might do.
Jasper slid his arm out from underneath her. She murmured in her sleep and he paused, waiting to see if she would awaken, but she rolled over and went back to sleep. He lingered bedside the bed and watched her sleep, a peace he craved decorating her pretty face. He wanted to caress her soft cheek, to crawl in beside her and hold her, to see if she could push back the shadows tonight like she had in the carriage, but the demons were too strong. With regret, he took his clothes off the back of a nearby chair and left the room.
* * *
‘Jasper Charton, I’ve been waiting for you.’ Chester Stilton stepped out from the shadows near the warehouse door, his cravat as dishevelled as his hair.
Jasper paused beside his carriage, careful to keep his panic under control. ‘What are you doing skulking about warehouse doorways in the middle of the night?’
‘I went to your building in Fleet Street, but you weren’t there. I’m glad you decided to come here tonight to play. I must speak with you.’
So Chester was the one Mark spoke to. What he wanted remained to be seen, but as long as Chester believed Jasper was another gambler, it lessened the risk of him seeing him here. Jasper could think up a thousand ways to explain his presence to his parents if need be, more lies, more deceit. It came too easily to him, even if it still stung his heart like a punch. ‘There’s no reason for us to speak. We aren’t associates or friends.’
‘I know we’ve had our differences, but I need your help.’
‘You insulted my fiancée.’
Chester shrugged, trying to appear humble, but it further distorted his already rodent-like appearance. ‘A lapse in judgement on my part, but you didn’t catch me at my best. I must play tonight. You said you were connected here. Perhaps you can speak with the owner. I need to win before my creditors force me abroad.’
The fever lighting up his small eyes made Jasper take a step back. He’d seen this look in a hundred other men’s eyes before they’d lost everything. That moment was when Jasper should have stepped in to stop them, to save them from being consumed by their habits. As much as he disliked Chester, he wouldn’t give him the chance to ruin himself.
‘No, I won’t help you. Go home and speak with your father about work, tell him about your debts and find an honourable way to pay them before it’s too late.’ He was a desperate man which explained why he’d approached him. Desperate men were capable of anything, except walking away from the cards.
Chester’s greed turned to hate and he clutched Jasper by the lapel. ‘You think you can look down on me because your father refused to give me a loan?’
Jasper knocked his hands away and pushed him back, ready to pummel the man if it drove him from here and saved him for the mistakes so many, including Mr Robillard, had made. ‘I don’t care who my father extends money to or not. His business isn’t mine and if you’re smart, you won’t rely on luck to save you. Only hard work and legitimate effort can do that.’
Chester pulled back in disgust as if Jasper had suggested he accept the King’s shilling and enlist to escape his debts.
Then the door to the warehouse opened and Mr Bronson stepped through it, a number of credit notes in one hand. He failed to notice Chester. ‘Jasper, good you’re here. I need you to sign for Mr Portland’s credit. He isn’t so lucky tonight.’
Jasper flicked his glance to Chester and Mr Bronson caught his mistake too late.
Chester was all triumphant smiles while he glanced back and forth between the two men. It made Jasper wish he had struck him.
‘No wonder you knew about my debts,’ Chester hissed with gloating realisation. ‘This is your place, isn’t it? It certainly explains the clientele and all the expensive things you can afford.’ He jerked his thumb at Jasper’s carriage.
‘What are you doing here? You were told not to come back,’ Mr Bronson growled with an authority to help cover his mistake, but both he and Jasper were acutely aware of it.
The cheesemonger’s son tugged at his collar before he regained his nerve. He turned his beady eyes on Jasper. ‘I’m glad I did. It seems tonight will be more lucrative than I originally imagined. What will you pay to keep me from telling everyone what you’re up to here, especially your sanctimonious father? Imagine how he’ll feel when he learns his progeny runs a gambling hell, especially after giving me a lecture on the evils of cards? He’ll be the laughingstock of the Fleet.’
‘I won’t give you a farthing.’ This wasn’t the first time someone had tried to blackmail him. He’d learned from Uncle Patrick long ago never to give in. If he did, Chester would own him and every night it would be a new and larger demand until he ruined him, then eventually told his secret anyway. He was already a slave to the hell, his past and all his lies. He wouldn’t become one to this fool. ‘Say what you like to who you like, it makes no difference to me.’
Chester’s smug smile dropped like his jaw. Jasper brushed past him, Mr Bronson falling in step beside him as they headed inside.
‘You’ll regret not paying me,’ Chester yelled after them before the door swung shut, leaving him outside in the mist.
Jasper stopped in the darkness, pressed his fists to his hips and took a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mr Bronson offered, his voice as tense as Jasper’s insides.
‘It’s not your fault.’ It’s mine. Try as he might to avoid complications, they seemed to be seeking him out.
‘What are you going to do about him?’
‘I don’t know. With any luck, he’ll flee abroad before his desire for revenge outpaces his good sense.’
‘We could handle it the way Patrick used to,’
