Chapter 5

Chapter Five

P atrick made his way slowly between felt-covered tables, his gaze analyzing every face as he passed.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Patrick frequently stopped at various tables to make his presence known. Especially the tables with the wealthiest patrons at them.

"Ah, Patrick, it's good to see you!" The man closest to him clapped him firmly on the shoulder and Patrick cringed slightly as pain shot down his arm.

"Charles," he said with a nod.

Charles raised his eyebrows. "So the rumors are true then?" He nodded toward Patrick's shoulder.

"Which rumor is that?"

The man chuckled. "I heard you were stabbed after you interrupted a robbery at The Raven's Nest."

"Afraid so." Patrick rolled his injured shoulder gingerly. "And unfortunately, the blackguard got away before I could return the favor."

"I suppose that's why I saw some of your muscle outside the shop yesterday?"

Patrick nodded. No one needed to know he was there because of Rosie, not the jewelry in the shop beneath his apartment.

Across the room, a man made his way clumsily between the two roulette tables, his gaze locked on the ladies on display in the corner. An homage to the club's namesake, they wore black-feathered gowns and masks and held oversized fans. Their decolletage was on full display with enticingly low necklines, but they were to be looked at, not touched. Patrick had already warned this particular man away from them once this week.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." He strode through the tables, the plush carpets silencing his footfalls as he went. His concentration on one thing, the shouts of excitement and laughter around him faded into silence. The man reached for a girl's breast.

A snarl ripped from Patrick's throat. He clamped his hand around the man's wrist just as his fingertips brushed the front of her gown. He wrenched the man's arm behind him and grabbed the back of his coat.

"I've already warned you once this week, Roger." The man was drunk and hadn't even seen Patrick coming. Not wanting to make any more of a scene than was absolutely necessary, he marched Roger toward the back of the room, looking around for the bouncer who was supposed to deal with these kinds of disturbances.

"What are the girls for, then?" Roger tried looking back over his shoulder and stumbled. Patrick pushed him through a pair of black velvet curtains into the dimly lit corridor that led to the backdoor.

He slammed the man, face first, against the wall. "You know the rules, Roger. You can look all you want, but no one,"—Patrick leaned in close and growled the words directly into the man's ear—"and I mean no one, is allowed to touch." Just as the two men reached the backdoor, the bouncer rushed past and pulled it open.

Patrick shoved Roger forward, but he stumbled once again, grabbing onto Patrick's arm to try to stop himself from falling. Pain erupted, like a lance through Patrick's shoulder and he felt the stitches tear through his skin as he threw the man's unsteady form through the open door.

"Next time you touch one of our girls, I'll make sure your arm is broken before you're thrown out."

As soon as the door slammed shut, Patrick turned on the bouncer. "Where the hell have you been, O'Connell?" His shoulder searing, Patrick wanted to yell and stomp his feet and throw things, but since he wasn't a toddler, he opted for the more socially acceptable option of shouting at the nearest subordinate, instead.

"Sorry, Boss. I was desperate for a piss."

"You'll be lucky if Ash doesn't sack you." The man was five or six inches taller than Patrick, and twice as broad, which was quite a feat, but in that moment, he had the look of a puppy who'd been kicked. Ash was fiercely protective of the Lady Ravens, and O'Connell was going to be on the receiving end of his ire. Patrick turned and started back down the hall. "Now get out there and do your job!" With his good shoulder, he pushed through a door halfway along the wall and climbed the narrow staircase behind.

Warmth trickled slowly down his arm. He needed to see what damage he'd done, and even more than that, he needed a drink.

As he neared the top of the stairs, there came the sound of sprinting footsteps. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough warning for Patrick to avoid what he knew was coming. Ash swung around the corner of the landing and his eyes grew wide as they met Patrick's. Although Ash's feet stopped, his body lurched forward. This was going to hurt. Patrick threw his arms wide and planted his feet, saving Ash from what would have been a nasty tumble down a flight of stairs. In return for his efforts, a large hand slammed directly into his freshly injured shoulder. Patrick's mind screamed in pain, but he tamped down the actual sound, only a loud grunt escaping as he pushed Ash back onto his feet.

Patrick stumbled down one step, grasped the wall for support, and inhaled deeply. Holding his breath and urgently tapping his foot, he forced himself to master the pain.

Ash stood, mouth agape before finding his voice. "Did he hurt you? Did I hurt you?" The words came out in a rush.

Ash had obviously seen most of the fiasco from the balcony that overlooked the gaming floor and was on his way down to intervene. "Where in Hades was O'Connell?" he asked, anger growing in his voice.

"Ash." The word was quiet, but it was the most Patrick could muster through the haze of pain.

"I'll kill him!" Ash's eyes darted about looking for the best way to get past.

"Don't sack him yet." Patrick just wanted to sit down with a large glass of brandy.

"What do you mean don't sack him yet? If he'd been doing his job, none of this would have happened. I should…"

Patrick was losing patience. "Ash!" The shout finally got his attention. "I'm going to need someone to sew up my shoulder. Can we at least take care of that before you disembowel O'Connell?"

Ash nodded. "Yes, of course. You're right." He hadn't even noticed the ridiculous hyperbole. "I'll send him to fetch the surgeon. He ought to at least be able to do that right."

"Good. Now move, so I can get to the brandy." Ash quickly pressed himself back against the wall, suddenly realizing he was in the way.

Two hours and three glasses of brandy later, Patrick was feeling much better. He'd even gotten through the surgeon's torture with only a bit of grumbling.

He held up his coat toward Ash. "Help me with this, will you? I need to get back downstairs."

"Don't be daft." Ash snorted. "The only reason you'll be going downstairs is to leave."

"The pain's not so bad now. I can manage." He waved his coat slightly. "This is the difficult part."

"And what about the fact that you're too soused to remember we don't drink while we're working?" Ash took the coat and slid it over the sore arm first and then the good one. He was right, of course. None of their employees were allowed to drink while on duty, nor the three owners.

Patrick nodded. "Just don't get rid of O'Connell tonight. You need him here."

"Oh, don't worry, I trust that he won't be leaving the floor unattended again." There was a slightly evil gleam in his eye.

"What did you threaten him with?" Patrick shook his head.

"Me? Threaten?" Ash tilted his head to the side, attempting a look of innocence… and failing miserably. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

With a chuckle, Patrick walked across to his desk and opened the top left drawer. There were always spare boxes of cards inside. He helped himself to one and slipped it into his breast pocket. "I imagine you will survive the next two hours without me."

Patrick was really looking forward to returning home in the hopes that Rosie might have waited up for him again. A small smile played about his lips at the thought. It really wasn't fair of him to hope for that. She should be in a deep slumber like the rest of the normal people in London.

Nevertheless, he was pleased to see light creeping under his bedroom door when he looked down the hall. As usual, Finch entered his study just a minute behind him. Somehow Finch never missed him coming in, even if he was two hours earlier than normal.

He immediately began pulling Patrick's overcoat off. "Careful!" The word had come out rather more sternly than he'd meant.

"I'm sorry, my lord."

That was the exact wrong thing to say to him after the night he'd had. Patrick tugged the coat out of Finch's grasp. He shook the garment off, pain be damned, and left it in a heap on the floor, then threw his hat down to join it. He stalked around his desk and sat, dropping his forehead into his palm.

Finch retrieved the discarded hat and coat. "I apologize, Patrick." He spoke the words quietly.

It wasn't his fault, of course. He'd only been trying to help. Finch hadn't had an easy life before becoming Patrick's manservant, and yet he'd still always been loyal and kind. He'd accommodated the odd hours and foul moods without complaint and usually with a smile.

Patrick raised his head. The poor man looked at a complete loss.

"No, Finch. Tonight, I am the one in need of apologizing. I'm sorry. Thank you for all you do for me."

Finch's eyes went wide. "Have you bumped your head?"

Patrick choked on unexpected laughter. He didn't deserve Finch. "Later, I will need your assistance removing this, if you wouldn't mind." He tugged at his lapel. "An unexpected situation led to having my shoulder restitched tonight."

Finch opened his mouth and closed it again. He undoubtedly wanted to hear the whole story, but now wasn't the time. "I can help you with it now, if you'd like?"

"No, later please."

Just then Rosie stepped quietly through the door. Finch's lips curved into a knowing smile. She was, of course, the reason Patrick wanted to remain respectably dressed. Although, it seemed a bit superfluous given that she was wearing her nightclothes.

"I can help you with it, when you're ready," she offered with a shrug.

Finch tried to pass his laugh off as a cough, but Patrick knew better, and from the flushing of her cheeks, so did Rosie.

"Out!" Patrick speared Finch with a sharp gaze and pointed at the door.

"Yes, m…" He stopped himself just in time but gave a slight bow before scurrying from the room. Quiet laughter floated in from the hall as he went.

Remembering his manners, Patrick quickly stood and gestured to a chair on the opposite side of his desk.

"What do you mean ‘restitched'?" She didn't sit. "Are you injured?"

"It's nothing. Sit, please." She folded her arms across her chest but didn't move. How had he managed to surround himself with stubborn people?

"I'll make you a deal. If you'll join me, I'll tell you over a game of cards."

Her shoulders fell slightly. "I don't know how to play cards."

"Well, you're in luck then. I am just the man to teach you." He gave her an encouraging smile and gestured to the chair once more.

After a moment's hesitation, Rosie held out her hand. "You have a deal."

Patrick chuckled, but grasped her hand gently and shook it. At least tonight, she didn't look terrified of him. With a satisfied smile, she seated herself in the chair across from him and waited. Patrick pulled the box from his pocket and removed the cards. As he shuffled, she picked up the box and examined it.

"The Raven's Den." She ran a fingertip over the surface. "This raven looks like the one on the sign for the shop below." She turned the box to face him.

Of course it did. It was the very same. Apparently, it was time for some explanation. "Allow me to teach you how to play, and then as the game progresses, I will answer your questions. Fair enough?"

Rosie nodded. "Although, I'm not sure I'll be able to follow the game and talk at the same time."

"This game is called Battle, and the rules are very simple." He shuffled the cards once more and then quickly dealt them so that they each had half of the deck in front of them.

"Now, turn over the top card." He turned over a 3 of hearts and she a 7 of clubs. "In this game, the only thing that matters is the value of the card. The higher number wins." He moved his card to sit on top of hers. "That's you, so you take the cards and place them in a pile in front of you."

Rosie smiled and took the cards. The next hand, she beat his 5 with a 10 and the third hand, he beat her 2 with an 8. She quickly relaxed and began to thoroughly enjoy herself, laughing and smiling, regardless of winning or losing. After a few hands, they both laid down a 9, and she looked up with eyes wide.

"Now what?"

Patrick chuckled. "Now, we each deal three cards down, and a fourth facing up. Whoever has the highest upturned card, wins them all!"

She wiggled adorably in her seat with excitement. Patrick counted, "One, two, three," as he laid down his cards. She copied him and together they flipped over their fourth card. Hers a queen, and his a jack.

She looked at him with confusion. He hadn't explained the value of the face cards. "Queen beats jack." Rosie grinned happily. "A queen can only be bested by two cards. A king, and an ace, which you just won from me," he said as he flipped over his cards. "Nothing beats an ace."

Her smile couldn't have been any wider as she scooped up her winnings. She giggled softly as she stacked the cards neatly and added them to the growing pile in front of her. They turned over their next cards and she quickly handed over her 4 to his 7.

"I think I'm ready for talking now." She looked up at him from under her lashes. She was seeking his permission, or at least his approval.

"A deal's a deal." He turned over his next card. "What do you wish to know?"

"Finch says you own a club." She took their two cards and turned over the next.

Patrick nodded. "That's not a question."

"What is it called?"

"I think you probably already know the answer to that question." Patrick shifted his gaze to the empty box that lay on the desk and back to Rosie.

"The Raven's Den?" She picked the box up again and looked at it closely. "So do you own the shop, as well?"

"Yes." Patrick turned over a card, but Rosie wasn't really paying attention to the game. "Along with my two partners." He nodded toward the desk to keep her focused at least partly on the game.

She turned over her next card and took them both again. "Tell me about your partners."

"Ash and Michael."

"Do they also live over shops?" She asked after a moment.

Patrick chuckled. "No, they don't."

Ash lived in Raven House, a building that also housed the Lady Ravens. Not a subject he cared to embark on with Rosie. Not yet, at least.

He needed to head her off. "The Raven's Nest is where we sell jewelry or other items that we take in from patrons."

"I'm not sure I understand. Why do they give you jewelry?" Her brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Well, sometimes they can bet directly against the house, but more often they use it in exchange for a loan that they are then unable to pay back."

Her smile faded and a touch of sadness crept into her eyes. "That, I understand." She nodded solemnly. Patrick turned over the last card in his pile. Rosie pulled herself from her thoughts and followed suit. Once again, she took the two cards.

"You are one lucky lady!"

"Have I won?" Excitement glistened in her eyes once more, but she put her hand up to cover a yawn.

"That's only the first round, I'm afraid, but it's a good time to call it a night."

"But I'm winning! We can't just quit!" She covered another yawn.

"I promise not to touch the cards. We'll leave them just as they are and continue tomorrow." He straightened the piles and set them neatly to the side. "Now, time for bed."

"Very well," she yawned again followed by a sheepish grin, and took herself off to bed.