Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three

by Lee, Caroline

  Her gaze turned speculative, and his breathing hitched.

  “Tavie,” he growled in warning.

  “No,” she repeated, then giggled. Actually giggled. “I just mean, I said I could help you, and I think I know how we can gain more information.”

  “How?” he asked with a frown, reaching for the knife she’d jammed into the top of the cheese wheel.

  “You’re getting more and more mysterious, with no one knowing where you’re staying, Mr. Douglas, or why you’re even still here in Black Aces. But King doesn’t suspect you’re anything other than who you say, right?”

  Jack grunted an affirmative as he sliced off a chunk of the white cheese and popped it in his mouth.

  “So,” she continued, “we set up a meeting between you two. Maybe dinner, with lots of wine. And we get him talking.”

  We?

  Jack swallowed. “Why in damnation would he tell me anything? He was trying to impress me only a few months ago, remember?”

  “And he still will, when we tell him you want the land the town sits on, rather than the mine itself. And as for getting him to talk…” She shrugged, then stood and crossed to the mantel, where a clock stood behind glass, its steady tick-tick mere background noise.

  To his surprise, she stopped in front of it, her brown skirts swishing to a stop just short of the embers, and peered into the glass.

  “This will do,” she murmured.

  He watched her pluck the pins from her bun, and his throat went dry when she shook her head and ran her fingers through her curls, shaking them out around her shoulders. Crouching a bit to be able to see her reflection in the glass, she pulled a few curls up from off her forehead and temples, and pinned them into a hurried coiffure atop her head.

  He watched her suck her bottom lip between her teeth, and jerked forward unintentionally, as if his entire being was centered on that lip she now chewed so desperately on.

  God in Heaven.

  She pinched her cheeks a few times, then dropped her hands to the buttons running up the front of her gown. She flicked more than a few open, then took a deep breath.

  When she turned, Jack was struck mute.

  Her dark hair was curled around her shoulders, one strand resting against the bare skin of her décolletage, since her gown and her chemise were unbuttoned almost to her breasts. Her lower lip was red and bruised, looking as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed, and her bright eyes met his with a hint of a challenge.

  Slowly, he stood, completely enchanted by this creature before him.

  She lifted one hand to the curl which lay against her skin, absently stroking it, and drawing his attention completely and unapologetically to her breasts.

  “Enchanté, Your Majesty,” she said in a breathless, thick accent, as if she’d learned English in a French school room. “My—how do you call it? My tutor did not tell me of your marvelous chocolat. C'est délicieux!

  It was the voice—the accent—he remembered most. With difficulty, Jack dragged his attention up to her eyes, knowing how that expanse of skin called to him. But he forced himself to squint, to focus on her.

  “You had a mole,” he finally growled.

  “Flatteur!!” she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling as she sunk into a deep court curtsy, her chin dropping enough so his eyes were, yet again, drawn to her décolletage.

  Damn. She was good.

  One hand fluttered as if she held a fan, while her other played with that carefully placed curl. “I had need to—how is it you say? To get close à toi, Monsieur Hoyle,” she continued, in that authentic accent.

  He stepped around the small table and met her in the middle of the room. “So you had Prince Thordis introduce you at a royal ball? Was he in on your deception?”

  She fluttered harder and dropped her gaze demurely. Which, dammit, only served to draw his eyes to her breasts, yet again. He cleared his throat and stared hard at her nose, willing her dress to close itself up again.

  “Surely you give me too much credit, Your Majesty. Prince Thordis only knew me as a French heiress,” she drawled softly.

  He gave up the fight. His hands came to rest on her arms, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold her closer, or push her further away from him. All he knew for certain was he couldn’t last a moment longer without touching her. Holding her.

  “I danced with you,” he said in a choked voice, still disbelieving. “I explained I was just a friend of the prince, so you shouldn’t call me Your Majesty.”

  “But I continued,” she said to his chin.

  He shook her just a little, remembering how the silly little French heiress had danced well, had moved like a woman who’d never had to worry about her worth, and had spoken continually of her love of chocolate. “Why?”

  Finally, she smiled—her real smile—and met his eyes. “Because what did you remember after?” she asked in her normal voice.

  He wasn’t sure what she meant, and maybe she could tell, because she answered for him.

  “You remembered the mole. You remembered my impressive breasts—mostly padding, by the way. And after, if you thought of me at all, you remembered me as an idiot, who couldn’t seem to grasp simple court etiquette.”

  Would he have understood her brilliance, if she hadn’t shown him? Jack doubted. He shook his head.

  When she nodded, he began to chuckle.

  “I would’ve told you anything, wouldn’t I?”

  “You did,” she agreed with a sparkle in her eyes. “In our two dances, you talked about the architecture of the ballroom—you say you’re not an engineer, by the way, but you understand quite a lot of it—the social hierarchy of the court, and when I asked, how to care for the flowers in one of the large urns near the balcony doors.”

  “I did?” He remembered none of that. There’d been many balls, and many dances with many beautiful women—some with moles, some with accents, most with amazing breasts. What else had he spoken of over the years, in his attempts to be charming?

  Her lips twitched. “That evening, I learned you were intelligent and graceful, and could hold your drink, but I couldn’t ascertain if you were a good man. I had to gain access to your rooms for that. And I needed to place myself in a situation where I could see you interact with others.”

  “The chambermaid and the barmaid?”

  She nodded, and to his surprise, stepped closer, until her unbuttoned gown was brushing against the front of his shirt.

  “You see, Jack, men talk. They talk even more when there’s a woman they want to impress. I don’t need to be intimate with King…”

  Oh yes, that’s what they’d been speaking of, wasn’t it?

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “This is what I’m good at, Jack. Let me help you.”

  Help you.

  His trousers were getting tighter by the heartbeat. He dropped his hold on her and stepped away, flustered by her...her...

  Her.

  He reached for the whiskey and another cookie, then took a deep breath. He sank into one of the chairs and raised both, as if giving her a blessing. Determined to remain in control of the situation, he nodded regally. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

  She did. And when she was through, they argued until they came to a compromise they both could appreciate.

  Then Mother came downstairs to join them in the parlor, and Jack built up the fire once more. Tavie fetched some bread and butter and sliced apples from last autumn, and as they all ate, showed them various techniques she’d learned from acting troops.

  He was particularly interested in the physicality of disguise, the way she held herself in order to become different people: wide and expansive, or small and mousy, or bumbling, or graceful, or as if she were hiding some physical deformity. It was fascinating, and soon, Jack insisted on trying.

  They spent the evening lounging in the parlor, eating cookies and cheese and apples, and drinking too much of Jack’s father’s whiskey.

  But it was fun.

  And
watching his mother laugh right along with them, Jack realized he hadn’t had any real fun since he left Aegiria. But here in Black Aces, he was having fun, and it was thanks to the remarkable woman who was making them laugh.

  Tavie.

  7

  This was a terrible idea.

  Jack pulled out his pocket watch for the third time in the last quarter-hour, irritated the damn minute hand wasn’t moving any faster. Still, it was finally almost six o’clock, which meant King should be there soon. And even though he knew Tavie wouldn’t come downstairs until after King arrived, Jack still glanced up to the hotel’s second-floor balcony.

  She wasn’t there.

  Why? Because she was damn good at her job, while Jack was so nervous his palms were sweating.

  He took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself to relax. He’d faced hurricanes and starvation and opponents in the rink with blades. He’d faced death more times than he could count, and quite a few of those times were since he’d returned to Black Aces.

  Having dinner with Augustus King would be fine.

  He’d even attempt to be charming, as Tavie had requested.

  This was her idea, and as he exhaled, he admitted to himself it wasn’t a terrible one. It actually had a high likelihood of working, it was just…

  It was Tavie.

  All those times he’d faced death or consequences, he’d been alone. Or with Hito or Thordis. And although they were his friends, he hadn’t ever felt so…so protective of them. The idea of Tavie putting herself in danger for him just rankled.

  Oh, get over yourself, Jack. It’s just dinner.

  Right. Dinner. Charming. Right. He could do this.

  He checked his timepiece again. One more minute.

  She’d helped him draft the letter to King, inviting him tonight.

  It’s high time I bought you dinner, isn’t it?

  Tomorrow evening, my delightful young cousin will be visiting, and I promise you’ve never met an heiress as beautiful as she.

  The hotel at 6pm.

  Tavie had been right; the invitation had all the right notes: the hint at nubile companionship, the reminder of Jack’s wealth, and closing on a command. King had sent his acceptance back almost immediately.

  The question would be if he’d come alone, or bring his only remaining hired gun.

  Jack had driven Tavie to the next town this morning, where she—and an unreasonable amount of luggage—had boarded the afternoon train, which put her back here in Black Aces before him, and with enough time to check into the hotel and tell everyone about meeting her “Dear cousin Jonathan.”

  And Jack had to admit; if he’d been impressed by her transformation into a high-class heiress the other afternoon, then it was even more incredible to see her in all her finery. She’d literally become a different person, and he couldn’t wait to see how she’d treat King tonight.

  “Douglas.”

  The bland acknowledgment came from behind him, and Jack turned to see King standing in the middle of the hotel’s foyer.

  Alone.

  One less thing to worry about.

  As always happened when he met face-to-face with King, Jack had to swallow down the rage which threatened to take over and become the red haze.

  In the time he’d been back in Black Aces, he’d seen and heard so many horror stories of King’s actions. The man had not only stripped the mine to pay for his lavish lifestyle, but when the silver ran dry, he then increased the rents on the town folk, until some were barely surviving.

  In the three months since the new year, two more businesses had closed. Any more, and Black Aces risked becoming a ghost town, with little hope of ever being resurrected again.

  And all of it, every single act of violence—from the burning of the schoolhouse last year, to his goons beating business owners who couldn’t pay—could be laid right at King’s feet.

  Charming charming charming charming!

  Right. He could do this.

  One hand tightened into a fist by his side, but Jack smiled easily and tucked his watch back into his pocket with the other hand. “King, glad you could make it. I was just waiting on dear Nina, but she’s late.” He made a show of rolling his eyes, as if looking for commiseration.

  It was a good move on his part, as King seemed to relax a bit. “Well, women can’t be rushed, can they?”

  Jack forced a chuckle. “Especially not ones as beautiful as Nina.”

  He’d chosen the name himself, a play on nine when her real name meant eight. She’d laughed at the pun, and the memory of her approval made this whole encounter easier.

  King was carrying that decorative sword-cane he was never without, and now he leaned on the large silver nugget which topped it. “I admit I was surprised to receive your invitation, Douglas. You haven’t corresponded with me since discovering the mine is—” The older man shook his head, as if trying to ignore the facts before him. “Well, I assumed you had no further business in Black Aces.”

  Jack chuckled, pretending amusement. “I came here to invest in the mine, true. But your town is charming, and I like the people. And dear Nina has been a treasure. In one of her letters, she gave me some rather good advice, which is why I begged her to detour here on her way to Salt Lake.”

  King hummed. “She sounds like an intriguing woman.”

  “Oh, she is.” Jack poured all the lasciviousness he could into his tone, and was rewarded when King actually licked his lips.

  There. The stage is all set.

  “Darling!”

  The call came from the stairs, and both King and Jack whirled to face the vision approaching them.

  And vision she was!

  Tavie’s hair was piled atop her head, in some sort of elaborate coiffure—How’d she manage that on her own?—and she’d somehow added an endearing white streak, which began at her temple.

  He remembered what she’d said, about giving the mark one striking thing to remember about her, and he suspected that was it. She wore the same green gown she’d worn to the ball in Aegiria; the color reminded him of spring leaves, and it hugged her curves in all the right ways.

  As she reached the bottom of the steps, she extended one evening-gloved hand in Jack’s direction. “Brother Johnny!” she trilled in an exuberant tone. “I’ve missed you so!”

  The noise Jack made as he took her hand and bowed over it was somewhere between “Wha?” and “Blerk.” But she just laughed as if he’d made a fine joke, and reached for his shoulders, placing a kiss on his cheek and pressing her breasts against his chest.

  That last one might’ve been accidental, but Jack was in no condition to determine. His mind was still scrambled from the sight of her in that gown. At the ball, she’d been demure and a bit silly. But tonight…?

  Tonight, in that same damn dress, she managed to look as full of sin as any man could hope.

  When they both turned to King, Jack had the presence of mind to note the man was staring at Tavie’s décolletage. That, more than anything, helped clear his thoughts.

  The game.

  Right.

  He cleared his throat. “Nina, dearest, may I introduce you to Mr. Augustus King? King, this is my cousin, Nina Douglas, of the Philadelphia Douglases.”

  King licked his lips again as he reached for “Nina’s” hand, but he shot a glance at Jack. “Your sister, perhaps?”

  Jack blinked, and as King straightened, his smile turned wolfish. “You say she is your cousin, but she called you ‘brother.’ ”

  Oh, hell.

  Before Jack could think of a way to cover for their blunder, Tavie laughed. This wasn’t the shrilly, annoying laugh of the heiress she’d been in Aegiria. No, this was a throaty, full-bodied laugh, which made her breasts bounce and tightened the trousers of every man within hearing.

  “My daddy was his uncle, but after his death, Mama married her brother-in-law, Johnny’s father.” Tavie, who had kept hold of King’s hand, leaned in just a bit to stage whisper, “It made
sense, if we wanted to keep all that money in the same family, after all.”

  Damn, but she was good.

  Jack’s smile felt weak, but he rallied. “Step-sister, I suppose, although I still think of her as a cousin. Second marriage for both of our parents, you know.”

  Tavie sent him a flirtatious smile. “Dear Johnny is just so stuck in his ways, don’t you think so, Mr. King?” She shifted so she was standing beside King, and when she slipped her arm through his, the man fairly preened. “Won’t you escort me to dinner?”

  King cleared his throat, his gaze flicking between that striking lock of white hair and her chest. “Charmed, my dear.” And it was obvious he was.

  If someone later asked Jack what he’d eaten at dinner that evening, he wouldn’t have been able to say. All he remembered was the wine. Specifically, Tavie lifting the wine glass to her lips, the red liquid forming little drops on her lower lip, and her tongue slowly licking the crimson liquid away.

  And her necklace!

  Good God, Jack wouldn’t have given the long strand of pearls a second glance on anyone else, but on her, they became a weapon. She’d given herself a mole right at the top of her cleavage, and made a habit of playing with the pearls—stroking them, pulling them through her fingers, drawing them away from her skin, then back again—which drew too much attention to said cleavage.

  Jack hoped like hell King was paying attention to her chest, because he damn sure couldn’t drag his eyes away long enough to check.

  Tavie kept the conversation going, talking about made-up families and acquaintances, as well as her business ventures in Salt Lake. She had an impressive back story, and King’s interest pushed her to the limits.

  “Your brother—apologies, cousin—mentioned you decided to grace my humble little town, because you had a business suggestion for him?”

  My town.

  That claim, more than anything else, drew Jack’s attention back to the conversation.

  Tavie winked conspiratorially. “Johnny is quite brilliant when it comes to managing money, but I’ve always been more creative.” She shifted forward, her forearms on either side of her dessert plate, and leaned toward King, an excited flush on her cheeks, and her voice breathless with eagerness, when she continued, “He told me how you collect rent from the business owners here in town, and how he’s become accepted by some of those townspeople.”