Three? The randy old goat had fathered three daughters?

“That a fact?” Ash dragged a hand though his too-long hair, watching Mary rise and begin to dress, his mind churning over the implications of what this development could mean for him. His partner suddenly had heirs. Three, to be exact.

“Reminds me that I need to get back,” Mary muttered. “There’s much to do. He wants everything spotless. He expects at least a dozen to attend …”

“A dozen … who?”

She shrugged. “Some fine gents, I hear. Real bluebloods.”

The hairs on Ash’s neck began to stand as he watched her shimmy into her gown. “What scheme has he concocted?”

“He ain’t saying, but Grier can’t keep her tongue behind her teeth.”

“And what has this Grier said?”

Mary looked over her shoulder as if she expected the great Jack Hadley to materialize behind her. He was that way. Larger than life, an intimidating figure to many.

“Well … she thinks he’s got it in his head to marry them off to some bluebloods. All three of them. Any swell will do, so long as his blunt has run dry and he’s desperate enough to marry a bastard daughter of Jack Hadley.”

“Bloody hell.” He shook his head. “Why would any swell want to—”

Mary waved a hand about her fiercely. “For this, of course. All of it. The mine, the factory …”

Cold washed through Ash’s veins. Of course. For everything he had worked so hard for.

It all came together then. He understood why Jack suddenly wished to claim the daughters he’d seen fit to forget. He wanted what they could bring him. Prestige. A door to the glittering world of the ton. The sneering aristocrats would have to welcome him into their drawing rooms if his daughters married men among their ranks. His hand curled into a fist at his side.

Mary must have seen something in his face. An uneasy look drifted across her features. She drew out his name on a heavy breath. “Ash.”

“I’ve made this this,” he said tightly, motioning to his elegant suite. “The hells were nothing before me. And the mine? The factory? It was my idea to invest—”

“I know, I know,” Mary soothed.

“He means to hand over what is rightfully mine to some lily-handed prigs who suck up the nerve to marry his bastards?”

“Well, they are his heirs, Ash,” Mary pointed out. “And their future husbands have a right—”

“Just because Jack shagged these chits’ mothers doesn’t give their future husbands the right to claim all I’ve worked for! All I have built!” His chest lifted on a deep breath.

“What can you do about it? You’re partners. If Jack gives each of his princesses a share of all he owns, it’s his right.”

“Princesses,” Ash sneered and shook his head in disbelief. Jack Hadley had thieved, cheated, and murdered his way to the top. Everyone knew it. His daughters were no princesses.

“At least a dozen bluebloods will be in attendance tonight. Grier let it slide that one of them is even a real duke.” She snorted. “Can you imagine that? A duke? Dining with ol’ Jack Hadley. Maybe even becoming his kin?” She laughed.

And taking what is mine? The factory? The mine? The hells? All that Ash had in this world. “No,” he bit out past his teeth. “I can’t imagine.”

And he couldn’t. He didn’t want to believe that the man who had taken him under his wing would discard him for a gaggle of females he’d never even met—daughters or not. After plucking Ash off the streets and giving him his start, how could he not consider Ash in any of this?

“Well, I’m off.” Mary pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Wait a moment,” he murmured from chilled lips. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Oh.” She arched her eyebrow, the look in her blue eyes decidedly wary. “You’re not going to start any trouble, are you? I’ve no wish to get scolded for talking out of turn.”

“Jack won’t give you a thought,” Ash assured her. “I’m coming,” he said flatly.

He’d hear it from Jack’s own lips that while he viewed Ash as a son, he didn’t consider him good enough to be his heir … good enough to inherit all that he’d built for the two of them. Jack instead preferred for his share of wealth and property to go to a trio of blue-blooded dandies with nothing but birth and rank to their credit. Oh, and marriage to Jack’s bastard princesses.

When Ash arrived at Jack’s Mayfair house, it was to find double the usual servants buzzing about. Like an army of ants, they swept, dusted, and polished everything until it gleamed. Hothouse roses, fragrant and rich in color, covered every surface. Beyond extravagant for this time of year.

Amid the cloying bouquet, the butler led him into Jack’s office, a wood-paneled circular room of deep walnut that was as familiar to him as his own bed. He’d spent countless evenings in this room, a glass of Jack’s finest brandy in his hand, discussing business, life, the politics about Town and how it all might affect their enterprises.

They were alike: both brought up from the gutters, both having tasted abuse at the cruel hands of the unforgiving and merciless London underworld. Both with an insatiable hunger to succeed, to win and prove that they were no longer gutter trash. Ash had always told himself that’s why they worked so well together, why they’d become partners.

Apparently, he’d been wrong. They weren’t alike.

Ash knew what he was, knew what drove him, and he felt not the slightest remorse or wish to change. Some men were built for domesticity and could content themselves with a simple life. A wife, home, children, church on Sundays. He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t aspire to be. Nor was he like Jack. Jack craved a place in Society, position, the final stamp of approval—and he would step on Ash to get it. That much was now clear to him.

Ash surveyed the familiar room with fresh eyes. Even though Jack could scarcely read and do little more than pen his name, books lined the walls of his office, stretching to the domed ceiling.

He settled his gaze on Jack, sitting behind his desk, his secretary beside him, assisting him as they read over some documents.

Looking up, he greeted Ash as though nothing were out of the ordinary, as if gentlemen from Society’s highest echelons were not about to descend upon this very house. “Ash. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Is it true?” he demanded, wasting little time.

Jack didn’t even blink. He never did. Never gave an outward sign of what he was thinking. A trick Ash had learned from him. Never show the world the true you. Cling to your guard. “Is what true?”

“You have daughters. Three bloody daughters!”

Jack sighed and slid a glance to his assistant. “Give us a moment.”

Ash watched him with narrowed eyes as the secretary left the room. Jack leaned back in his leather chair as the door clicked shut. “One of the maids, I presume? Every female on my staff falls into titters at the sight of you. Is there no woman you can’t seduce?”

Ash snorted. Jack knew all about bedding women. His illegitimate offspring attested to that.

“Why are you here, Ash?” he demanded in a hard voice that told Ash he already knew.

“I want to hear the truth from you.”

Jack studied him a long moment before speaking. “I’m a father. Is it so surprising that I should want to see my daughters? I’m not a young man anymore.”

“I know you’ve gathered them all here to auction them off to some damned bluebloods.” He felt his top lip curl back from his teeth in a sneer.

“Is it so wrong to want to see my girls well arranged—”

Ash broke out in laughter. He couldn’t help himself. He knew Jack Hadley too well to believe he was a well-meaning father concerned with the welfare of his daughters.

“Come, Jack. Do you even know their names? This is about you. About getting yourself a duke for a son-in-law.”

The older man’s ruddy face burned vividly. “Of course, I know their names. I took pains to locate them, haven’t I? They’re all here …” A scowl swept his face. “Well, I believe so. The final one was to arrive today. She’s been a bit elusive. Damned inconvenient. I have a big evening planned and I need her here.”

The final one. She didn’t even merit a name. She was without an identity. And yet Jack would hand over to her, to each of them, what Ash worked so hard to build. It was intolerable.

“So you don’t deny you’ve claimed them as your heirs? That you intend to marry them off and give away all that I’ve labored to—”

“It’s not all yours though, is it?” Jack cut in.

Ash ignored the question, pressing on. “The gaming hells were scarcely hanging on when you made me partner. The mine, the factory … I had to convince you to even agree to invest—”

“But I did agree,” Jack inserted. “You couldn’t have bought the mine or factory without me. And you’ve made me a very wealthy man. So wealthy I can buy myself any son-in-law I want.”

Ash inhaled sharply. “What of me? Am I not to be considered a candidate?” The wild idea seized him, and he could not shake it loose. If marrying one of Jack’s daughters helped him secure even a slight hold on the empire he’d built, then so be it. True, he’d still have two other daughters and their dandy husbands to contend with, but he’d cope—and all the better if he was married to a direct heir. One third of Jack’s share would be his. Combined with the share he already possessed, he’d hold the greatest majority.

Jack arched a bushy brow. “You want to wed one of my daughters? You?”

The flesh near his eye ticked beneath Jack’s appraisal. Of course he didn’t want to marry one of the chits. He didn’t want to marry anyone—much less some female he’d never clapped eyes on before. But in that moment he did want to know that this man who had saved him from starvation and abuse—this man who was the closest thing he would ever have to a father—thought he was good enough.

“Perhaps,” he answered and held his breath as Jack regarded him with steady, unflinching eyes.

“Sorry, Ash. You know you’re like a son to me, but I have big plans for these girls and you don’t quite fit into them.” His expression must have cracked, because Jack added, “I can’t have you for a son-in-law. You’re no different from me—another rat from the stews.”

The words gouged him. “I see.”

Nodding, he turned and strode from the room, each bite of his boots on the carpet driving the insult of Jack’s words deeper home.

He did see. He saw everything clearly then. Jack had communicated his message perfectly. Ash wasn’t good enough, and he didn’t deserve to keep the empire he’d built up from two crumbling hells all to himself. He simply wasn’t good enough to be Jack’s sole heir.

Except no one told him he wasn’t good enough. That he couldn’t have something no matter what he did, no matter what he said or how hard he tried. He’d proven that over the years.

And he’d prove it again.

He may not want to marry, but he would.

He would have one of Jack’s daughters, steal her right out from beneath his nose. Whatever bloody duke Jack had lined up for her would just have to miss out. Because Ash wasn’t about to lose.

Not ever.

Chapter 7

She was vastly underdressed.

This regrettable thought flitted through Marguerite’s mind as she entered Jack Hadley’s drawing room to join her sisters. Her father, the butler informed her, was indisposed at the moment but would join them later. Just as well. She was not here for him, after all.

“Marguerite?” The older of the two girls rose to her feet, her elegant skirts swaying as she moved forward with an easy confidence. “I was afraid you would not come.” She motioned to the other female sitting so silently, her slim hands folded neatly in her lap. “We’d begun to fear you did not wish to meet us.”