In Debt To The Earl. Elizabeth Rolls

the pillows. ‘I wanted advice, not your money!’

      ‘If I didn’t believe that, you wouldn’t be getting either,’ James said. ‘Listen, you aren’t the first youngster to make a fool of himself in London, and—’ he grimaced slightly at the memory ‘—I don’t suppose I was either.’

      ‘You?’ Nick sounded as though he could as easily have believed St Paul’s had heaved itself up off its foundations and walked away on chicken legs.

      James reminded himself that his cousin was nineteen. ‘I wasn’t born staid and respectable,’ he said. Far from it.

      Nick flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I didn’t mean that! It just seems unlikely that you could have done something this stupid.’

      He’d been a great deal more stupid. ‘Believe it or not, you don’t have a monopoly on idiocy,’ he said. ‘But that’s beside the point. The point is that someone bailed me out and never let me repay her.’

      Nick stared. ‘Her? Who?’

      James cleared his throat. ‘What I’m saying is that I’ll sort this out and consider that I’ve done something towards clearing an old obligation.’ He was fairly sure Elizabeth would see it that way.

      ‘Now I feel like a worm as well as an idiot,’ Nick muttered. ‘I will pay you back, whether you like it or not.’

      ‘Fine,’ said James, knowing better than to tell the idiot boy that the money didn’t matter. If it mattered to Nick, so much the better. ‘Now, you’d better tell me who and where I have to pay. And while we’re at it you can furnish me with Captain Hensleigh’s direction.’

      Nick blew out a breath. ‘I don’t know it, but you’ll find the Cockpit easily enough.’

      ‘The Cockpit? Is that the hell?’ James asked.

      Nick nodded. ‘Yes. It’s in an old cellar. Used to have cocking there, apparently. He’s there most nights.’ He frowned. ‘You don’t need him, though. Fellow called Kilby bought the vowels. One of his bullies let the name slip, but they said to ask at the Maid and Magpie tavern with the money.’

      Paget’s return with coffee gave James a moment to think. He sat down on a chair by the bed and sipped. The first thing was to pay off the debt. Before Nick got another beating from this Kilby’s enforcers. After that...

      James’s jaw hardened. Then he’d go after Captain Hensleigh.

      ‘James?’

      He looked at Nick. ‘Hmm?’

      ‘You aren’t planning something stupid, are you?’

      ‘No.’ The lie came easily. ‘I was thinking that your parents are due in town soon.’ He ignored Nick’s groan. ‘You can go out to my place at Chiswick for a couple of weeks until you look less like something the cat coughed up and that rib has a chance to heal.’

      Nick smiled weakly. ‘Nice try. And you don’t think Mama will just pop down for a visit? Chiswick isn’t that far out of town.’

      James shrugged. ‘Not if I hint to your father that you took a woman with you.’

      Nick sank even further into the pillows and James noted with some amusement that under his bruises the boy was blushing. ‘Damn it, James! They’ll think I’m in the petticoat line!’

      James suppressed a grin. ‘Aren’t you? Well, it’s your choice. Do you prefer your mama clucking over you like a hen with one chick?’

      Nick groaned. ‘All right, all right. I take your point. Thank you.’

      ‘You can go in my carriage when the doctor says you can travel,’ James said, sipping his coffee. ‘This is excellent, by the way. Do you think Paget might confide his secret to my cook?’

       Chapter One

      Three weeks later

      James blinked across the table at his opponent. ‘I make that a thousand pounds, Hensleigh. Time to settle up, don’t you think?’ He spoke with extra precision, as if without care his speech might have slurred. With seeming clumsiness, he knocked his glass of burgundy. ‘Oops,’ he said absently.

      Hensleigh smiled broadly as he righted the glass. ‘Oh, come now, Cambourne! I’m no faint heart. The merest reverse! You must give me at least a chance to recoup my losses. Double or nothing on the next hand? Winner take all?’

      James would have preferred to end this farce right there and then, walking out with his winnings, or at least Hensleigh’s vowels. Frankly he thought he’d spent enough time in the Cockpit.

      Finding the hell had been easy. Getting in had been trickier, even with the password Nick had given him, but a crown to the doorman had worked a minor miracle. He’d noted Hensleigh on his first visit, a tall, bluff, open-faced sort, with thinning ginger hair, but hadn’t approached him. Instead he’d played dice at another table, careful not to win or lose too heavily, once he’d worked out how the dice were weighted. He’d dressed carefully, making sure he looked and behaved like a well-heeled squire fresh from the country—a pigeon ready for plucking. He’d also introduced himself as plain Mr Cambourne. In this situation his title would be a hindrance. He’d watched the card play, come to the conclusion that Hensleigh was far from the only Captain Sharp in the room, and planned accordingly.

      Sure enough, the first time he’d played whist, he’d been allowed to win. Easily. Afterwards, when Hensleigh had come up to congratulate him, he’d grumbled that his opponent wasn’t skilled enough to make it entertaining. The second time he’d lost a little, but won more, swaggering away two hundred pounds to the good. Tonight Hensleigh had approached him, all “hail, fellow, well met” and “care for a hand or two?” Apparently tonight was plucking time.

      James considered. Double or nothing would end the affair and he wanted it over. The dingy, smoky hell, with its complement of the desperate and the dangerous, bored him. Several women, their profession—and assets—very obvious, prowled the room, only too ready to relieve a man of his winnings if the professional card sharps at the tables failed to do it. Occasionally a woman would leave with one or more of the players. It could not be said that they slipped away. Nothing so discreet. A few times James had heard the price agreed on.

      He veiled his contempt with a bleary stare. ‘Double or nothing?’ he said. ‘That would make your losses two thousand pounds, Hensleigh.’

      The fellow smirked. ‘Oh, well,’ he said, with another broad smile, ‘What’s life without a little risk? Shall we have a new deck for it, eh?’

      James raised his brows. ‘Why not?’ He sat back as Hensleigh signalled.

      ‘A new deck here, my man,’ Hensleigh said to the servant who came over. ‘And a cloth for this mess. Mr Cambourne and I have agreed to double or nothing. Winner take all.’

      The servant’s gaze sharpened. ‘Aye, Cap’n.’ He scurried away.

      ‘Another glass of wine, Cambourne?’ Hensleigh suggested, his hand hovering by the bottle.

      ‘Why not?’ James plastered a vacuous grin to his face. Hensleigh had been pouring glass after glass of wine for him with a fine appearance of generosity. No doubt he assumed James was at least verging on foxed, if not well beyond it. In fact, most of the wine had been surreptitiously poured on to the carpet.

      James lounged back to wait, as another servant wiped the table.

      The first servant brought the new deck and glanced at Hensleigh, who held out his hand. ‘Thank you, my man.’ He cut the deck.

      James waited until he began to shuffle, straightened and said quietly, with no trace of impairment, ‘It’s my turn to deal, Hensleigh.’

      Several