And yet…
“And when we’re gone? What then? When we are gone, she’ll have a legacy, filled with sin and vice. She’ll have a life of darkness.”
Caroline deserved better. Caroline deserved everything.
“She deserves light,” she said, to herself as much as to Temple.
And Georgiana would give it to her.
Caroline would want a life of her own. Children. More.
To ensure she could have those things, Georgiana had only one choice. She must marry. The thought brought her back to the moment, her gaze falling to the man across the room, whom she had chosen as her future husband. “The viscount’s title will help.”
“And the title is all you require?”
“It is,” she replied. “A title worthy of her. Something that will win her the life she wants. She might never be respected, but a title secures her future.”
“There are other ways,” he said.
“What other ways?” she asked. “Consider my sister-in-law. Consider your wife. They are barely accepted here, untitled, scandalous.” His eyes narrowed at the words, but she pressed on. “The title saves them. Hell, you supposedly murdered a woman and weren’t fully cast out because you were a duke first, a possible killer second – you could have married if you’d chosen to. The title is what reigns. And it always will.
“There will always be women after titles and men after dowries. God knows Caroline’s dowry will be as big as it needs to be, but it won’t be enough. She’ll always be my daughter. She’ll always carry my mark. As it stands, even if she found love – even if she wanted it – no decent man could marry her. But if I marry Langley? Then she has the possibility of a future devoid of my sin.”
He was quiet for a long minute, and she was grateful for it. When he finally spoke, it was to ask, “Then why not involve Chase? You need the name, Langley needs a wife, and we are the only people in London who know why. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Under the guise of Chase, founder of London’s most desired men’s club, Georgiana had manipulated dozens of members of Society. Hundreds of them. Chase had destroyed men and elevated them. Chase had made matches and ruined lives. She could easily manipulate Langley into marriage by invoking Chase’s name and the information he had on the viscount.
But need was not want, and perhaps it was her keen understanding of that balance – of the fact that the viscount needed marriage as much as she did, but wanted it just as little – that made her hesitate. “I am hoping that the viscount will agree that the arrangement is mutually beneficial without Chase’s interference.”
Temple was quiet for a long moment. “Chase’s interference would speed up this process.”
True, but it would also make for a terrible marriage. If she could win Langley without blackmail, all the better. “I’ve a plan,” she said.
“And if it goes to waste?”
She thought of Langley’s file. Slim, but damning. A list of names, all male. She ignored the sour taste in her mouth. “I have blackmailed bigger men.”
He shook his head. “Every time I am reminded that you are a woman, you say something like that… and Chase is returned.”
“He is not easily hidden.”
“Not even when you are so…” He made a show of looking at her feathered coif. “Ladylike is, I suppose, the word for this ensemble?”
She was saved from having to either spar with Temple or further discuss the lengths to which she was willing to go for her daughter’s future by the orchestra’s completion of the set. She pulled away and curtsied, as was expected. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She emphasized the title as she stood once more. “I believe I shall take some air.”
“Alone?” he asked, an edge in his tone.
Frustration flared. “You think I cannot care for myself?” She was the founder of London’s most infamous gaming hell. She’d destroyed more men than she could count.
“I think you should take care of your reputation,” Temple replied.
“I assure you that if a gentleman attempts liberties, I shall slap his hand.” She smiled a wide, false smile and dipped her head, coyly. “Go to your wife, Your Grace. And thank you for the dance.”
He held her hand tightly for a moment, until she met his gaze again, and he cautioned softly, “You cannot beat them. You know that, don’t you? No matter how hard you try – Society will always win.”
The words made her suddenly, unpredictably furious. She tamped down the emotion and replied, “You are wrong. And I intend to prove it.”
Chapter 2
The conversation had unsettled her.
The evening had unsettled her.
And Georgiana did not care for being unsettled, which was why she had so long resisted this moment – her return to Society and its prying, judging gaze. She’d hated it from the start, a decade earlier. Hated the way it followed her every time she dressed for Mayfair’s streets instead of the floor of her casino. Hated the way it mocked her inside modistes’ shops and haberdasheries, in bookshops and on the steps of her brother’s home. Hated the way it sealed her daughter’s fate – the way it had done so long before Caroline had drawn breath.
She’d exacted her revenge for the judgment, building a temple to sin at the center of Society, collecting the secrets of its members day after day for six years. The men who gamed at The Fallen Angel did not know that every card they turned, every die they cast, was the purview of a woman their wives shunned at every possible moment.