“Mother.” Minnie’s head gave an actual throb. “You’re getting your hopes up. I’ve told you he’s not going to offer.”
Her mother sniffed. “You’re wrong.” Then she paused. “What’s your back-up plan if he isn’t?”
“Mother,” Ada called. “Minnie doesn’t feel well. We should discuss this in the morning.”
Her mother nodded. “Fine. But His Grace said he would return tomorrow, see that you’re ready.” Then she turned to go back out the door.
Minnie sighed with relief. Her mother was just too much tonight. “I will.”
At the door, her mother looked back over her shoulder. “And Minnie. Come up with another suitor. I meant what I said. You’ll be settled before the season begins.” Then her mother left, closing the doors behind her.
Minnie looked over at Ada. “She is going to be so disappointed.”
Ada nibbled her lip. “Forget about her. It’s you I’m worried about.”
Minnie was concerned too. She’d just ruined her future, burned it to the ground without even a puff of smoke. What would she do with the rest of her life?
Tag jogged down the steps of Minnie’s home and approached his carriage. “Home, sir?” The driver called.
“No,” he answered. “Take me to the club.”
The drive was short because the streets were nearly empty. As Tag stared out the window, he thought about Minnie and what she’d done this evening. Scrubbing his head with his hands, he squeezed his eyes shut.
He wasn’t as quick with his words as she was, but that didn’t stop his gut from filling with guilt. He’d left her to defend him.
Granted, she was the strongest woman he’d ever met, but still. The countess was his battle to fight, not hers. The problem was he hadn’t a clue how to do it.
He supposed the only answer was to allow her to tell all of London about his club. Perhaps, it was time to retire from his secret occupation. He thought back to what Jack had said, about how he was ready for a different life.
Tag pushed his fingers into his eyes. Gambling, women…they suddenly sounded hollow, empty of real meaning and feeling.
The carriage pulled to a stop and he once again jumped out without waiting for the footmen. They’d pulled up into the alley and Tag knocked on the back door meant only for him and his fellow owners. They had a distinctive knock that allowed the guards to quickly discern who was trying to gain entrance.
The guard opened the door, ushering Tag inside. He made his way down the narrow hall where he could already hear the male voices of his friends, likely counting the night’s earnings. Stepping into the room, he closed the door firmly behind him. “I need to talk with you.”
Four sets of eyes turned back to him.
Malice was the first to speak. “You look like hell.”
Tag narrowed his gaze. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“He’s not pissed,” Exile added. “But he looks like he’s been drinking.”
“And after that, dragged through the streets,” Vice said with a smirk.
“What are you all bloody talking about?” he growled, annoyed they weren’t getting to the heart of the matter.
Bad cleared his throat. “Daring, your hair is a mess. Your eyes are red and puffy and your shirt front is all wrinkled.”
Tag looked down at himself. Well, they’d arrived at the issue after all. “I’ve had a rough night.”
“I’d never have guessed,” Malice said with a curl of his lip.
Tag shot him a wicked glare. “But I haven’t been drinking, just so you know, when I swing at your face, I won’t miss.”
“Of course you haven’t been drinking,” Vice tipped back in his chair, his blond hair perfectly arranged to wave back from his face. “Your trouble tonight is of the female variety.”
Tag clenched his fist at his side. “It’s not what you think.”