and Bourne moved with an agility that few ever expected, clasping one of the earl’s arms and twisting until his face was pressed firmly against the door. Bourne shook the lean man once, twice before saying, “Think very carefully about your next action. I find I am not feeling so magnanimous as I was mere moments ago.”
“I want to see Chase.” The words were slurred against the oak.
“Instead, you’ll see us.”
“I’ve been a member of The Angel since the beginning. You owe me. He owes me.”
“On the contrary, it is you who owes us.”
“I’ve given enough money to this place . . .”
“How generous of you. Shall we call for the book and see how much you still owe?” Croix went still. “Ah. I see you are beginning to understand. The land is ours now. You send your solicitor round in the morning with the deed, or I come looking for you myself. Is that clear?” Bourne did not wait for an answer, instead stepping back and releasing the earl. “Get out.”
Croix turned to face them, panic in his gaze. “Keep the land, Bourne. But not the membership . . . don’t take the membership. I’m a half a tick away from marrying. Her dowry will cover all my losses and more. Don’t take the membership.”
Bourne hated the keening plea, the undercurrent of anxiety in the words. He knew that Croix couldn’t resist the urge to wager. The temptation to win.
If Bourne had an ounce of compassion in him, he’d feel sorry for the unsuspecting girl.
But compassion was not a trait Bourne claimed.
Croix turned wide eyes on Temple. “Temple. Please.”
One of Temple’s black brows rose as he crossed his massive arms across his wide chest. “With such a generous dowry, I’m sure one of the lower hells will welcome you.”
Of course they would. The lower hells—filled with murderers and cheats—would welcome this insect of a man and his terrible luck with open arms.
“Bollocks the lower hells,” Croix spat. “What will people think? What will it take? I’ll pay double . . . triple. She’s plenty of money.”
Bourne was nothing if not a businessman. “You marry the girl and pay your debts, with interest, and we shall reinstate your membership.”
“What do I do until then?” The sound of the earl’s whine was unpleasant.
Relief made Croix stupid. “You’re one to talk. Everyone knows what you did.”
Temple stilled, his voice filled with menace. “And what was that?”
Terror removed the minimal intelligence from the earl’s instincts, and he threw a punch at Temple, who caught the blow in one enormous fist and pulled the smaller man toward him with wicked intent.
“What was that?” he repeated.
The earl began to mewl like a babe. “N-nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t kill me. I’ll leave. Now. I swear. Please . . . d-don’t hurt me.”
Temple sighed. “You’re not worth my energy.” He released the earl.
“Get out,” Bourne said, “before I decide that you are worth mine.”
The earl fled the room.
Bourne watched him go before adjusting the line of his waistcoat and straightening his frock coat. “I thought he might soil himself when you took hold of him.”
“He would not be the first.” Temple sat in a low chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing one booted ankle over the other. “I wondered how long it would take you.”
Bourne brushed a hand across the half-inch linen cuff that peeked out from underneath his coat, making certain the swath of white fabric was even before returning his attention to Temple and pretending not to understand the question. “To do what?”
“To restore your clothing to perfection.” One side of Temple’s mouth curled in a mocking smile. “You’re like a woman.”
Bourne leveled the enormous man with a look. “A woman with an extraordinary right hook.”
The smile became a grin, the expression showing off Temple’s nose, broken and healed in three places. “You aren’t honestly suggesting that you could beat me in battle, are you?”
Bourne was assessing the condition of his cravat in a nearby mirror. “I’m suggesting precisely that.”
“May I invite you into the ring?”
“Anytime.”
“No one is getting into the ring. Certainly not with Temple.” Bourne and Temple turned toward the words, spoken from a hidden door at the far end of the room, where Chase, the third partner in The Fallen Angel, watched them.
Temple laughed at the words and turned to face Bourne. “You see? Chase knows enough to admit that you’re no