Anthony entered after Lambley and sat facing the rear.

“Shall we wait until we have wine in our goblets?” the duke asked. “Or would you like to tell me what the deuce could have you in such a state?”

“I owe Gideon money,” Anthony said dully.

Lambley’s gaze pierced him. “When haven’t you?”

“Wagonloads of money. More than I can pay.”

“I see.” Lambley leaned back. “What do you hope from me? A loan?”

Anthony rested his head against the back of the carriage wall and covered his face with his hands. Was this his best attempt at responsibility? Robbing Peter to pay Paul in an endless series of loans until he hadn’t a single friend left?

With four days to spare, it was perhaps the only option he had.

“I would need a way to pay you back,” he admitted. “I don’t have one. If you loan me money, I may only be delaying the inevitable.”

Lambley gave Anthony a considering stare. “Hmm.”

“Unless it wasn’t a loan, precisely. What if it were an advance against wages earned?” Anthony gave a crooked smile. “I don’t suppose your estate is in want of a new gardener?”

“Have you any skill at gardening?”

“I can’t tell a daisy from a dandelion,” Anthony admitted. “I’ve no skills at all. That’s the crux of the problem.”

The duke’s gaze was humorless. “Businessmen generally invest in individuals with either talent or knowledge. If you’ve no skills to speak of, perhaps you have expertise in something I might find useful?”

If only he did! Anthony rubbed his forehead and tried to think.

“I can’t say that I have great knowledge in any field not taught to all gentlemen who attended Eton.” He had paid for every penny of that hard-won education with windfalls at the gaming tables. “I speak the same amount of French, recall the same amount of history. The primary difference between myself and the average buck is that I’m fashionable enough to be a common guest amongst the beau monde, yet unfashionable enough to be just as recognizable amongst the fast set. And worse. There isn’t a gaming hell in London unacquainted with my name.”

Lambley steepled his fingers. “How familiar are you with Vigo’s work?”

“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.”