London, England, 1830

Julia was anxious; it was almost time for her to slip out to the gaming hell. She wasn't afraid, not one bit, but she would hate for her to be caught. What a scandal it would cause for her family that the eldest daughter of the Cavendish was nothing but a vile woman, not to be associated with. Not that it bothers her what the ton has to say about her, but she was worried that should she be caught, her sister, Camila, might lose her chances of making a suitable match with a Duke or an Earl. Considering the fact that her mother, Ophelia Cavendish, would soon hold a ball in honor of her sister for her debut, and Julia would hate to be the one to cause such an uproar at the ball should her pastime be found out.

Apart from her sister and her friend who covers for her, nobody else knows what she has been up to for the past three months. Having grown tired of the company of other women of her acquaintance, who talk of nothing but the latest fashion and making a match with a reputable young man, Julia had resorted to going to gaming hells for a little excitement.

Julia donned her breeches and tucked her wild mass of ruby red hair into a somewhat large hat. She surveyed herself in a looking glass, content with what she saw there.

Her brown greatcoat, which had four capelets attached to the high collar and covered her down past her knee, rested somewhere between her knee and her ankle. It was enough to show her black pair of boots peeking out from underneath the hem of her coat and voluminous enough to completely obscure her milk-colored breeches.

She shoved her hands into the deep pockets of the greatcoat and turned to assess her profile from the left. Her clear blue eyes squinted, and she smiled a lopsided smile. Not even a hint of her ruby red curls was disclosed from underneath that hat. It masked her hair and shadowed her face, accentuating the fullness of her thick brows, the arc of her pert nose, and her piercing ocean blue eyes, which made her look more like a young lad than a pretty woman, which she was.

With one last glance at her floral embroidered looking glass, Julia slipped out of the house through her window and onto the small courtyard underneath her window. And then she was racing into the streets to hire a hackney to lead her to her desired destination, The Angels.

Underneath the cloudless sky and the full moon, encompassed with many stars and the cold night air coming through the open window, Julia allowed herself to be driven through the parts of London until they were well into the notorious St. James Street where the hell was located.

Soon the coach stopped in front of a white story building with floor-length windows. Julia got down and paid the hackney driver handsomely. And then she tipped her hat down and stepped inside No. 4 St. James Street. Julia took the steps two at a time, not out of eagerness to get to the hell fast, but out of habit, her brown greatcoat swooshing on the long narrow stairs until she reached the landing lit by nary but a single candle.

She bent her head and pushed the door open with her elbow. Rows and rows of velvet tables spanned the long gaming hell, placed strategically at different angles. Some were round, others were long and rectangular, with velvet green tops, red, or deep blue. Candlelights flickered over the rich deep mahogany floor, illuminating the room.

Billiard balls cracked against each other, and the voices of men rose in unison as they cheered in favor of a win or a loss. Julia kept her head down as she walked, her blue eyes shifting from one table to the other as she made her way to the end of the room. At one corner, a group was playing a game of hazard. One of them threw dice on a rich velvet table while another slammed his fist on the table and gulped down the contents of his glass at once. Men's voices rose as they celebrated the winner by grabbing a glass of brandy from a passing servant.

In the three months that she had visited the hell, Julia had become quite a sensation. Because of her luck in winning or mainly because she had a knack for it, Julia didn't know. Right now she was playing with Cole Fletcher, the Earl of Tonfield.

Normally, Julia wouldn't be playing with a Lord, but it had become a common thing since she started frequenting The Angels. She had always been going home with winnings, and it had become common knowledge for the young men to try to outsmart her or win back the money they had lost previously. Besides, the hell held no discrimination. It catered to the needs of both Lords and common folk, a fact she had carefully considered before making herself a regular.

* * *

Sebastian, the Duke of Hanton, reluctantly took a seat and sipped his drink. He had been hesitant to attend, but his childhood friend had insisted.

Where on earth was Cole? Sebastian had caught a glimpse of him upon

arrival, but since then, he had not crossed paths with him. "Damn it, Cole!" Sebastian muttered quietly. "This is not how you treat a friend who has been away for three years."

Three years ago, Sebastian had left London for Paris to stay with his father's cousins. Life in London had been tiring for him, with the many balls and eager mamas looking for their daughters a match. He had quite earned his reputation in Paris as an incorrigible rake in the space of three years.

Sebastian had not wanted to come back, but his father had met with an untimely death. The sole responsibility of the estate and even the guardianship of his sister fell onto him, which eventually summed up all the reasons he was back now. There were pressing matters that needed attention, and he was the man for the job. Sebastian gulped down the last of his drink and dismissed the courtesan by his side. He had to find his friend. The bastard didn't even care to keep him company.

In the long, dark room, made visible by the streak of light coming from lamps kept by the wall, Sebastian made his way past table after table, crowded with many men who imbibed in their rum and in the cards they held in their hands.

The low rumble of voices drifted off from each side of the room, and the booming laughter that surrounded the hell. Quite a few of the men were already in their cups, and if care was not taken, it was these types that usually resulted in a ruckus and a fight if they failed to make a win after several rounds of playing and after losing one property or two.

Sebastian sighed as he reached the door at the end and stepped into the other side of the room, normally reserved for the good sorts, the ones that knew how to play and could easily borrow from the bank if they came to a shortage of money.

Not that hard to spot Cole, with his back to Sebastian, he could tell that it was Cole. However, Sebastian was surprised to see him playing. Cole wasn't the type who played; rather, he was the type to sit close by and watch others play. But what even surprised Sebastian more was the lad Cole was playing with. There was something familiar about him.

He studied the lad closely. One might think him young, youthful with boyish looks. He was more like a pretty boy. He wore a considerably large coat that shielded him and made it impossible to discern the cloth he wore underneath the greatcoat.

The lad had delicate hands, Sebastian noted. A hand that should not be associated with any man. He had always been of the opinion that a man's hand should be calloused and rough, not delicate. That attribute should be left for the likes of women. Sebastian's eyes quickly darted over to the lad's neck, slim and delicate, and then to his face. When their eyes met, Sebastian swore he would be damned if he didn't have an inkling of who this was.

If Sebastian was to think himself correct, he would say that that was actually his sister's friend, Lady Julia Cavendish. And if he had had over two glasses of brandy, Sebastian would have thought himself foxed.

Bloody tarnation! What was she doing here? Did she understand the implications of what she was doing?

The scandal it would cause. No doubt his sister would inherit her own fair share from this. His quiet little sister. Sebastian was filled with quiet vexation for her person. He wanted to go over there and cause bodily harm to her, but he held himself still because it would only attract unnecessary attention to himself, exactly what he doesn't want. Either way, he fumed.

The little chit didn't think properly. What with making herself comfortable in a place meant for gentlemen, it was frowned upon by society. Julia could ruin her reputation, and his sister's own, merely by associating with her. Sebastian was angry. He wanted nothing but to hurl Julia over his shoulders, excuse himself from The Angels, and be done with it. But what excuse did he have to do this? He couldn't possibly hurl a young lad over his shoulders and leave. He would have to explain himself, and that is what he doesn't want to do. Sebastian drowned another cup of brandy in one go as he came to the sudden conclusion that he would wait until she was done.