Prologue
Earl of Gold, that is what society’s elite called Logan, the Earl of Goldthwaite.
The nickname was meant as an insult, he assumed, by the way the ladies curled their upper lips behind their fans or the gentlemen sneered around their glasses of port.
Which perplexed Logan to no end. First because they were all rich. Of course, he was richer than most, he understood that. But a man should think that would mean the elite would respect rather than disdain his wealth.
After all, while they had all inherited from their father’s father’s father, he, on the other hand, had taken a broken title and forged it in gold, lifting himself back up out of the ashes.
Perhaps that was what they disliked, how hard he worked while they leisurely played croquet or whatever ridiculous pursuits they filled their time with. And assumed they were better for it.
Since he’d been a boy, they had all assumed they were better. At school, he’d been shown every single day how much less he was for his father’s debts.
Or mayhap they found him too hard with his shiny outer crust he’d built around himself. But society had helped to form that thick outer layer. Had it not?
He turned his head to the side, cracking his neck, the pop echoing in the empty room.
The Duke of Darlington, who’d been droning on with an endless list of figures, lifted a brow. “I thought you, of all men, would appreciate a thorough accounting of potential sales.”
Logan gave a single bark of laughter, as he looked about the dark interior of the Den of Sins. That’s what the former owners had called this place. He’d yet to decide what he might name it if the sale went through. “I do, indeed.” The place reeked of stale liquor, body odor, and…potential.
Tucked in a seedy corner of the East End near the Docklands, the place made more money than any other endeavor he’d undertaken and his fingers itched to ink the contract that would make this gaming hell his.
Logan gave a cold smile, running his hand through his short blond hair. Perhaps that was the reason they’d disliked him. He’d use any method to make money. He didn’t give a shit about what was respectable. Actually, he didn’t care about most of their rules. They were meant to hurt nearly everyone.
And he wasn’t alone.
Darlington was known within these walls as Daring. A duke and several of his friends had turned this place into a treasure trove of coin. It was not fashionable for lords to own such a place, but Daring had done it anyway.
“Then why do you appear to be completely lost and not listening to a word I’ve uttered in the last five minutes?” The duke kicked out a chair from a nearby table and sat down.
Logan joined him, grabbing a chair and stretching out his long legs in front of him as he crossed his arms over his chest. His casual stance belied the tension in him. He’d make enough money to prove to all of them that he was the best. They’d curl their lips no longer at his sullied name.
Deep down, he knew why they judged him. He’d been ruined at one time, beneath them. Despite the title, everyone knew about the scandal that tainted his family. His father’s disgrace. And no amount of gold seemed enough to elevate his status once again.
Still, he’d collect enough coin to buy and sell all of London just to know that he could. To snub his nose at them. “I don’t understand why you had five partners. This place could make a man rich beyond his wildest dreams.”
Daring drew in a deep breath, carefully assessing the man across from him. His dark eyes glittered with interest and studied Logan’s face.
Logan felt his jaw clench, his fingers flexing under his biceps where they lay hidden.
If the duke chose another buyer…