Jessica climbed onto the bed and slid under the covers as she hid a smile. “Are you suggesting that I should have been a dutiful stepdaughter and wed Sir Percival?” She knew Donny’s feelings about Margaret and her scheme, but she loved to tease her.
Her nanny-turned-maid gave her a sharp glance. “Yer stepmother had only herself in mind when she came up with that one.”
Jessica giggled. “Come, Donny, I thought you wanted me to wed.”
“Aye. To some nice lord who’ll take care o’ ye for the rest of yer days.” She tucked the blankets around Jessica.
Jessica sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever find one of those. The men who frequent the gaming houses are not looking for wives, and the women there are not…acceptable.”
“Seems t’ me a young girl with a decent name and good looks ought t’ be acceptable,” Donny grumbled.
Jessica only smiled as she snuggled down into her pillow. “This girl with a decent name is tired, so if you are through your grumping, I’ll go to sleep,” she murmured.
Donny gave the blankets one last pat, then did as she was asked, shaking her head.
But Jessica’s smile faded as Donny closed the door behind her.
Chapter 2
The next night, Jessica entered the establishment of Madame du Barré once again. After greeting Jacques, Madame’s very large majordomo, and handing him her cloak, she turned to look out over the elite of London society who had come to titillate their excitement and slake their thirst for more than the usual round of balls, dinner parties, and theater. The establishment of Madame du Barré was neither coffee house nor club. It was a gaming hell, one with a reputation for fairness at the tables and wickedness elsewhere within its walls. Madame du Barré’s was not for the faint of heart or pious of nature. Although many of the forms of entertainment provided by Madame for her guests were illegal, nothing had been done to close her doors, for many of the guests were members of His Majesty’s government, including the Prince of Wales on occasion.
Jessica smiled at Jacques, who murmured that Madame was most anxious to speak with her this evening. Not everyone was allowed past the front door by Jacques, but to be told that Madame wished to speak with her was indeed an honor. Of course, once inside, it was customary to pay one’s respects to Madame, but it was not always the rule that a person would be warmly welcomed or even acknowledged.
A burst of laughter carried over the noise of the crowd. It came from the gold salon where Madame usually spent her evening. As she moved through the crowd towards the sound of the laughter, gentlemen clad in the latest of fashions bowed to her, and women in the most daring of gowns nodded their greetings. The ladies for the most part wore dominoes, half-masks, as Jessica did, to conceal their identity and preserve their reputations. Yet, it was not usually difficult to discern the better-known members of society.
Jessica had come to this establishment when she first arrived in London. Strangely, it had been from Margaret that Jessica had learned of Madame’s establishment. On one of the few times that Margaret had talked about her life before becoming Lady Carlton, she had mentioned going once to Madame’s. She had told Jessica how exciting it had been to wear a mask and mingle with such a rakish crowd. Jessica, in her innocence, had been fascinated with the story. When she had asked her father if he had ever been there, he had become furious with Margaret for telling his daughter about such things and had told Jessica that should she ever find herself in London, under no circumstances was she to go near the place. The matter had been forgotten until her father’s death and Margaret’s insistence on her marriage.
When Jessica had first conceived of her plan to outwit her stepmother, she had decided that a gaming hell was exactly the type of place which would best suit her needs. Remembering Margaret’s story, Jessica had gone to visit Madame during the afternoon, when no one else had been there. Margaret’s name had gained her entrance and a meeting with the woman.
Jessica remembered her first impressions of the house itself and the woman who inhabited it. She had been led upstairs and only caught glimpses of darkened rooms that contained gaming tables and other shadowy shapes of furniture. The room where she was finally escorted to, however, was bright with sunlight and decorated in expensive velvets and brocades and furniture imported from France. An attractive, middle-aged woman dressed in a lavender silk negligee reclined on a chaise. Her dark eyes had watched Jessica approach with warm curiosity. She had invited Jessica to sit, and then had ordered hot chocolate.
That seemed a lifetime ago. Jessica stood now at the door to the gold salon and watched that middle-aged woman flirt outrageously with the men around her. Madame had accepted the frightened, eighteen-year-old girl and her desperate scheme to make money. She had even given Jessica money to get started and helped with her wardrobe. All Madame had asked in exchange was for Jessica to deliver a letter to a certain Monsieur Montaigne who lived not far from Braeleigh, and to keep these letters a secret. Madame had been more than generous.
Jessica’s career as a professional gambler had been launched. That had been nearly a year ago. Since then she had visited Madame’s establishment with great frequency and had become well-known. But to the patrons, her true identity remained a mystery. Madame imparted little information about her, and Jessica imparted even less. The only information they had concerning her was the strange name she gave herself—Lady Fortuna— and that she was a very shrewd card player who rarely lost. Madame had told her bets had been taken to see who would be able to defeat her at the card table. More discreet bets had been placed to see who would be able to break down her virtue.
Madame caught sight of Jessica in the doorway of the gold salon and waved her lace fan at her. The men surrounding her opened ranks as they turned to see the newcomer. The gap in the crowd allowed Jessica an unobstructed view to the woman who sat royally among her fawning subjects.
Jessica’s glance fell on a stranger who stood beside Madame’s chair. One hand rested on its back. The stranger was tall with hair the color of spun gold, and his skin was unfashionably tanned. He stood easily, appearing confident of Madame’s attentions, while the others about him jostled nervously for a word or a glance from her. What struck Jessica the most were his eyes. Even from across the room, she could tell they were the color of bright emeralds and seemed almost as hard. Those eyes watched her approach Madame with a speculative look that Jessica found terribly unnerving. She wished he would turn away.
“Ma petite,” Madame greeted her as she held out both hands. “Très ravissente,” she said in approval of Jessica’s appearance.
Jessica smiled in thanks as she kissed Madame on both cheeks. She knew the dress she wore was becoming. Donny had made it for her, because Jessica couldn’t afford a modiste. It was a simple, black, watered silk gown cut quite low over her bosom with a high waistline defined by a gold ribbon tied beneath her breasts. The sleeves were long and tight and ended in a point that covered the back of her hand. Her hair was piled in curls on top of her head and entwined with another gold ribbon, matching the one on her dress. She wore no jewelry except for a simple gold locket that teased the cleavage between her breasts.
Madame turned to the stranger who stood beside her chair. “Monsieur le Duc, do you not think la petite fille, beautiful? Ah, but where are my manners? You have not met our enchanting gambler. May I present the Lady Fortuna? Ma petite, this is His Grace, Damien Trevor, Duke of Wyndham.”
Jessica, despite her wish not to, was compelled to look up into those green eyes. They seemed to mock the world. An aura of self-possession emanated from him and a strange magnetism demanded one’s attention. He was dressed simply, yet elegantly, in a coat of rich, brown velvet with tight, faun-colored breeches which just missed being indecent. His waistcoat of pale yellow satin embroidered in white silk covered his white silk shirt. A very large topaz winked out from the folds of his intricately tied stock. He was easily the hand
somest man Jessica had ever met. She curtsied politely and extended her hand.
“A pleasure, my lady.” He smiled as he bent over her fingers.
“Wyndham has just been telling me news from the Continent.” Madame sighed. “It is so long since I have been home.”
Distracted by Madame’s words, Jessica turned to smile sympathetically at her and allowed the Duke to keep possession of her fingers much too long. She felt his lips touch the back of her hand. It was a bold, improper action, one which should not have surprised her in Madame’s establishment. She jerked her hand away as the feel of his warm lips sent a strange, thrilling sensation up her arm. She sent him a cold glance of warning, but was unprepared for the intense, calculating look in his eyes. It was gone immediately, replaced by an amused, mocking smile, but Jessica had seen something beneath the gentlemanly exterior of the man. It frightened, yet fascinated her. She searched frantically for something to say to give herself time to regain her composure. She focused on Madame’s words.
“…because of that man, Napoleon,” the lady was saying. “Bah! He is a wily one. He says ‘Liberté! Fraternité! Egalité!’ and then he makes himself emperor.”
“Do you not wish to see your homeland grow more powerful, Madame?” Jessica asked, merely for something to say.
Madame smiled at her. “Not at the expense of so many lives, ma petite. I do not live in France any more, eh? I am here, in England, with all my friends.”
“And we are so very glad that you are here, Madame.” The Duke bowed graciously. “Where else would we find so charming a lady as yourself?”
Madame flipped open her fan and held it coyly before her face. “Ah, Monsieur le Duc, you have a golden tongue. Did you learn that from Monsieur Napoleon himself, or did the angels bless you at birth?”
The Duke smiled at Madame, but his eyes looked at Jessica as he said, “It was not I who was blessed by the angels, Madame.”
Madame pouted. “Naughty boy,” she scolded as she snapped shut her fan and tapped him on the arm with it. “It is impossible to flirt with two ladies. You will make them both sad, and then you will be left with none.”
“Madame, with you, I wear my heart on my sleeve,” the Duke said gallantly. “But I find I cannot ignore the charms of this quite intriguing lady.” He lifted Jessica’s hand and this time, kissed the inside of her wrist.
Jessica was aghast at his brazen action. Although dealing with men who made advances was not new to her, for some reason the Duke caused her a great deal of apprehension. Summoning up her courage and relying on her past experiences, Jessica gently disengaged her hand.
“You are too kind, Your Grace,” she said coolly. “But surely, you have met other women more intriguing than I in your travels. Did not Madame say that you have just returned from the Continent? I have heard that the women of Spain are hot-blooded beneath their demure facades, and the women of Italy will take two men to their beds.”
“I’ll wager that after those women of Italy have had Wyndham, two men wouldn’t be enough,” someone said from the back of the group.
The Duke bowed his acceptance of the compliment in good humor, and the others chuckled.
“And the women of France?” Madame asked with a smile. “What have you heard of them, ma petite?”
Jessica smiled at Madame. “That they are urbane and witty and set the fashion for the rest of the women of the world.”
“Perhaps that is so,” the Duke said, “but none has the beauty of the English rose.”
Jessica felt the caress of his eyes as if he touched her. In spite of her wish to remain cool, she blushed. Madame’s appraising glance made her shift uncomfortably.
The woman chuckled, then changed the direction of the exchange. “There is a game just beginning in the green room, ma petite. Perhaps, Your Grace, you would be interested to join in also?”
“That sounds intriguing,” Wyndham answered without taking his eyes from Jessica. He offered his arm to her. “Lady Fortuna, may I have the pleasure of escorting you?”
Jessica had no choice but to take his arm, yet she almost wished it had been Sir Percival, the man her stepmother would have her wed. At the thought, she looked up at the Duke to compare the two men, which was silly. There was no comparison. The Duke was handsome and charming, where Sir Percival was ugly and vulgar. Realizing the ludicrousness of her comparison, she smiled to herself.
The Duke caught her smile and raised an eyebrow. “Is there something that the lady finds amusing?”
Caught off-guard, Jessica blushed again and was surprised into telling the truth. “No, Your Grace. I was just thinking of someone I knew.”
“I see. And this other man, do you find him attractive?” he asked, his tone cool.
“How do you know I was thinking of another man?” she challenged.
He merely raised a brow.
Jessica shook her head and laughed at the idea of Sir Percival being found attractive by anyone. “He is not attractive at all. It was a ridiculous thought.” She quickly changed the subject. “I have never seen you here before, Your Grace. You do not come here often?”
“As you heard before, I have been on the Continent for quite some time. When I am in London, I am an occasional visitor to Madame’s, but, perhaps, I may begin to come more frequently.” His gaze turned thoughtful.
“Do not come to Madame’s only on my account, Your Grace, unless you wish to lose at cards,” she said bluntly. “I am not looking for any amorous entanglements.”
“Really,” the Duke murmured, not at all put off.
Jessica was relieved to find that they had at last arrived at the green room. She did not like the Duke’s last comment and the hint of challenge it held. The man was too handsome and too charming for her tastes. She had never heard of him before, and that was something quite unusual. Gossip about this baronet or that earl, this vicomtesse or that duchess was always making the rounds at Madame’s. Yet, he and Madame had acted as if they were old friends—or lovers. She would have to question Madame about him as soon as she had the chance.
He escorted her into the room, one of the smaller gaming rooms in Madame’s establishment. It was only large enough to hold one table around which seven or eight people could sit. At one end of the room were several chairs and a settee where the players could relax during breaks in the game. The room was, indeed, green, from the patterned carpet on the floor, to the dark green brocade on the walls, to the various shades of green satin covering the furniture. There was a sparkling crystal chandelier which cast its light over the whole, and crystal wall sconces helped illuminate the room. Jessica had gambled in this room many times and won quite large sums. She considered it a good omen that Madame had suggested this place on the evening she had met such a man as the Duke of Wyndham.
The other gamblers, all men, were already seated about the table, but play had not yet begun when Jessica and the Duke arrived. There were only two empty chairs at the table. Jessica breathed a silent sigh of relief that they were not next to each other. She did not wish to have to sit next to the Duke all evening. She needed to concentrate on the game, not some skirt-chasing man intent on making a conquest.
The men greeted the two newcomers to their table as they seated themselves. Jessica was again relieved to discover that everyone knew His Grace—relieved and intrigued. Who was this man that he was so well known by everyone but her? But she put it out of her mind. The less she had to do with him, the better.
There was something about him that was different from the other men she had met at Madame’s. It was not that he was so handsome, with his darkly tanned aquiline features and dark golden hair, for she certainly had met other handsome men. It was not even his charm or his smile, though she found his smile devastatingly attractive. It was, rather, the aura about him of an untamed animal, taking what he wanted when he wanted it. Yet, he was not vulgar or uncouth, for in t
he few minutes she had been with him, his manners had been flawless, and he had shown her every respect, despite the boldness of his caress on her hand. But he gave the impression of being slightly uncivilized, that perhaps he should have been a pirate instead of a Duke. In short, he frightened her.
After a few pleasantries, the game commenced. Jessica played well at first, winning most of the hands, but after the first hour of play her luck seemed to leave her. She was having trouble concentrating, for every time she looked up, a pair of brilliant green eyes seemed to be mocking her. As the hours passed, the pile of money before Jessica grew smaller, while the pile of money in front of His Grace multiplied. In desperation, she tried to bluff with a very large bet on the next hand. The Duke was not fooled. He held better cards and won the round. Nervously, she placed her hand over the few coins still before her. There was barely enough to pay for a hired carriage to get her to her lodgings.
It was several hours after midnight when she decided it would be wise to leave the game before all her money was gone. She had lost a considerable sum, almost a third of what she owed to Margaret. It would take several more nights at Madame’s to make up the amount needed to pay her stepmother.
She tossed her cards into the middle of the table. “I believe you gentlemen have outwitted me this evening,” she told them with a smile. “You have repaid me in kind for winning so much from you on previous evenings. I bid you good-night, sirs.”
The gentlemen stood and consoled her.
“Bad luck, m’lady.”
“Next time will be better.”
“The cards were against you.”
As she nodded and smiled bravely, she noticed that the Duke called one of the servants over and spoke to him in a low tone. The servant nodded and left the room quickly. Jessica thought nothing about it as she listened to the words of sympathy from the other players. Only the Duke said nothing as he sat back in his chair and watched her with a curious glint in his green eyes.
The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 2