by Angie Ray
“Hm.” Pretending to consider, Mortimer’s thoughts were busy. Did the fool expect him to believe such nonsense? Obviously there was something else, something Bernard wasn’t telling him. And somehow, Miss Westbourne was involved.
Mortimer’s thoughts dwelled for a moment on Barnett’s fiance. How had such a clod managed to win such a prime piece of womanflesh? he wondered. Although her breasts were small, her lines were good, and the curve of her lips belied the coolness of her eyes. His fingers caressed the cards in his hands. He would not mind having a piece of her himself.
He remembered she’d exhibited little skill at cards. He would have to make sure he played a few hands with her. It might be useful having her in debt to him. Very useful indeed.
As for Barnett’s clumsy attempt to buy the ring--he would refuse of course. He only wished there was some way to pry out the full story.
Surreptitiously, he studied the stolid, patient face of the man opposite him. He sighed. There was little chance of prying anything out of Barnett. Old Bernie was tighter than an unwilling woman’s legs. Oh well. It didn’t matter. He would never give up the ring and he would derive great enjoyment from refusing Barnett’s request.
Shaking his head as if he had just come to a decision, Mortimer said, “Sorry, Barnett.”
“I’d be willing to pay a great deal.”
It was that important? Mortimer’s spiteful pleasure increased. He shook his head again, but much to his disappointment, Bernard only frowned slightly, showing no other sign of frustration.
“I will take up no more of your time then.” Barnett rose to his feet.
Mortimer rose also. “I hope you and your delightful fiancee will be able to attend tonight?”
“Yes, we’re looking forward to it. Good day, Mortimer.”
“Good day, Barnett.” Smiling, Mortimer sat down and began shuffling the cards again, mentally picturing what Miss Margaret Westbourne would look like without her clothes.
*****
A summer squall blew up as Bernard rode home across the fields. Angry raindrops pelted against him, and he slouched forward, his spirit at low ebb. Ever since visiting Madame Razinski, a fear had been gnawing at him. He feared it was impossible to get rid of Phillip.
His failure to obtain the ring compounded his bleak mood. He didn’t actually believe the ring would help, but as Margaret had said, it was worth a try. He was even tempted to go back to the fair and buy that hag’s “holy water.” At this point, he was willing to try almost anything.
If only he had managed to buy the ring. Although it might not prove anything at least it would have made Margaret happy. She might even have hugged him again.
Remembering that moment in the Honeysuckle Walk, his heart increased its rhythm. Her waist was so tiny, his hands had spanned it. He had wanted to pull her hips against his and kiss her until she was breathless, until he drove all thought of Phillip from her mind, until she was as hungry with want and need as he was....
His horse stumbled, bringing Bernard to his senses. Automatically, he steadied the bay gelding with a firm hand and mentally castigated himself for his lustful thoughts. He had other problems to worry about--such as Jeremy.
Bernard frowned, remembering what Margaret had said. He needed to have a talk with Geoffrey. Not only about Jeremy but about the London post, too. He would talk to the other man today, and perhaps to Margaret, also. He would tell her how much he cared about her. He would tell her to forget about Phillip....
Margaret thought Phillip compelling and exciting. When she had told him that, he had wanted to shake her. Couldn’t she see how superficial those qualities were? How insubstantial? Respect and consideration counted for more, he had wanted to tell her. But before he could speak, she had added courage to Phillip’s list of attributes.
Courage.
The insinuation was there, although perhaps unintentional--she thought he lacked courage. Was he a coward? He thought of the times in his life when he had been too frightened or ashamed or even too lazy to stand up for what he believed and despair filled him. It was true. He was a coward. How could he ever hope to win her away from Phillip?
Deep in gloom, Bernard almost passed the path leading to the village, but the church steeple in the distance caught his eye. He pulled back on the reins, easing the gelding’s pace, as an idea slowly formed. The vicar was a good friend of Bernard’s--they had gone to school together. Perhaps, just perhaps....
With sudden determination, Bernard turned the gelding onto the path.
*****
Margaret sat in the parlor, unenthusiastically sewing a small piece of lace to the garland she planned to wear in her hair tonight. Sighing, she rethreaded her needle and wondered what on earth was taking Bernard so long.
“Are you not feeling well, dear?” Aunt Letty asked.
“No, no, I’m fine,” Margaret assured her hastily.
“That’s good. I wouldn’t want you to miss the party. Geoffrey, Cecilia, are both of you going to Mortimer’s tonight?”
Geoffrey, who was playing draughts with Jeremy on one of the gilded Baroque tables, didn’t look up. “Only if he’ll play billiards.”
Cecilia chortled.
“What is this business about billiards?” Margaret asked.
“Bernard hasn’t told you?” exclaimed Cecilia, pausing in her beadwork. “It’s a most amusing story. Geoffrey, you tell her, you were there.”
With obvious relish, Geoffrey complied. “It was about four years ago. Bernard had come home for a visit and dragged me along to his club, when who should walk in but Mortimer. As soon as he saw Bernard, he told everyone who would listen about their duel, then challenged Bernard to a game of billiards. Mortimer expected to win, naturally, so when he lost, he was furious. Instead of taking his loss like a gentleman, he accused Bernard of cheating. Bernard immediately tapped his claret.”
Tapped his claret? Margaret gasped. Bernard had hit Mortimer?
“Your turn, Papa,” Jeremy said.
Geoffrey moved one of his draught pieces before continuing. “His nose bleeding everywhere, Mortimer challenged Bernard to a duel. I’m sure Mortimer thought to humiliate Bernard again, but Bernard turned the tables neatly. He accepted the challenge and named his weapon--billiard balls.”
“Billiard balls?” Margaret stared incredulously at Geoffrey.
“Clever, wasn’t it?” He blocked Jeremy’s last move, then grinned. “The gentlemen in the club howled, thinking it a fine joke. Naturally, they all insisted on attending the duel. Mortimer’s ball went wide, fortunately, since it appeared he was aiming for Bernard’s head. Then, cool as you please, Bernard popped Mortimer in the leg, dislocating the knee. Mortimer was out of commission for nearly three months.”
“Good heavens,” Margaret said blankly as Cecilia and Geoffrey laughed heartily.
“Papa, it’s your turn,” said Jeremy with the long-suffering air of one who has heard the same story many times.
Aunt Letty shook her head indulgently at Geoffrey and Cecilia. “You two are terrible. Are you coming tonight, or not?”
Geoffrey stopped laughing and glowered down at the draughts. “I wouldn’t be caught dead there,” he muttered.
“But Papa,” Jeremy said solemnly. “Just imagine Lord Mortimer’s fright if you were caught dead there.”
“Jeremy, don’t forget our little discussion.” Cecilia tapped a warning finger on her chair.
“Sorry, Mama.” The glint in his eye vanished. Ducking his head, he jumped one of his father’s pieces.
“Then Bernard and Margaret and I will go.” Aunt Letty peered at the mantle clock. “In fact, it’s almost time.”
Almost time! Margaret gathered up her sewing things. “I think I will start preparing.”
She hurried up to her room. Where was Bernard? She needed to know if he had been successful in his efforts to obtain the ring. She prayed he had been. Phillip’s plan was entirely too risky.
As she reached her door, she noticed it
was slightly ajar. That was odd, she thought. Usually the maids cleaned in the morning. Unconsciously holding her breath, she pushed the door open.
To her utter amazement, she saw Bernard tiptoeing around her room, sprinkling what appeared to be water from a small glass vial. Her pent-up breath expelled in a single exclamation. “Bernard!”
Bernard jumped and turned, a guilty flush spreading over his face. Quickly, he slipped the glass vial into his pocket.
“What are you doing?” asked Margaret. “What is in that vial?”
“Er, nothing.”
She looked at him suspiciously. He wasn’t taking after Aunt Letty was he?
“Er, that is, I was looking for you,” he continued. “I wanted to tell you about Mortimer.”
Excitement filled Margaret and she forgot about the glass vial. “What did he say? Did he sell you the ring?”
“He refused to sell.”
“Oh.” Disappointment welled up in her. She had not truly expected Mortimer would sell the ring, and yet she had hoped. Now everything was riding on Phillip’s plan.
“Never mind, Bernard. We will think of another way.” She made her voice joking, even though her next words were actually quite serious. “Perhaps I can win the ring from Lord Mortimer at cards tonight.”
Bernard smiled. Small lines fanned out from his eyes and a crease appeared in his cheek.
Margaret smiled back. He had a beautiful smile. She had forgotten how nice it was. And how nice he could be. Although he had failed to purchase the ring, she appreciated that at least he had made the attempt.
She would like to tell him about Phillip’s plan, she thought as Bernard left. Very likely he could help somehow--if Phillip would allow it. Margaret sighed. If only the two men weren’t so hostile towards each other!
Some time later, Margaret stood before the mirror in her room studying her appearance. She felt like a soldier going into battle, although certainly no soldier ever wore a pale pink organdy dress to face the enemy. But the gown might help her cause--she hoped the lecherous Lord Mortimer would be distracted by the way it was cut low off her shoulders, with only a bit of lace draped around her upper arms and pinned between her breasts by an artificial rose. The corsage formed a point at her hips, and the skirt flared out over an underskirt with row upon row of lace. Two gold bracelets adorning her arms were her only jewelry. In her hair was the small garland of roses, with a piece of lace attached; on her feet she wore white silk evening boots.
A knock at the door signalled the carriage was ready. She grabbed up a fan and hurried downstairs to join Aunt Letty and Bernard. Bernard stared at her for a long moment, his eyes dark and inscrutable, before moving forward to offer his arm.
Outside, thunder rumbled and a cool breeze blew. With a glance at the gathering storm clouds, Margaret climbed into the carriage.
As the horses trotted down the road, Margaret’s fingers tightened on the lace-covered sticks of her fan. If she failed tonight, Aunt Letty would lose her home. The old woman would be devastated, and Margaret felt certain Mortimer would not show any mercy.
She must win.
Her grip on the fan tightened even more when they arrived at Mortimer’s, only to find a crush of carriages in the drive, forcing them to wait in a long queue. Their carriage crept forward at a snail’s pace. Margaret held the fan in both hands, bending the sticks into an arc.
Would she be able to do it? She was no cardplayer and she was not accustomed to high stakes. To try to win 50,000 pounds--and Phillip’s ring--in one night from an expert cardsharp seemed not only impossible, but insane. Could she possibly succeed?
Click, snap.
The sudden noise almost caused Margaret to snap the fan in two.
Click, snap. Click, snap.
She glared through the dark at Bernard, but of course he couldn’t see her. Her irritation faded though, as the rhythmic sound continued, strong and steady. Strong and steady. That was how she must be. Determination filled her. She must succeed--Aunt Letty’s future--and Phillip’s--depended on it!
The carriage arrived at the front door and they were able to alight. She grimaced a little at the ornate gold trim that decorated the ceiling, door frames and furnishings in the hall. Mortimer was nowhere to be seen, so they milled forward with the crowd into the ballroom which had been converted into a gaming hall. Long tables were set up around the room. To the left, Margaret could see games of Macao, Vingt-et-un, and Baccarat in progress. Along the opposite wall, people appeared to be playing Napoleon, Whist, and Faro. In the center of the room, an old E.O. table was set up, and beyond it, a table where Mortimer sat.
There was a hush to the air, people moving and talking quietly, that was quite unlike the parties Margaret had previously attended. There was no music, only the clacking E.O. ball and tumbling dice. In spite of the gaily-colored frocks, sparkling jewels, and brilliant lights, the people seemed somber, intent on the various games.
How many others were gambling away their homes and futures? Margaret wondered.
She glanced around, looking for Phillip. She did not see him, but before she could explore further, Mortimer spotted them through the crowd.
He waved them over. “Good evening Letty, Barnett, Miss Westbourne. Please, sit down.”
Bernard and Aunt Letty did so, but Margaret remained standing. “I think I will look around a little first.” Seeing Mortimer’s frown, she added sweetly, “It all looks so fascinating.”
Mortimer nodded, his smile smug. “It is indeed. But you must promise to join us later, Miss Westbourne.”
Margaret inclined her head politely before turning and moving away. Immediately, her gaze began searching the crowd. She must find Phillip. Walking around the room, she stopped by each table, hoping to find him lurking somewhere, but he was nowhere in sight. She squeezed past a fat gentleman, dodged a lady who appeared to be tipsy, and passed through an archway into a smaller chamber, pausing by a pillar. The crowd was thinner here, only a few tables set against the far wall. Seeing no sign of Phillip, she was about to leave when she heard two women on the other side of the pillar whispering.
“I’m completely broke.” The first woman sounded near to tears. “What will I do? Charles will murder me.”
“Don’t look at me. I lost everything at the faro table.” The second woman’s voice was peevish and disgruntled.
“Elizabeth--“ the first woman lowered her voice. “Do you think it is possible Mortimer cheats his guests?”
“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions. I wish I’d never started coming. Now I’m so far in debt, I daren’t stop, lest he call in my vowels.”
“Surely he wouldn’t do that! Good heavens, if he calls in mine, Charles will certainly find out.” The woman shuddered. “Come along, Elizabeth. Let’s play one more hand of whist. Perhaps our luck will change.”
“Very well.” Elizabeth sighed, then added, “I just wish that he would lose--really lose for once.” They headed off towards the whist table.
“Shall we oblige them?”
“Phillip!” She had never been so glad to hear his voice. She peeked around, but didn’t see him, even though she could smell his tobacco.
“Softly now. I’m right beside you.”
She looked, but still could not see him. Then she thought she saw a faint glow, hovering to her left.
“Phillip? Are you all right?” she whispered, stepping back farther into the shadow of the pillar.
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Although this is a bit more difficult than I thought it would be. You won’t be able to see me, but I can talk to you, and that’s all that we need to defeat Mortimer.” She could hear the glinting smile in his voice. “Are you ready?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Margaret nodded. “Are you?”
“Not quite. I want to watch the game for a while. It’s an interesting one. I’ve not played it before. I also need to see what methods Mortimer uses. He’s a clever rascal.”
His voice was moving
towards the other room and Margaret quickly followed. “You truly believe he is cheating?”
“Certainly. Ah, watch him closely now, and you’ll see it. He has a stacked deck in his hand. There, did you see him switch the decks when he pretended to sneeze?”
Stopping in her tracks, Margaret exclaimed, “The scoundrel!” Several men at the E.O. table stared at her. Flushing, she started walking forward again, head held high. She heard Phillip chuckle softly.
Ignoring his inappropriate humor, she raised her fan to cool her heated cheeks, then used it to conceal her mouth while she whispered. “Phillip, how can I possibly win if he’s cheating?”
“Don’t worry, Margaret. Now listen carefully. I want you to play by yourself for a while, so I can discover all his tricks. When I’m ready, I will whisper my instructions to you. Understand?”
Margaret nodded.
Mortimer looked up as she approached. “Miss Westbourne! Are you ready to play now? Wonderful, wonderful. I insist you sit here, next to me. Ogglethorpe, get up and give Miss Westbourne your seat, you’re done up anyway.” With unctuous charm, Mortimer seated her. After Ogglethorpe departed, Bernard and Aunt Letty were the only others at the table. Bernard nodded at Margaret. Aunt Letty, jar at her elbow, didn’t look away from the cards in Mortimer’s hands. “Hurry and deal,” she said.
“Miss Westbourne, are you familiar with the game Brag?” Mortimer asked as he shuffled the cards.
“I’ve played a few times,” Margaret responded. It was a simple game as she recalled. The object was to get either a pair or a triplet. The ace of diamonds, knave of clubs, and nine of diamonds were all wild cards.
As Mortimer dealt out the cards, the ruby ring on his finger flashed. He must have noticed Margaret staring at it, because he said, “Sorry I couldn’t accommodate you about this ring, Miss Westbourne. It has a special significance for my family--a talisman of sorts.”
Because it sealed the curse on their enemy, Phillip Eglinton? Margaret’s determination grew stronger. She must win tonight and she must get that ring.