by Thea Devine
She was only slightly mollified when Jainee disclosed that she had wagered her own money, and went away scolding Jainee that she could not take chances with every sharp who walked through the door.
And yes, she would send Southam to the receiving room so that Jainee could make arrangements with him. Perhaps Jainee should withdraw from play for one evening to rethink where her loyalties lay.
Poor Lady Truscott, Jainee thought as she edgily paced the room waiting for Southam. Somehow she had been deluded into thinking that her proteges felt themselves beholden to her like biblical slaves who traded years of servitude for a chance at life.
Of course it was true that Lady Truscott had taken her on when she was just a scared and rather witless French-speaking emigrι; out of the goodness of her heart, Lady Truscott had hired her to clean and sweep and to serve her guests as the occasion arose. She knew an apt pupil when she saw one, but more than that, she knew exactly what would entice the jaded and the bored well-to-do in a provincial town in the dead of winter.
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So it had been a mutual trade: Jainee received room, board, found coin and a small stipend for her services, and the little maid, Marie, who had accompanied her from Italy, was taken on as a seamstress and helper for room and board only. But then, Marie was not attractive; Marie was hired to stay behind the scenes.
It had been fairly obvious that Jainee would not. Almost immediately she bartered her handful of shillings for lessons in the language, certain that once she had command of that, the rest would be easy. But it became plain to her fairly soon that the only way she could get what she wanted was to take to the tables. That had been the hardest decision of all, with the spectre of Therese and her obsession with the cards firmly rooted in her mind.
However, she had chosen Brighton and she had chosen to apply to a gaming house because Brighton was the place and gambling was the amusement of the wealthy when they habituated the town in summer and winter.
The fact that she was now awaiting the appearance of Lord Southam surely attested to the shrewdness of her judgment, if not the efficacy of her plan.
Here she had no prearranged signals with which to work, no preordained outcome, no confederate who could rescue her. She was on her own here, and she was girding herself to go point-to-point with Southam and not much relishing the thought.
Not that she would ever allow him to intimidate her. The man was vulnerable—she had seen glimpses of it deep in his eyes—and he could be taken by surprise, and that was her strongest weapon of all.
If she were ever allowed to use it—
"I will be very happy to accept your voucher," Southam's deep voice said behind her, and she wheeled around from the window to find him standing just inside the doorway.
Well, now she was at a disadvantage, not even having heard him enter the room. She had not one word to marshal to her own defense, nor could she see immediately how she was go-
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ing to play her distress in order to win him over. He did not look as if he wanted to win any much more than he had already.
For one looming instant, she had a great warm feeling for why he was considered so formidable. But she could not let that stop her.
"Thank you, my lord," she said as graciously as she could, still playing for time to try to figure out how she was going to approach him about her supposed insolvency. "That is most honorable. But I'm afraid — " yes, perhaps this was the tack to take, "I'm afraid that I have not been quite so honorable."
He closed his eyes in pure exasperation. She could see it working, and then the condescending politeness: "Do tell, madame. And how can that be?"
"I do not have ten thousand pounds to pay you," she said bluntly, but the statement did not shock him as much as she thought it might.
"Yet you wagered it," he said evenly, and she felt like a child caught out in some costly prank.
Still, she was ever Therese's daughter, and she did exactly as Therese would have done. She shrugged and waved her hand and said, "I am a gambler, my lord. Surely you understand the chance was half and half that I could come out ahead."
"And so we must deal with the half that didn't," Southam interpolated, acid dripping from his voice.
"Well, I believe so, my lord. What else can we do?"
"That is for you to say, madame. It is hardly a debt that can be forgiven, since you chose to make it so public. Nor should it be, because the amount is so excessive."
"Exactly," Jainee said before she even considered how this would sound to him. And, in fact, he reacted to it and she had to turn away before she got herself into deeper trouble before she could play the rest of her hand.
"I am all ears," Southam said, and the very lack of expression in his voice alerted her to the fact he would almost certainly feel distrustful of any suggestion she might make.
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She plunged into it. "Perhaps we can come to some kind of accommodation, my lord."
He refused to help her. "Well now you have intrigued me, madame. Just how do you mean?"
She felt like stamping her foot. Another gentleman would have taken her meaning completely, but then, she should have grasped that Southam was not just any gentleman, in that respect at least. She lifted her chin and looked him straight in his fathomless black eyes. "I offer you that which is most precious to me —myself."
There, that was as brazen as she could make it. Surely no other woman had ever stood up to him and virtually told him to take her.
"Gammon! Do you take me for a fool, madame? One year ago you were ready to dismember me and burn the damned house down. What has changed so drastically that now you are ready to share my bed?"
"A heavy debt," she said candidly, and that was no lie, but he obviously would not be gulled by her willing and bald-faced desire to sacrifice herself.
Every warning signal went off in his mind. The goddess had sought him out, the goddess had lost, deliberately perhaps, against a bet she must have known she could not pay in order to offer herself to him after previously having tried to throttle him for the very same offense. It was a sweet irony, one of those unexpected surprises that amused him, and because of that, he was willing to hear her out and, concurrently, watch her squirm.
But he had not reckoned with her determination. The glimpse he had seen the year previously was to him merely the response of an emotional woman who did not understand her place or duty.
The woman she was now did not seem emotional or particularly enamored of him. He felt a small curiosity to know exactly what it was she wanted of him.
"A heavy debt is enough to corrupt the virtue of any woman," he countered mockingly, "but you were in dire straits
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when first we met and you resisted body and soul a liaison which could have enriched you with little effort on your part."
"But I spoke very little English last year," Jainee retorted, "and so, perhaps I did not understand."
There was chance-taking; not even he could be fooled into thinking that she had mistaken his intentions that horrible night.
"My dear goddess, you understood perfectly well. But do try to see my point. I couldn't possibly risk burning down the townhouse, and possibly the whole of London."
"This is a grave consideration," Jainee concurred, "but I assure you, I have gained some sophistication in the matter since then." Goddess? Goddess?? Oh, thank the fates —here was a point in her favor. He was not exempt from the baser feelings of men; here was an advantage, pure and simple.
"Yes, I can well believe you have," he said dampingly, "but how is that of any moment to me?"
"I collect there have been instances where honor has been satisfied in exactly the manner I have chosen," Jainee said carefully, pushing, pushing gently because it was quite evident that if he agreed, she would have to come to the point, and in her heart of hearts, she did not want to. She only knew she would, if it were the only way to advance her plan. Her practical mind would not let her think in any other direct
ion.
"Indeed," Southam murmured, his flat black eyes just boring into her. The goddess in sacrifice . . . laid out on the altar of her greed—or her vices; goddesses were ever notorious for their capriciousness . . .
And she never avoided his eyes all the time he paced around her thoughtfully. She felt as if she were a piece of horseflesh on display at Tattersalls.
The man was intractable; she couldn't tell what he was thinking or even if he were amenable to her proposition as any other gentleman would have been.
All the details would have been arranged by this point, she thought sourly. Southam had her very off-balance, and she resented that mightily. She was very used to assessing a person
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instantaneously: she could almost tell to a shilling how high a man might fly and where he would draw a line.
But Southam —she had badly underestimated him. She felt like kicking him but such behavior would not give her the advantage of him.
And then he shocked her again.
"Well, madame, let us get down to cases. Tell me exactly what you want and why, and perhaps we may deal together."
That was plain speaking, she thought, standing her ground under his harsh scrutiny. All the feminine blandishments would not work with him. He could not be enticed by the thought of having her at his mercy, that was clear. Yet she could see that something about her fascinated him or he would not be here parrying words with her.
She needed to get the upper hand and quickly, and she toyed for a moment with the notion of telling him the truth.
But what truth? Everyone had a truth —her mother, her long-gone father, the brother who might never remember his past given his youth, herself—even Southam had a truth, but with him, she decided, she could not cave in. The best method was attack.
"My lord, I believe it is true that it was you who chose to lose to me three nights ago."
And how neatly she turned him about. She understood already that he was someone to be reckoned with, but he was a little amazed that she could still surprise him.
And now he had to dissemble. "I do not like to lose, madame."
"Except when it suits your purpose," Jainee countered sweetly, seeing her perception prick him in just the faintest movement of a muscle in his jaw.
"I would have no reason whatsoever to want to lose to you, madame. You would hang a man out to dry."
"Thank you; I take that as a compliment, my lord. Then you can see that I too play to win and would have no reason to forfeit deliberately to a man who takes pleasure in crushing women under his heels."
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"Yes, I rather thought my reputation had preceded me. We are at stalemate, madame. I do not believe you. You are too anxious to sully your own name, and that swears with what occurred between us this past Yuletidemas."
"Your consideration of the delicacy of my feelings is appreciated, my lord, but totally unnecessary. I chose to remain with Lady Truscott, and I knew full well what that decision entailed. I play by the rules, my lord. I wish only to discharge my debt to you in the most honorable way possible."
It was a pretty speech, but she saw immediately it did not play at all with him. He leveled that malevolent black gaze at her and he said gently:
"But my dear goddess, you are far too eager to offer yourself to me."
Oh, the clever man. Clever, clever man. She could barely see beyond her nose as a fine roiling rage began to build in her. She would not allow him to turn things topsy-turvy. She had made her choice and she intended to follow through on it, whether he willed it or not. Her blue anger subsided as she considered her purpose and her need.
Southam was perfect, and it was he who would capitulate.
"But I am no green girl who swoons at the mere mention of a liaison, my lord. I am also a woman of an age who, if she were properly raised and nurtured, would either be married now or considered on the shelf. I am not eager, my Lord Southam. I am merely sensible."
"And /, madame, am fully sensible that you are not telling the truth. So we come to that again," Southam said, "and we will get nowhere until we discuss the ripe reasons for your disastrous luck at the tables."
"I owe you ten thousand pounds, my lord. That reason alone should suffice," Jainee said brazenly.
"And you look very ready to trade your heart and soul for that debt," Southam retorted. "Try again, madame."
"Not my heart, my lord," Jainee said tartly, and something in her tone made him look at her with renewed interest.
Not her heart......He felt the jab keenly for some reason.
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and he thought perhaps that he believed she ought to be begging for mercy rather than trading quips with him. It struck him that he wanted her to beg, that a goddess should not get to have things all her own way, that she was too pragmatic by half. What kind of woman would barter herself for a debt which she had coolly and deliberately incurred?
And why would he not settle for what she had offered?
But he knew—it was too easy and she was too sure and every instinct within him shouted that there was something more. He meant to find out what that was.
"There never was a gambler who bargained with his heart," he said finally.
"And my mother taught me always to strike a bargain and never to give my heart away—advice that has much merit, my lord," Jainee said. "I believe gentlemen subscribe to that tenet as well. Perhaps it would make things more palatable for you if you were to be my Cyprian," she added with malicious kindness.
He choked. What audacity—and what style. She was truly something, this bold-speaking Circe; she blew smoke-rings around the truth better than any circus performer he had ever seen and she stood her ground like no man. Nevertheless, he could not give in to his bemusement with her, nor allow her to twist things all her own way. The fact remained that she had created the situation in order to use him in some way, and he meant to know what it was before either of them left the room.
"It is a ravishing thought, madame, but I refuse to be at anyone's beck and call."
"So you understand perfectly my very own feelings on the matter."
"We are in accord on everything but the reason you so precipitously threw your money away, madame." He watched her face closely as he brought the discussion back to the main point of his questioning, and saw a little flicker of wariness touch her steady sapphire gaze.
"It is time to come to the mark, madame. My honor is not
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at stake here; I can refuse your payment and put you at the mercy of moneylenders—you do recall that you called for the book? —or I can discharge your obligation altogether, which will kill your reputation. So now you must decide which is the best course for you."
And so he had come in for the kill. She recognized the superior reasoning and all the ramifications instantly, and she shrugged and said, "Very well, my Lord. It is as simple as this: I wish to go to London."
No, she was not easy, he thought, waving off her bald statement. She was very adept at misinformation by omission as well. For one fulminating moment, he felt as if he wanted to encircle her somehow, to contain her and all that intelligence and amusement that would not bow to his authority.
She really didn't understand how simple it was: he would accede to any story because she amused him. He had never met anyone like her. She was no home grown English miss; she had no airs, and once she had had a veil of innocence, but that had been replaced by this rather shameless and hard-headed confidence.
He would have staked his life that she was not worldly in any way, and the fact that she was ready and willing to submit to him on the strength of this conspicuous loss said much about her determination.
She did not only wish to go to London, and he told her so. "London is mere hours from here, madame. You could travel up by mail-coach any day you have the means to do it."
"Well, then—it is obvious I don't," Jainee murmured, hoping still to put him off the scent.
"Except that you wager with
the most reckless of the boneshakers, and I would lay odds you know exactly what you are doing at all times."
"Thank you, my lord," Jainee said impudently.
"We will strike the bet from the book," Southam said, out of patience with her at last. "You have provided me with an hour's entertainment, madame, and I count that worth ten thousand pounds to me." He strode to the door, leaving
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Jainee just a little stunned by his about-face.
She had been so sure he would give in on the basis of her inability to afford that which she sought from him. Women had bargained their lives away on less, and here he felt he had a right to claim more.
Well, it could not hurt matters now, she thought, and she called to him as he reached the door: "Lord Southam!"
He wheeled around in his graceful way. "Madame?"
"Perhaps you are right," Jainee conceded, measuring the effect of her words against his expression, which still did not change. There was no triumph there—yet — of his having made her bend to his will. There was nothing but polite attention. "It is no easy matter to talk of things that have been private with me for many years."
Southam came back into the room and motioned her to a seat at one of the many card tables around the room, and he took the opposite from her.
"You may begin by telling me where you come from."
She smiled faintly. First things first, and after all, as she phrased it, she was not telling a lie. "I came from Italy, my lord."
He slammed his large hand down on the table. "Do you never tell the truth?"
She bit her lip. "Only when I must, my lord, and I can see you are no fool."
"Neither will I count you one if you stop trifling with me," Southam said trenchantly. "You have eloquently proven the thing you wish to hide—you are no provincial simpleton, ma-dame, and you are most proficient at parrying your opponent's thrust- So which shall it be —a lunge? A jab? A sidestep? Divert? Repel, perhaps?"
"Your wit repels, my lord," Jainee interposed through gritted teeth.