“With—” Anthony stared at him, thrown off-guard by the abrupt change in subject. “What is Vigo’s work? He guards the threshold to the Cloven Hoof, granting entrance to those with the proper background or qualifications, and turns away anyone who oughtn’t to be let inside.”

“It seems like important work to me.”

“Well…yes, I suppose so.” Anthony smiled in self-deprecation. “Gideon can’t have riffraff like myself inciting discontent amongst his clients by promising debts I cannot pay.”

“That is one type of inappropriate guest,” Lambley agreed. “I should imagine there are many more. Vigo keeps out the street urchins, the penny harlots, the drunkards, any wayward fashionable ladies, the Prince Regent… It’s the Lord’s work, really.”

Anthony chuckled hollowly. “Are you suggesting I ask Gideon for employment? He’s made his position quite clear. I pay him, not the other way about.”

The carriage stopped in front of Lambley’s ducal estate.

Anthony followed him inside and into a sumptuous parlor, stocked with a dozen comfortable chairs and at least as many glass decanters.

The duke poured them each a glass, then took a seat. “What do you recall about my masquerade parties?”

Anthony blinked at the change in topic. The duke’s scandalous masked balls were desirable for their exclusivity and legendary because of their secret rooms for sensual pleasures. Lambley got away with such chicanery because he was a duke—and a handsome, wealthy bachelor.

No member of the ton with any hope of preserving their reputation could ever admit to being anywhere near such a fête. Yet when Anthony had attended one the previous year, such a crush of masked partiers had filled the rooms that dancing was all but impossible.

“I don’t think I’m overstating if I suggest your masquerades are scandalous,” Anthony said dryly. “Everyone in attendance risks far more than their Almack’s voucher just by walking in the door.”

Lambley’s eyes glinted. “You’re assuming my guests were ever eligible for Almack’s vouchers…or have a good reputation.”

Anthony burst out laughing. “You’re right. Having been to one of your masquerades, I can attest to having absolutely no idea who else was there. That’s the irresistible part: having the anonymity to do anything one desires. No one will ever know. The guests themselves don’t even know.”

“But I know.” Lambley’s tone was mild, but his eyes were serious. “Nothing is ever completely anonymous. Admission is by invitation only, because I must keep out anyone likely to disturb other guests’ comfort, either during the event or after. It also serves as insurance, should one guest complain about the behavior of another. Partygoers might see each other as Mr. Red Mask and Miss Blue Mask, but I must know their proper names in order to deal with each situation appropriately.”

Anthony frowned. That much responsibility did indeed sound more like the security measures of a gaming hell than the fun-filled soirées of a careless rake, as Anthony had always imagined. Then again, he supposed that a masked ball of that caliber could be seen as the very definition of a den of iniquity. Accepting the invitation was a shockingly high wager indeed.

“How do you do it?” he asked. “How do you keep track of so many people?”

“I can’t.” Lambley sipped his port. “When I held my first masked soirée, I invited perhaps two dozen friends. It was diverting and easy. As my notoriety grew, so did the demand for invitations. My presence is needed amongst my guests, but I cannot mingle in the primary salons and guard the front door at the same time. My butler currently has that task.”

Anthony thought back. The party itself had been so much more interesting than the mundane act of surrendering his umbrella and greatcoat that he hadn’t given the process another thought. But now that he did… “I seem to recall him allowing entry to one person at a time. He took my invitation and jotted something down in a little book.”

Lambley inclined his head. “The registry of invited guests contains the date, name, and identifying mask features of every person who attends the ball. To date, there have been no grave issues, but in the event that something untoward should occur, it is vital to have the ability to ensure there are consequences.”

Anthony nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“Using my butler as an enforcer seems logical. He is a trusted member of my staff, and answering doors is one of his primary duties. However, it offers him very little opportunity for sleep. He must be at his post by daybreak for his regular duties, yet masquerade nights also tend to last until daybreak.”

Anthony frowned. Working more than twenty-four hours in a row was an unhappy circumstance in any profession. Yet hiring a new staff member would mean entrusting the identities of guests who were jealously guarding their anonymity to an untested servant without the butler’s years of experience and trust.

Hope prickled his skin. “Am I to understand that you are offering me employment?”

“The common knowledge you dismissed so easily is the only reason I am considering it,” Lambley said blandly. “I have had instances of stolen or forged invitations. If Lady X tells my butler that she is Mrs. Y, he will simply note it in the journal and allow her entry. You, however, would not be so easy to fool. You are likely to have made the acquaintance of both Lady X and Mrs. Y, and would be able to put paid to that nonsense at the door.”

The duke was right. Anthony’s hopes rose. Under the right circumstances, his social position bridging two worlds was an advantage, not a disadvantage.

“Furthermore,” Lambley continued, “I have known you for two decades. You may not be trustworthy with a loose shilling, but the entire ton fully trusts in your character. You would never betray a confidence. When Lady X sees it is you at the door, she will not feel any less comfortable sharing her name than she does relinquishing it to my butler.”

“There must be a catch.” Anthony straightened. “It sounds as though I would be perfect for the role.”

“You are. The role, however, may not be perfect for you. Not only would you bear responsibility for tracking every single identity without ever breathing a hint of that intelligence, but the guests themselves will also be aware of your identity. It shall not require but a moment for all of London to know that Mr. Anthony Fairfax is now the paid night butler at the Duke of Lambley’s masked balls.”

Anthony’s stomach bottomed at the implications. Accepting this lifeline would mean severing ties with a world he loved. The only life he’d ever known. The sort of future he’d imagined himself living. By accepting such scandalous employment, his societal standing would be ruined.

And as his wife, Charlotte would suffer the same fate.

The duke didn’t change expression. “Being in my employ is more than merely scandalous. If you take this position, you will no longer bridge both worlds. Your reputation amongst the smart set will be ruined forever.”

Anthony squared his shoulders. He didn’t care about the smart set anymore. He cared about setting things right. He cared about Charlotte. This was his sole chance to provide for her. To be there for her. Only a fool would say no.

“I’ll do it,” he said without hesitation.

“Then I shall have a contract drawn up at once.” Lambley’s eyes glittered. “I will settle your account with Gideon only after you’ve completed your first night to my satisfaction. If at any time you default or fail to meet your obligations as specified in the contract…” The duke’s tone was harsh and final. “You will not recover from the consequences.”

Anthony nodded. He couldn’t think about consequences. Failure was not an option. But even this opportunity might not happen. Not if his debts wouldn’t be addressed until he completed his first night. He tried to swallow his panic. “When is your next ball?”

“Saturday.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. There might still be time. “I must repay Gideon by Monday.”

“How much do you owe? Write it for me so I can pay the precise amount.” He gestured at a quill and ink on the sideboard.

Cheeks flushing, Anthony forced himself to write two thousand and forty pounds, thirteen shillings, sixpence and handed Lambley the damning paper. There in black and white, the sum seemed astronomical…and he felt incredibly foolish.

“I see.” Lambley returned the paper to the table. “Let’s talk terms, shall we? Given the highly sensitive nature of the information you’re protecting, I will pay you quite handsomely. But until you have paid off your debt, all monies earned shall be placed against the principal. Two thousand pounds is not a sum I invest lightly. It may take a full year until you repay your debt or receive a single penny to take home. Are you amenable to these stipulations?”

Anthony nearly melted in gratitude. The terms were leagues better than a lifetime in prison. Earning that much money in a single year was more than anyone of his stature could have dreamed. Paying off his debt before he took home a penny was only fair. And the following year! Once he did take home his salary, he could finally treat Charlotte to the life she deserved. This time next year, they could be safe.

If he lost his reputation in the process, so be it. If the loss of his reputation meant the loss of his friends, so be it. He would have an opportunity to stay with Charlotte, and she was all that mattered.

But to be able to keep her and his freedom, he would have to vanquish his reckless impulse to gamble for an entire year. The smallest slip-up would ruin everything. He could not let that happen.

Worse, the woman he loved had spent her entire life fighting to be considered respectable. He could not destroy the progress she’d made. In fact, she would be well within her rights to annul marriage to a man who harmed her reputation—and ruined her chance for a better future. His skin went cold.

What if his only chance to stay out of prison caused him to lose Charlotte anyway?

He couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

Chapter 21

Sunday morning, Charlotte watched the rising sun with growing alarm from the bay window of the Fairfax townhouse.

Anthony hadn’t told her where he was going. He’d said he didn’t want to worry her or to give her false hope, but that he would be back by daybreak—possibly with good news.

Well, it was daybreak. The streaks of pink through the foggy gray meant Sunday morning was here. And they would definitely welcome some good news. Otherwise tomorrow would be their last day together until she saved enough to set him free.

She glanced at the trio of rubies lying next to her on the window cushion. Anthony was only willing to sell them as a last resort, and this definitely qualified. First thing Monday morning, if all hope was gone, she would force him to go straight to the pawnbroker. She would beg her mother to sell all her jewels as well. Charlotte would march to the closest barber and have him shave her cursed gold locks to make into a wig, if it would help.

Anything. Everything. She couldn’t lose Anthony.

She loved him.

With a little moan, she leaned her head against the cold window. How had it come to this? If she lost him tomorrow, her life would still be a hundred times better than it had been a mere fortnight ago before she had met him. Her relationship with her mother had never been better. Charlotte even had a purpose now. A trade. Society women who complimented her and pleaded for her company. It should all feel like a dream come true.

And yet none of it would matter if she didn’t have Anthony to share it with.

She lifted her head from the window as she heard wheels outside. Her smile fell. Not Anthony. This was a fancy coach-and-four with a crest on the side, not a humble hackney cab.

Yet when the carriage stopped, who should alight but her husband? Her heart leaped at the sight. She scrambled off of the window cushion and ran to the front door to welcome him home.

He didn’t look up as he neared the door. Her excitement dimmed. His shoulders were hunched and his feet dragged with every step.

He didn’t look like he bore good tidings. He looked exhausted.

When he saw her waiting in the open doorway, however, his tired green eyes lit with pleasure. He jogged the final steps up the walkway and swung her into his arms.

“We did it,” he murmured into her hair. “We did it, darling. In a year, we’ll be free.”

She gripped his arms. “Did what? How?”

He settled her on one of the few chairs and pulled another close to sit across from her. He ran a hand through his hair and fell into his seat. His countenance was tired, but happy.