King watched him, he knew. But he did not look to the man who had known him since their days in school. Not even when the marquess said, “What then?”

“I am a duke, am I not?”

King lingered over the last of his scotch. “With the patent to prove it.”

“And dukes are allowed to do their will.”

West smirked. “It is a perk of the title, I am told.”

Alec nodded. “The man who ruined her. He marries her.”

A wild cheer from the faro table nearby punctuated the words. Alec looked toward the noise, noting the man in the white coat and trousers once more. It appeared that the peacock had lost a massive round, if the shock on his face were any indication.

So it was in gaming hells. One moment up, the next, down.

So, too, it was when it came to women, Lily’s scoundrel would soon discover.

Alec turned back to his friends. “He marries her if I have to put a pistol to his head and force him to do it.”

King blinked. “You might have to.”

“Well, being a brutish Scot will help with that. The plan is impenetrable.” He turned to West. “A name, if you please.”

“I shall do one better,” West said, finishing his drink and indicating the card table. “Name and location. You seek Derek Hawkins, artist and theatrical genius. The vision in white currently nursing his loss.”

It was not possible.

Alec could not imagine this man conversing with Lillian, let alone . . . No. There was no way that too-honest woman would be caught dead with such an obvious peacock. He looked to King for confirmation. “No.”

King nodded. “Indeed. Artist, theatrical genius, and proper ass.”

He didn’t know what he’d imagined. Someone stronger. Less of a dandy. Alec wouldn’t have been surprised by someone devastatingly handsome, or someone with incredible wealth, or a man who oozed disgusting charm. But this man—this pompous peacock—this man didn’t seem fit to cloak a puddle and aid Lily’s walk through town.

Do you love him?

Alec had expected someone deserving of her.

Suddenly, his plan did not seem so perfect.

He looked to his friends and asked the only question that came to mind. “Why?”

Before they could answer, the card table erupted in another commotion. From what Alec could see, the Hawkins character was attempting to negotiate a loan with the casino. The majordomo had been summoned, and Hawkins was saying, “My name will soon be known throughout the world! How dare you refuse me?”

The casino employee adjusted his spectacles and shook his head.

“I assure you,” Hawkins blustered. “Your employers will be livid if they discover that you’ve denied me funds. I shall be the most famous Englishman there ever was! Newton? Milton? Shakespeare? They will pale in comparison to Hawkins. They will beg to honor me here in this place, and I will decline because of your”—he waved a hand at the majordomo’s eyewear—“obvious shortsightedness.”

“Good Lord. He’s worse than I imagined,” Alec said.

“He’s only warming up,” West said, calling for more drink.

“If you don’t have the blunt, you don’t play, Hawkins,” one of the other men said, obviously eager to return to the game.

“I have the blunt. I simply don’t carry it with me.” He turned to the majordomo again. “Are you deaf, as well as blind? Do you not understand that I am the greatest artist of all time?”

The table erupted in jeering hoots, and Alec could not stop himself from laughing at the insufferable man. He looked to his friends. “You’ve the story wrong,” he said. “No way in hell is this man her scandal.” Lillian wouldn’t be able to stomach more than a minute with this pompous ass. She would see the truth of him immediately.

The ass continued, entirely sure of himself. “I’m Derek Hawkins! I do not exaggerate the quality of my work! My genius is more than any the world has ever seen!”

Alec looked to King. “Is he always this way?”

“If by ‘this way’ you mean a pompous prick, yes,” came the dry reply. “He courted my sister-in-law for a time. I cannot imagine why she refused his suit.”

“I can’t force Lillian to marry him.”

“I thought she loved him?”

“I don’t care,” Alec said. And he didn’t. There was no possible way he was wedding her to this clown.

He was going to have to deal with the situation in a different way.

“I demand an audience with an owner,” Hawkins insisted.

And as though he had been willed into being, one of the owners of the casino appeared. The tall, ginger-haired financier of the club spoke with utter calm. “Hawkins, how many times must we tell you, you are too unlucky for us to bank you without collateral.”

“You haven’t any understanding of art, Cross,” Hawkins declared. “Bring me someone with an eye.” He fairly begged for another owner. “Bourne. Or Chase. He’ll see reason. My collateral is my name. My work. I am the star of this year’s Exhibition. Did you not know that?”

“You have mistaken me for one who cares about this year’s Exhibition.” The man called Cross was unimpressed. “You leave and return with funds, and we’ll discuss a seat at the table. For now, the game resumes without you.” He turned to indicate that the dealer should deal the cards.

“Your mistake. I shan’t grace you with my presence once the painting shows. It’s the greatest nude since Rubens.” Alec gritted his teeth, the word nude ricocheting through him. “Better than Rubens. I am Leonardo. I am Michelangelo. I’m better. You could have enjoyed the profits yourself. And now, you will beg me to return.”

“No one has even seen this legendary painting, Hawkins!” someone said. “Come back in ten days when we’ve a chance to decide for ourselves precisely what kind of genius you are.”

Hawkins turned on the man. “You know it will be revealed in ten days, which tells me you’re planning to have a look.”

“At Lovely Lily in the flesh? You’re damn right I do.”

Alec was on his feet, fists clenched, before he could think.

“Warnick.” King was beside him in an instant. “Careful. You shall make it worse.”

West did not move from his chair to warn, “Mine is not the only rag you need worry about, Duke.”

Later, Alec would be proud of himself that he did not tear the men limb from limb as originally intended. Instead, he spoke, the solution coming even as he spoke the words, thick with angry brogue. “I shall spot the artist.”

The room seemed to still, as every person in attendance turned to face him.

“Who are you?” Hawkins asked, confusion and relief warring in the face of Alec’s appearance.

Alec spread his hands wide, in innocent affectation. “You look your gift horse in the mouth?”

“No,” Hawkins said. “Not necessarily. But I like to know to whom I am indebted.”

Alec nodded. “Does it matter? Mine is the only offer of blunt there is for you tonight.”

Hawkins’s gaze narrowed, his head tilting as he considered Alec, his gaze settling on wide shoulders in a too-tight jacket, the ill-fitting sleeves of the garment. His thick burr. “And if I say yes? What comes next?”

“Then you play your game.”

Hawkins tilted his head. “And?”

“And if you win, you win.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then I take back my money. With interest.”

Hawkins’s gaze narrowed. “What interest?”

“The painting.”

Hawkins blinked. “The painting for the Exhibition?”

“The very one.”

Hawkins’s gaze flickered to King and West where they watched the interaction. Recognition flared and he returned his attention to Alec. The man was less of a fool than Alec had given him credit for. “The Duke of Warnick? Lily’s disappeared guardian!”

Lily. He loathed the name on this dandy’s lips. “Miss Hargrove, to you,” Alec snapped.

Hawkins was already beyond the name. “I never would have recognized you. They say you’re big, but I would have thought you could have found a tailor with your fortune. The cut of that coat—it’s abominable.” Hawkins shrugged and straightened his sleeve with a disdainful laugh.

“Do you wish the money or not?”

“You think spotting me the funds for cards will buy you a masterpiece?” Hawkins’s chest puffed out with pride and misplaced certainty. “It’s a work of genius. Not that I expect a man cut from your cloth to understand what that means.” He paused, somehow looking up at Alec and also down his nose. “It will steal breath for the rest of time.”

Alec took a step toward him. “I shall show you what it is like to lose your breath.”

“Warnick.” King again. Alec heard the rest of the warning.

Don’t make it worse.

The men nearby had tripled in number, smelling a fight in the air.

He took a deep breath. “Ten thousand.”

The number was outrageous. More than the painting could possibly be worth.

Something flashed in Hawkins’s eyes. Something like greed. “It is not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale,” Alec said. He knew it better than anything. “Twenty thousand.”

A collective gasp rose from the men assembled. Twenty thousand pounds would keep Hawkins for years. For the rest of his life.

But the offer was a mistake. It revealed too much of Alec’s desire. Too much of his willingness to save the girl. It put Hawkins in power, dammit.

The artist smirked. “If only you had been here a year earlier, think of what your misplaced sense of responsibility might have prevented.”