Heart's Desire (Lords of Chance)

by Wendy Lacapra

  “And an apt one?” Clarissa forced a swallow. “I mean, is it possible such a thing could have happened before?”

  “If I am following correctly, yes. But why are you so interested? Aren’t you planning to depart?”

  She sighed. “If I could be assured it would rain every day, I might not leave at all.”

  Mrs. Sartin fiddled with a bracelet of sparkling rubies worn over her white gloves. “I would suggest consulting the almanac before you departed.” She glanced up. “I’m quite certain it predicts a wet winter.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Mrs. Sartin shifted her stance. “Lady Horatia and my nephew make a handsome couple, don’t you think?”

  Clarissa frowned at the sudden change of subject. “The daughter of a duke would be an advantageous alliance for you.”

  “The heart wants what the heart wants…though if the connection assists in business, all the better.” She turned back to Clarissa. “However, I find the greatest satisfaction when I work that equation in reverse.”

  “How can business assist in matters of the heart?”

  Mrs. Sartin’s eyes twinkled. “An establishment recently came—rather reluctantly, in fact—into my possession. My clerks, of course, wished to examine the books. And what do you think they found among them?”

  “I haven’t the vaguest.”

  “A betting book.”

  Clarissa closed her shawl.

  “A betting book,” Mrs. Sartin continued, “I hear, a certain lordship is so desperate to obtain, he has been nearly breaking down the doors.”

  It couldn’t be. “Sharpe’s? You purchased Sharpe’s?”

  “Darling,” Mrs. Sartin cooed, “Shh.”

  Clarissa lowered her voice. “Why would you do such a thing?” And why would Markham be desperately seeking the betting book if he no longer cared?

  “Sharpe’s was rather a favorite haunt of one of my nephew’s associates. An associate I do not like.”

  “So you purchased his club?”

  Mrs. Sartin shrugged. “Just because men pass their laws and their restrictions doesn’t mean women cannot wield power, too. We’re smarter. We’re more ruthless. And when we help one another,” she smiled, “there is no limit to what we can accomplish.”

  There may be no limit to what Mrs. Sartin could do—she was a wealthy widow entirely in control of her fortune…

  But what if…

  But what if, indeed.

  A tingling sensation ran up her neck, and a sudden idea reignited hope’s ember.

  Her idea would work only if Markham still cared, and she hadn’t dared dream he did. But if he really was as desperate as Mrs. Sartin described…

  “I wonder if I could consult your experience,” Clarissa said.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Sartin handed her a card. “Why don’t you call? You may ask me whatever questions you wish, and I will happily release the book into your care.”

  Even better. “I’ll call.”

  “And if the weather turns foul?”

  “I’m not worried,” Clarissa grinned. “I think I’ve determined a way to obtain an umbrella. And I do hope you’re right about the rain.”

  “Oh, I am,” Mrs. Sartin replied, with a nod.

  Clarissa wandered back to her friends, absently fingering the card.

  If anyone knew barristers who could help her implement her idea, it would be Mrs. Sartin. And she’d no doubt the lady would be willing to help her turn her idea into a full-fledged plan. Rayne must agree, of course, but why should he balk? It wasn’t as if he truly wanted her to trail him on his travels.

  Once she had the betting book, all evidence of scandal would disappear. And, if she could have contracts drawn up as she intended, she could feel fully secure. She could walk toward her life unblemished.

  But her life wasn’t out there in the new world.

  Her life was with Hearts.

  And not just because of the pleasures of his bed…

  She thought of him playing that silly slapping game with Julia and Horatia, of those boats tacked to the wall, of the way he counted her scowls as if each one was an achievement, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

  Because he listened. Because he shared. Because he was a good, honest man who made her heart light.

  “What was that all about?” asked Philippa. “Did I see Mrs. Sartin give you her card?”

  “Yes.” Clarissa nodded. “And now, I think I must go.”

  “Why?” Philippa exclaimed.

  “Because I must live a contradiction.”

  “Well that doesn’t make any sense,” Philippa replied.

  “It will if Markham is willing to wager what he values most.”

  Katherine laughed.

  “What’s so amusing?” Philippa asked. “Didn’t they all wager what they valued most in the last game?”

  Katherine shook her head no. “Markham wagered me. I believe Clarissa wants something a little more personal.”

  Clarissa glanced up. “I’ve been so afraid, Katherine. And I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to understand.”

  “Don’t waste time apologizing to me. Take Bromton’s coach, Clarissa. Farring can take me home.”

  “I’ll need the whole card suite.”

  “I figured as much. And Bromton’s cardroom, I imagine. Now, go.”

  She nodded.

  Now that she’d decided, she felt a lightness she hadn’t felt in years.

  Only, lightness wasn’t the right word.

  Lightness one could feel on one’s own, say walking down a lane, or sitting in a comfortable chair by a warm fire. The feeling inside wasn’t something she could experience alone.

  What she was feeling was love, fully unfurled.

  …

  Markham paced Rayne’s drawing room with Rayne’s calling card clutched in his hand. Rayne had summoned him, though Markham did not know why.

  One possibility?

  Clarissa was with child.

  Robbing Clarissa of choice was, of course, wrong, wrong, wrong.

  On the other hand, ever since they’d been apart, all color had disappeared. His world was filled with stark, pointed branches, and the only power capable of turning the cold, dead winter back to spring was the thought of Clarissa by his side.

  And the thought of her holding his child?

  Anguished longing weighted Markham’s breath.

  He’d expected shunning Society to bring him a measure of peace, that busying his days with papers and plans, Parliamentary bills, and agricultural journals would distract him from isolation, from loss.

  He’d been mistaken.

  Love turned ravenous when denied.

  And even though he’d banned spirits of any kind—along with wagering and women—unrequited longing gnawed away his strength, as if he were drunk and disoriented.

  So disoriented that if Clarissa was not with child, and Rayne had summoned him for the second possible reason—to hasten Markham’s demise—he would almost relish such an end.

  He deserved Rayne’s worst.

  No matter why Rayne had left his card, Markham answered because honor demanded he face the consequences of his actions. Although a small part of him clung to the slim chance he’d catch a glimpse of Clarissa.

  Or even just her scent.

  But the dark room didn’t show any signs of a feminine touch. And, if Rayne had told Clarissa he’d summoned Markham, she’d likely taken herself out of Mayfair altogether.

  According to Katherine, she would soon depart the country, too.

  The urge to call out for her and plead overwhelmed.

  He couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t do, wouldn’t give. He closed his eyes and pictured the folly—just one physical representation of his father’s excessive gestures of love, none of which had ever served their purpose.

  He could go down on his knees, promise fantastic gestures of his own, and successfully convince Clarissa to stay, but then both of them would be u
nhappy.

  He preferred to remain the only one in pain.

  If he could do nothing else, he could shield the woman he loved from that same pain.

  “Well, pup, here we are.”

  Markham turned to face the man who had humiliated him in his own home, who’d revealed their secret bet to Katherine, who’d encouraged Julia’s youthful adoration and then violated his sister’s innocence. The man whose sister Markham had, in turn, ravaged with all the gentlemanly restraint of a rutting horse.

  “Here we are,” Markham repeated.

  Rayne looked somewhat worse for the wear—a black beard with traces of white concealed his skin. His infamous diamond had disappeared. However, deadly confidence had replaced his haughty reserve.

  Markham cleared his throat. “If you’ve summoned me to call me out, name your place, your second, and your time—but understand I intend to delope.”

  “Magnanimous of you.” Rayne snorted. “Do I have reason to call you out?”

  Yes… No…

  He’d done nothing with Clarissa she had not desired…with one exception. Markham reddened. “I courted your sister.”

  “I know.”

  “Under false pretense.”

  “I know.”

  “I exposed her to public ridicule. And, although she warned me that she had no intention to wed”—his voice cracked—“I fell in love with her.”

  “Ah, pup.” The corner of Rayne’s lip turned up. “You did, didn’t you?”

  Markham exhaled. “With everything I am.”

  “This is why I insisted I see you first—I had to be sure.”

  “First?”

  Rayne clasped his hands behind his back and strode into the room. He circled Markham slowly, drumming the fingers of his one hand on the back of his other in an ominous rat-a-tat.

  Markham grew hot beneath his collar. “Good God, Rayne. I know you’re enjoying my distress. But have some mercy, would you? Just challenge me and get this over with.”

  Rayne ceased walking and lidded his gaze. “What makes you so certain I wish to challenge you?”

  “Because I would do—did do—the same.”

  “What happened between Julia and I involved exactly three kisses—reluctantly given after the minx insisted she would seek experience elsewhere if I did not comply.”

  Julia. She’d be his death. “My sister has her own mind—”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Rayne interrupted.

  “But her willfulness doesn’t absolve you—”

  “I know.”

  “And she was absolutely certain—wait. What did you say?”

  “I said I know her willfulness does not absolve me. What’s more, I apologize—to you, and to both your sisters. Although I prefer that you deliver the apology to Julia on my behalf.”

  “You apologize? What happened to you in America?”

  “Time and distance do wonders for a muddled mind.” He paused. “What were you going to say about Julia’s certainty?’

  Markham had been going to say Julia was certain she’d been in love. He changed his mind. The man may have apologized, but a menacing air lingered. A combustible menacing air.

  Rayne had determined to leave again—this time taking Clarissa with him.

  Why shouldn’t Markham leave the past to the past and save Julia any further heartache?

  Lord knew he had enough for them both.

  “I assure you,” he said slowly, “that Julia wasn’t permanently harmed. She understands now that what she felt was only a passing fancy.”

  “A passing fancy,” Rayne repeated with a shake of his head.

  Rayne didn’t need to point out that Julia’s passing fancy had permanently altered the course of his life.

  “If you didn’t summon me for a challenge, why did you call me here?”

  “Because it turns out my sister has her own mind, too. She asked a favor, and, considering the challenges she faced, I felt it prudent to comply…on the condition I speak with you first. And now I have.” Rayne placed a hand on Markham’s shoulder. “Come with me, pup.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Bromton’s…for another high-stakes wager.”

  “Are you and Bromton speaking?”

  “We’ve reached an understanding.” Rayne’s expression gave nothing away. “But tonight isn’t about me. Or Bromton. It’s about you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Markham followed Rayne through Bromton House toward the cardroom. The same cardroom where he’d infamously wagered his sister’s hand in marriage, intending to make sure Bromton won.

  In his mind, he saw the round mahogany table exactly as it had been that night, the moment he’d played the final card. The idea had been for them all to wager secret high stakes—not only high stakes, but something they held dear.

  Bromton hadn’t been alarmed when Markham won his bet. Instead, he’d leaned back in his chair, appearing almost relieved. He recalled Bromton’s words—I suggested secret bets. To begrudge them now would be…dishonorable.

  Markham had been out of his element in the argument that followed. He’d privately sparred with a brooding Bromton, trying to figure out the what and the why of the strange game they’d played, while simultaneously seizing the opportunity to lift his sister out of shame.

  His wager may have eventually brought Katherine and Bromton happiness, but the grief it had brought others—Julia, Rayne and, now, himself—was a thief that just kept taking.

  He hadn’t any idea what Rayne intended, but he meant to put an end to any suggestion that he would gamble.

  “For the last time,” he said to Rayne’s back as they entered the room. “I do not wager. Not anymore.”

  “That’s a pity.” Rayne stepped aside. “You might want to change your mind.”

  Little had changed in the room. The brass chandelier still hung low from the center of the ceiling, directly above the dark wood table. Bromton and Farring occupied the same chairs. Rayne’s seat remained empty, but his…

  He’d fooled himself into believing the sharp, heightened awareness he felt in Clarissa’s presence must have dulled in the passing week. But when she turned her head, that awareness cut with the sharp, thin precision of a blade.

  Her gaze raked him up and down. “It’s about time.”

  Trepidation and relief warred for dominance—one emotion hot, one cool, both jostling as if he were rattling down a hill in the back of a driverless donkey cart.

  “What is going on?” he asked.

  Farring pulled a pipe from his mouth. “We’re playing a game, of course.”

  “And”—Bromton tossed away his cards—“the lady has won, again.”

  “Not the lady,” she corrected. She glanced to Markham. “I’ve been wagering on your behalf.”

  He forced himself to swallow. “I don’t wager.”

  She smiled faintly. “You gave me leave to do so the day we went to the maze.”

  He had, hadn’t he?

  The scent of yew danced at the edge of his memory. She’d been lost. He’d found her. She’d kissed him—freely, fully, and deeply.

  He was the one lost, now.

  “I’d be careful, Hearts.” Farring pushed back from the table. “She’s already won quite a bit.”

  Bromton stood. “Nothing we couldn’t afford to lose, of course.”

  “Where are you going?” Markham asked.

  “I asked them to leave when you arrived,” Clarissa answered. “I prefer to play the final round with you.”

  Farring handed Clarissa a deck with a grin. “Kindred spirits.”

  “I know,” Clarissa replied.

  Just before leaving with Farring, Bromton grasped Markham on the shoulder and squeezed. A gesture of what? Manly solidarity?

  Markham turned back to see Rayne take Clarissa’s hand.

  “The result of your discussion?” Clarissa asked.

  Rayne shifted his gaze to Markham. “I have no objections…but are you sure?
”

  Sure of what?

  She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

  Rayne kissed Clarissa’s cheek. “Then you have my blessing…and my wish for good luck.”

  And then, just before leaving, he shook Markham’s hand.

  “Final round.” Clarissa turned back to the table. “I deal. You sit.” She glanced through her lashes. “Please.”

  A sense of unreality followed Markham to Rayne’s chair. He gazed at Clarissa and only one word came to mind—“sweetheart.” He swallowed the endearment he hadn’t been able to say since they’d been together at Southford.

  He had no right. Not anymore.

  Yet, still, she tugged at his heart—his battered heart, still clinging loyally to a ship he had no hope of saving.

  “What is going on?” he asked. “Are you with child?”

  She made an odd expression and then shook her head no. He slumped and ran a finger back and forth across his brow.

  “A relief, I’m sure,” he forced.

  “Is it?” she asked.

  She dealt him a card and herself a card. Then she set aside the deck. She rested her elbow on the table and her cheek on her hand. A black curl spiraled down over her chin. Her expression remained neutral, but her blue eyes smiled.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “I haven’t the patience for complex games—not when it comes to us. And right now, I’m finding you far too distracting by half. A single card. That is all.”

  He reached for his card, but she moved her hand from her cheek and caught his wrist in her gloved fingers.

  “First,” she said with a stern little pinch to her lips, “the stakes.”

  Heat radiated up his arm from the point where her fingers held him still. “I keep telling everyone I don’t wager.”

  “And I kept telling you I would not marry…but we may each review our rules from time to time, don’t you think?”

  His pulse jumped. “Does that mean—?”

  “Unfortunately,” she interrupted, “I can no longer offer a dowry.”

  He frowned. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s amazing what clever barristers can accomplish. I asked Rayne to sign over my dower funds to me. And, after some convincing, he complied. It’s important you understand I do not intend to relinquish them.”

  The two sentences did not fit. Why would it be important he understand? “You have the means to set up your own household, then?”