Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

“What’s this …?”

“Portsmouth … business,” Arthur supplied portentously.

“Never mind,” Jimmy hurriedly interjected.

Ben stayed him. “Why—why Portsmouth now?”

Jimmy glanced at Ryker and blushed. Ryker inclined his head. “Shall I give you some privacy?”

“No, no. Right one you are … Here is the thing.” he sighed. “I’m depending on Jewelene to do without me this week …” He seemed to stumble over his words as he looked at both older men. “Have to manage the entrance fee—all important. Can’t allow Jewels … well … have to go, that is the long and the short of it. Yawl leaves first thing in the morning …” He turned to his friend. “Come on, Art …” Jimmy said, waving himself and his friend off as he pulled on Arthur’s sleeve.

Ryker stood stock still, his lashes shading his eyes as he noted the sway of the straw-colored drapery partition between their gaming room and the next. He inched forward, which allowed him to look casually around the room as he inconspicuously moved into a position in which he could watch. He was able to get a glimpse of the man quietly moving away from the drapery that had previously hid him so well.

Ryker said nothing as he turned to Ben and put a lazy finger to his lips and eyed Omsbury’s back.

Ben followed the line of his glance, and his own eyes opened wide. The two men exchanged a telling look. “Where is she?” Ryker asked on a whisper.

“She? You mean Babette …?” Ben stalled.

“You know who I mean. The time for games is done, things no longer are what they were, and we need to make immediate arrangements …”

“I don’t know what you …”

“Come now, Ben—do you take me for a fool?”

“No … I—”

“To your office then—now.” Ryker led the way, not bothering to look to see if Ben Clay followed. He knew that he would, for Ben was no fool either.

*

Jimmy called out to Ben, and Omsbury’s head turned with interest. He then thought it prudent to take up position behind the drapery partition between the gaming rooms and fiddle with his snuffbox so as to look casual.

He patted himself on the shoulder for being as ever sharply intuitive. He had known that Jimmy, who was not a gambler, would not be here without a reason and was more than curious to find out what that reason was. Unhappily, he learned just enough to concern him, but at least now he had a drop on the upcoming situation.

So then, Jimmy was leaving for Portsmouth, and apparently he and his friend had a plan. He didn’t like that. Further eavesdropping on Arthur’s disjointed eloquence told him that the Henshaws meant to enter a horse at Derby.

Could they win? Jewelene was a knowing one. She had a way with prime blood and an eye for them as well. She wouldn’t risk the entrance fee unless her horse stood more than a good chance.

Omsbury had, in fact, noticed a stallion going through his paces on a recent visit to Henshaw. Damn, but he didn’t like this. He wanted Jewelene under his thumb, not making money enough to bolster her independence. Something had to be done.

A moment later he had taken up his hat and greatcoat and left the Silver Heart having dropped quite a bundle at the table. He made his way to the livery, where he took his horse, didn’t bother to tip the poor young livery boy, mounted his horse, and made his way home.

A fury of thought had him nearly foaming at the mouth. He was so close to victory, to winning what he wanted. Some (if they knew) would say he wasn’t winning, because he was forcing her hand, but he damn well didn’t care how he got Jewelene for his own. He wanted her, and that was all that mattered.

Afterwards, he would make her care for him. He was not without charm when he wished to use it … and he meant to use it on her once she was his.

In the meantime, Sir James and his friend Arthur needed to be tripped up. Their plan must not succeed. He had never before arranged to physically harm another. His methods usually entailed the pen and the weapon of money. However, he was desperate, and he was not above stooping to any level to get to his goal.

Arriving at his stables, he sh

outed out towards the small room above, near the hayloft, calling for his head groom, “Jenkins! Jenkins—get your sorry ass down here!”

And when the man didn’t appear, he shouted out even more furiously, “Fiend seize your soul! Jenkins, I say!”

A wiry little man with small, dark eyes and a shock of unruly grayish hair appeared at the top of the wooden steps. He was slipping into his brown wool knit sweater, holding onto his short wool coat and rubbing his eyes. “Aye, m’lord … aye … I’m ’ere, I am.”

Omsbury waited for him to take the last of the steps and stand before him. The pale light of a wall torch glowed, giving an eerie appearance to the spotless stable. “I have a job for you and need you to get started immediately. Get my lazy seamen up and my sloop out as soon as possible. I want you docked in Portsmouth by dawn, and then, Jenkins, I have a special assignment for you … with a bonus if you get the job done right.”