Marquess of Diamonds

Lord Dartagnan Darlington, The Duke of Darlington, sat across from his closest friend, ally, and companion through many a lurid tryst and tried to keep his poker face in place. Jack knew him better than anyone, which made lying to his friend exceptionally difficult. “Do you have any plans with Emily between now and the wedding?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice light.

Which was odd in and of itself. He had a naturally deep and rumbling baritone much more suited to thinly veiled threats than to light banter about ladies.

Jack squinted an eye. “Odd question.” His friend turned his head to the side. “Daring,” he asked, using Dartagnan’s nickname at the club. 

Actually, Jack had a nickname too, Effing. But Tag had known Jack since before the club and somehow, he’d always thought of the Lord of Effington as just Jack. “What?” 

“Are you feeling all right? You’re not acting like yourself.”

Tag snapped his teeth together. This was not going the way he’d planned. He needed to redirect the conversation quickly. “I’m fine. The last time I saw Emily, however, she threatened to call off the wedding. I’m concerned for you.”

Jack grimaced as he looked down. “Right. Thanks for reminding me.”

Tag’s gut clenched with guilt. He’d wanted to distract Jack, not hurt him. When Emily had walked into the back room of their secret club with her sisters and cousins in tow, their livelihood, at least the fun part of it, had been jeopardized.  If word got out they ran the club, it would ruin the mystery that surrounded their identities and could cost them patrons and coin…. One of Den of Sins’ greatest assets was the mystery that surrounded its owners. Men theorized they were pirates, highwaymen, or cutthroats. No one ever concocted a story that declared the club run by a duke and his fellow peers. “Sorry, chap. I was just worried. You’ve patched things up with her?”

Jack splayed his fingers on the desk. “More or less.” He cleared his throat. “But she’s been exceptionally nervous and her sisters and cousins—” Jack’s head popped up. “Who you’ve obviously met.”

Tag gave a curt nod trying to disguise that the sisters and cousins were the exact reason he’d come. “I vaguely remember them.” 

Jack cocked a brow. “Oh please. Flames ignited between you and Minnie.”

He snorted despite himself. “Those weren’t flames. It was just her bright red hair.” Fiery shades of copper as glaring as her personality. 

It was Jack’s turn to snort. “Daring. I know when you’re attracted to a woman.” 

Tag lowered his brow, leaning forward. “This time you misunderstand. It was not attraction. I was honestly stunned and appalled by the woman. A more flamboyant example of feminine attributes has never crossed my path.”

Jack pushed back in his chair, arching a brow. “More flamboyant than the group of gypsies you hired one year for my birthday? More garish than the troop of actresses you brought to—”

“Point made,” Tag grated. “They were women of a different cloth. Minnie, as you called her, is the granddaughter of an earl. She should a have more sedated decorum.”

Jack stared at him for a moment before he shook his head. “I agree on that point. There is little that is sedated about Minnie. She does everything with a great deal of zest, energy, and enthusiasm. Even verbally sparring with dukes.”

Tag’s mouth went annoyingly dry. Because he thought of one activity in particular where zest, energy, and enthusiasm would play out nicely. The acts he pictured also involved that mane of glowing hair trailing down her shoulders and onto his, spilling across his pillow. For a moment, his eyes closed.

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