“He knows you’re not simply Anna,” Cross said.
“And he’s not able to keep his hands off you,” Temple said. “If he finds that you’re also Chase . . .”
She did not like the words, or the implication that West was more connected to her life than she imagined. Nor did she like the way that implication made her feel—as though she couldn’t quite take a deep breath. She’d felt this way before, and she did not fancy feeling it again.
She channeled Chase, remembering the shadow that had crossed his face as he’d discussed the Earl of Tremley. Eleven years. Remembering the threat he’d voiced—the hint that if she did not provide him with information on Tremley, he would release her secrets. He was a smart man—one who knew what he wanted. “What do we know about him?”
Bourne’s brows rose. “West?”
She nodded. “What’s in his file?”
“Nothing,” Cross said absently, collecting the cards and shuffling once more. “There’s a sister.” Cynthia West. A pretty girl, welcome in Society despite her lack of breeding. West’s money had purchased her support. “Unmarried.”
Georgiana nodded, knowing better than anyone what was inside the slim file in her safe. “And nothing else.”
“Nothing at all?”
She’d looked a few times in the early years, but she’d stopped as West had become ally in her battle with Society. “Not much,” Bourne replied. “His initial funding came from an anonymous donor for the gossip rag, which came to pay for the other papers. I’ve looked for evidence of the donor for years, but no one seems to know anything about it, except that there was a fair amount of money involved.”
“Nonsense,” Cross said. “There’s always a trail when it comes to money.”
“Not this money,” Bourne replied.
“Family money?”
“He’s not landed. There appears to be no one but the sister,” she said.
“So, he had a mysterious benefactor,” Temple said. “So did we at the beginning.” The Duke of Leighton had bankrolled his sister’s whim, with the understanding that no one ever know his identity—a condition to which Georgiana had been only too happy to agree.
She met the Duke of Lamont’s black gaze. “You’re saying he’s a man with no secrets.”
“I’m saying that he’s a man with no interesting secrets.”
She shook her head. “Everyone has an interesting secret. West is man enough to have more than one. So tell me, why don’t we know them?”
Temple’s gaze narrowed on her. “You can’t mean to search for them.”
She did not like the condemnation in his tone. “You’ve never stopped me before. When we founded this casino, it was with the understanding that you were in charge of the ring, Bourne the tables, Cross the books. And I was in charge of the information we needed to ensure that the venture succeeded.”
Cross spoke up. “If you do this, you play with fire. He has a great deal of power.”
“As do I.”
“But his power grows as Chase’s is diminished. Your secrets will destroy you.”
“West won’t discover the truth.”
Cross did not look so certain. “They always learn the truth.”
“Who?”
He did not answer the question, which suited her fine, as she did not like the hint of what he might have said. “Do not tempt the lion, Anna. Not this one. Not one who is so much a friend.”
She thought of the kiss earlier in the evening. There was nothing about it that was friendly. Indeed, it had pleasured and tempted and teased and devastated, but it had not been friendly. It had done nothing but make her want him, and she knew that wanting a man was not the same as trusting him. She’d learned that the last time she’d been kissed. The first time she’d been kissed.
She needed protection from him.
Not him. The thought whispered through her.
Perhaps it was right. Perhaps she did not need protection from him. Perhaps she needed protection from herself. From how he made her feel.
But either way, one thing was certain.
“Friend or foe, he knows my secrets.” She looked to her partners. “I need to know his.”
She was saved from having to face their questions by a knock at the door. Cross called for the newcomer to enter—only a handful of people knew the owners’ suite existed, each person trusted without question.
Justin Day, the casino’s pit boss, entered, finding her instantly, and crossing the room to her.
“Is it done?” she asked.
The majordomo nodded once. “Burlington, Montlake, and Russell, each happy to end their suit.”
Bourne turned curious. “Suit of whom?”
Temple replied, “Aren’t they all after the Earl of Holborn’s girl?”
Four heads turned in the duke’s direction. Georgiana voiced their collective disdain. “Your newfound interest in Society is terribly unsettling.”
Temple shrugged one enormous shoulder. “They are after her, though, aren’t they?”
Not since Lady Mary Ashehollow called Caroline a whore, they weren’t.