Two Sinful Secrets

by Laurel McKee

  Only one other establishment had ever been so lovely, and that was the Devil’s Fancy club in London. But she had not seen it in years, not since before she met Jack. Before she lost everything, when she was a spoiled, naive girl who thought there could be no consequences for sneaking out of her parents’ house to go and gamble.

  The thought of the Devil’s Fancy made her freeze in her chair. She closed her eyes for an instant and it was as if she was there again. That long-ago night was so vivid in her memory. He was vivid in her memory. Dominic St. Claire.

  She remembered his eyes, so intensely green as he looked at her across the card table. They would crinkle at the corners when he laughed, or grow dark when he touched her with those elegant, long-fingered hands. He had made her feel as if she was the only woman in the room, the only woman in the whole world, when he focused his intent on her.

  And when he kissed her…

  Sophia shivered when she remembered the way his lips felt on hers. She had never wanted a man before, never felt herself turn hot and melting under a touch, as if the whole world had vanished except for him. Not even with poor Jack, whom she had thought she loved.

  But Dominic had too many women, and they all came so easily to him. Surely he made them all feel as he had her that night. He was like a dream to her now. A precious, lost dream she took out like a glittering little gem when life seemed too lonely and cold. It reminded her of the girl she had once been. And it reminded her of how life could be, in another realm, another time.

  But now was not the time for such memories. Now was the time for cold, hard reality. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not when faced with a man like Lord Hammond. She had to win tonight. Whatever it took.

  Sophia opened her eyes and smiled at Lord Hammond. His own smile hardened, a flicker of some cold light flashing through his dark gaze. Sophia casually crossed her legs beneath her heavy skirts and let the ruffled hem back to reveal her black satin heeled shoe and a sliver of white silk stocking. She swung her foot a bit as she studied the cards in her hand.

  Lord Hammond’s attention went right where she hoped it would, to her slim ankle, and in the mirror behind him she had a quick glimpse of his cards in his careless moment. Not so good a hand as she had feared. She could still save this evening and come out ahead.

  Her glance flickered over her own reflection. Her skin looked very pale against the stark black of her gown and the sleek, glossy coils of her dark hair. She had no jewels left to soften her austere attire and make her fit in with the rich crowd. There was only the narrow black ribbon around her throat, and a guilty pink blush on her cheeks.

  Huntingtons never cheat! She remembered her father shouting that when her brother was caught once in a con artist’s scheme and lost a great deal of money. The Huntingtons were an ancient ducal family, not cheaters. Not elopers. Yet here she was, driven to be both in her desperation.

  I am doing what I must to survive, she told herself sternly. She had no room for honor or sentiment now, not if she didn’t want to starve. Cards were the only thing she was good at. It was either gamble, or whore for the likes of Lord Hammond. And she was not that desperate—yet.

  Sophia turned away from her reflection, and from the memory of Dominic St. Claire’s green eyes. She gently fanned herself with her cards and laughed. “My goodness, but it is warm in here tonight,” she said. “I swear Baden-Baden grows more crowded by the day.”

  Lord Hammond’s gaze slid from her ankle up over her décolletage in the low-cut gown and his smile widened. Sophia knew that look in his eyes. It was the look of a man who believed his goal was clearly in sight now. But she had a goal. too. She would win his money without surrendering more than the merest glimpse of her person. They couldn’t both win.

  “Perhaps we should go for a stroll in the gardens,” Lord Hammond said smoothly. “It is much cooler, and quieter, there. I have been wanting the chance for private conversation with you, Mrs. Westman.”

  “How very flattering of you, Lord Hammond,” Sophia answered. Over his shoulder she saw a lady entering the casino, a tall, stunning redhead clad in dove gray silk with a truly stupendous collar of diamonds around her throat. It was Lady Gifford, who was rumored to be Lord Hammond’s latest mistress. She gave him a stricken, wide-eyed look before she whirled away and vanished into the crowd.

  Sophia looked back down at her cards. “There are so many who wish to—converse with you, Lord Hammond,” she murmured.

  “Ah, but I can see only you, Mrs. Westman,” he answered. “You look particularly lovely tonight. I am sure the gardens would be the perfect setting for your rare beauty.”

  “How sweet of you to say so,” Sophia said with a smile. “But we should finish our game first, yes? It would be a shame to let the cards go to waste.”

  His gaze traced over her bodice again, slowly and with a clear intent. Sophia had to fight to keep her smile in place. “Of course, my dear Mrs. Westman. We certainly must finish the game.”

  As Lord Hammond ordered more champagne, Sophia requested two more cards and improved her hand. But beating her opponent was not quite as easy as she had hoped.

  An hour had passed with neither of them pulling ahead enough to win when Lord Hammond’s smile abruptly vanished. He folded his cards between his fingers and said with an exasperated note in his voice, “The night is wasting, Mrs. Westman.”

  Sophia peeked at him over her cards. “Is it indeed, Lord Hammond? It seems rather early to me.” She really agreed with him, but not for the same reasons she was sure he had. She was tired and wanted to find her bed—alone.

  If she went back to the hotel with enough money to pay for that bed, of course.

  “It is too crowded here,” Lord Hammond said. “So I propose we make this simple. We each draw a card, and high draw wins.”

  Intriguing. Sophia did like a high-stakes game—usually. “And what are the stakes?”

  “I will wager five hundred pounds,” he said easily, as if that vast amount were mere pocket change. For him it probably was.

  But it made Sophia catch her breath. Five hundred pounds. Surely enough to get her home to England and help her set up a new life, a new business. One where she wouldn’t have to whore, or marry, again, or crawl back to her family and beg for forgiveness. One where she could be independent. All on the draw of one card.

  But…

  “I cannot wager such a sum in return,” she said cautiously.

  “I would not expect you to, my dear Mrs. Westman,” Lord Hammond said with a smile Sophia did not like at all. “All I ask is that you walk with me in the garden, and perhaps accompany me to my suite. I have some paintings I recently acquired which might interest you.”

  Paintings her foot. Sophia took his meaning quite clearly, for he was not the first to propose such an arrangement. She let her skirts drop, concealing her shoes, and put on her sternest, most governessish expression. “Lord Hammond, how very shocking you are.”

  He laughed as he shuffled the cards. The gold signet ring on his finger gleamed. “And I fear missishness does not suit you, Mrs. Westman. I would never have thought you a lady to back down from a dare.”

  He was too right about that, Sophia thought wryly. She had always been too ready to run headlong into a dare. Anything her family didn’t want her to do she had always wanted to do all the more. It was what had led her here. She should probably get up and march out of the casino—straight into homelessness. And it looked as if it might rain later, which would make being on the streets even more unpleasant.

  Despite herself, she was very tempted by the wager Lord Hammond offered. With one turn of a card, her troubles would be over—or at least postponed. Or she could be in even more trouble than before. She shivered to think of Lord Hammond’s hands on her, of those cold eyes looking at her naked body.

  But there were no other promising games in the casino tonight, no other prospects. And she was down to her last farthing. That gnawing feeling of desperation deep inside had bec
ome all too familiar. It was time to leap before she looked.

  “Very well, Lord Hammond,” she said. She struggled to smile and keep her voice steady. “I accept your wager.”

  “Splendid, Mrs. Westman. You are ever intriguing. I knew you would not fail me.” Lord Hammond raised his hand in an imperious gesture and a footman hurried over with a sealed pack of cards. As Sophia watched, Lord Hammond broke the seal and shuffled the cards. He laid the neat stack before her. “Ladies draw first.”

  Sophia stared down at the cards. They looked so innocent, mere printed pasteboard. She handled such things every night. Somehow she felt as if they would come to life and bite her when she touched them. She had truly fallen low.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself and reached for the top card. Shockingly, her hand did not shake. She flipped over the card, her stomach in knots.

  Queen of diamonds. Not bad. But it could be beat.

  Lord Hammond nodded and reached for the next card. Sophia held her breath. It seemed as if time itself slowed down as he flipped it over. All the noise around her, the laughter, the chatter, the clatter of the roulette wheel, faded in her ears. She swallowed hard and looked down.

  The six of clubs. She had won. She was five hundred pounds richer. A shocked laugh escaped her lips.

  “Well,” Lord Hammond said. “It appears luck favors you tonight, Mrs. Westman.” His voice was low and tight, and filled with a barely leashed raw fury. She had never heard such a tone from the suave, cool man before.

  She glanced up to find him staring at her with burning dark eyes. A dull red flush spread over his face and his hand clenched in a fist on the table. Another shiver slid down her spine, banishing the rush of victorious relief. Lord Hammond was not a man used to being thwarted.

  “It would appear so,” she answered slowly.

  Lord Hammond nodded and waved the footman forward again. He spoke a curt word in the liveried man’s ear and sent him scurrying away. “I have sent for the key to my safe. You will understand, Mrs. Westman, that I do not carry such a sum on me.”

  “Of course not,” Sophia murmured, still half-stunned by what had happened.

  “Will you have a glass of wine with me while we wait? I would consider it more than compensation for my sad loss.”

  Sophia did not want to have a drink with him, or sit here any longer than she had to. His smile had become too congenial, too charming, and those shivers along her spine had become even colder. She had the urge to leap to her feet and run from the casino. But she did have to wait for her money.

  She swept a glance around the lavish room. It seemed even more crowded, and the laughter was even louder thanks to the freely flowing champagne. She surely couldn’t get into too much trouble there.

  “Thank you,” she said. “A glass of champagne would be delightful.”

  Lord Hammond rose smoothly from the table and offered her his arm. Sophia had grown accustomed to acting in the last few months; the life of a gambler, traveling from one spa town to another, demanded constant deception. Yet it took everything she had to stand and slide her hand onto Lord Hammond’s sleeve. She shook out her heavy skirts and gave him a smile as he led her from the main salon into the bar area.

  It was no less crowded there. A throng of people, like a merry, fluttering horde of brightly clad butterflies, gathered around the gleaming white marble bar. The gold-framed mirrors on the wall reflected them back in an endless sparkling vista. The barmaids scurried to serve them all.

  Lord Hammond was immediately given glasses of the finest pale golden champagne. He handed one to Sophia and held up his own in salute.

  “To your great good fortune, Mrs. Westman,” he said. “What shall you do now?”

  Sophia shrugged and sipped at her wine. “Try another town, I suppose. This one does not suit me so well as I had hoped.”

  “The sad memories of Captain Westman’s demise, I would imagine,” he said, all smooth, polite conversation. “But this place will be dull without you.”

  “Dull?” Sophia laughed and gestured with her glass at the crowded room. “I shall not be missed one jot.”

  “I will miss you very much.” He studied her closely over the edge of his glass until she had to glance away. “I do wish you would reconsider my offer, Mrs. Westman. I could certainly give you far more than five hundred pounds.”

  Sophia fidgeted with her glass and studied the array of bottles behind the bar. Where on earth was that blasted safe key? She wanted to be far away from there as quickly as possible. “Your offer of a walk in the garden, Lord Hammond?” she said, trying to feign wide-eyed innocence.

  “Oh, come, Mrs. Westman. I have made no secret of my admiration for you,” he said, a note of impatience in his voice. “I am a wealthy man. I could give you whatever you wanted.”

  Sophia wondered what Lady Hammond, rumored to be an invalid back in England, thought of that. But the poor woman was probably quite used to it all. Sophia never wanted something like that for herself. She only wanted to be her own woman at long last. Free to make her own way, see the world on her own terms…

  And perhaps find another man who made her feel like Dominic St. Claire once had. A man who, unlike Dominic, would think her the only woman he wanted.

  “You are so kind to flatter me like that, Lord Hammond,” she answered carefully. “But I am so recently widowed. I need time to mourn properly. I couldn’t possibly think of a man other than Captain Westman just yet.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Quite understandable, my dear. But I hope when you are ready to cast off your widow’s weeds you will think of me.” Suddenly he reached out to lightly stroke a fingertip over the ribbon at her throat.

  Sophia flinched and fell back a step before she could stop herself. Lord Hammond gave a humorless laugh.

  “You deserve to wear diamonds and pearls,” he said. “I could give you that. Just remember, my dear. One day you are going to need me even more than you do now, and I will always be waiting.”

  Sophia desperately hoped not. She turned to set her glass down on the bar, and to her relief she saw the footman returning at last with the safe key. Lord Hammond brushed away the man’s apologies for the delay and took Sophia’s elbow in his hand to lead her out of the bar.

  “Come, Mrs. Westman, let us collect your winnings,” Lord Hammond said as they made their way through the soaring domed foyer and down the marble steps to the lower level where the wealthier patrons kept their guarded safes. Lord Hammond was now all brisk efficiency, leading her along without another word or untoward touch, but Sophia couldn’t shake away that urge to run. Especially as the noise of the casino faded behind them and there was only the whooshing echo of their footsteps on the cold stone floor.

  He led her past the guards and along the row of iron safes until he found the one he sought. He turned the key in the lock and swung open the heavy door. Sophia glimpsed bags of coins, stacks of bank notes, and black velvet jewel cases. It was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of riches, but she had only a glimpse before he hastily removed one of the stacks of notes, put them into a bag, and pressed it into her hands.

  “There you are, Mrs. Westman, your fair winnings,” he said. “Feel free to count it.”

  Sophia shook her head and held on to the bag tightly. It felt like such a slight thing in her hands, yet it was her salvation. “I trust you, Lord Hammond.” As far as she could throw him. But yet she doubted he would cheat on a gambling debt, even one to a woman.

  “Just remember my offer, my dear. I will be waiting.” He reached for her free hand and raised it to his lips for a lingering kiss.

  Sophia could bear his touch no longer. She snatched back her hand and spun around on her heel to hurry out of the casino. She pushed past the people in the foyer and rushed out of the doors and into the gardens to the public walkway. She didn’t stop until she was in her hotel room with the door locked behind her.

  She dropped the bag onto the end of her narrow bed and fell down onto the pillows
with a sigh as her gown billowed around her like a black cloud. Only one more night here in this cursed place, and then she could catch the morning train somewhere else. One more night with the likes of Lord Hammond just beyond the door, waiting to snatch her up when she stumbled. One more night not knowing here her next meal was coming from.

  She was free. Almost.

  Sophia rolled over and reached beneath her pillow to draw out a book. It was quite old, bound in cracked brown leather with the pages yellowing at the edges. But that book had been one of her best companions since she left home with Jack all those long months ago. Every night she read a precious entry before she went to sleep and she didn’t feel so very alone.

  She opened it where she had left off, carefully turning the brittle pages closely written in faded brown ink in a careful hand. But first she smoothed her fingertip over the inscription on the first page.

  Mary Huntington, Her Book, Gifted in the Year 1665.

  Mary Huntington, the first Duchess of Carston, and a woman completely unknown in Sophia’s family. Unlike every other ancestor on the family tree, there were no portraits of her on the walls, no heirloom jewels that had once belonged to her. Sophia had never heard of her until she found this dusty book on a neglected shelf in her grandfather’s library one boring, rainy Christmas. When she began to read, it was as if Mary had come back to life and begun to speak to her. As if Mary were a long-lost friend, a woman just as impulsive and wild-hearted as Sophia was.

  A long-lost friend with a sad tale to tell. Mary was terribly in love with her handsome husband, but miserably unhappy. He left her at their country house when he went off to Charles II’s merry Court, and Mary wrote of her loneliness and longing, all the storms of her emotions, as well as the ways she kept herself busy in the country. Sophia felt as if Mary was reaching out to her over the decades. She took the diary with her wherever she went, and somehow she never felt alone.