Gambling on a Scoundrel

by Sheridan Jeane

  "Oh my, isn't she beautiful?" The busybody's voice now oozed treacle as her former disapproval vanished like a shadow at noon. "They must be newlyweds. See how in love they are?"

  Tempy didn't want to look...couldn't bear to look. She had to get away. This had been a horrible plan.

  A cab. She needed to find a cab.

  As Tempy prepared to escape, she took a quick step backwards and banged her heel hard against something quite solid. Her upper body kept moving while her feet remained locked in place, forcing her to lose her balance, and her momentum caused her to topple over backwards.

  With horror, Tempy saw her frothy white petticoats billowing up as she went sailing over a trunk. With a hollow thump, the back of her head made contact with the wooden dock.

  And then there was nothing.

  6 - Stumble

  Lucien stepped out of the dim interior of the pub and into the bright London sunlight. The brisk wind blowing along the Thames tried to snatch his top hat from his head, and he grabbed it just in time to keep it from tumbling down the dock.

  The stench of the Thames wasn't as bad this year as it had been in the past. Ever since the Great Stink in 1858, engineers had been working to improve London's sanitation. On a day like today, with gusting winds and a bright blue sky, the aroma of the river was quite tolerable.

  Lucien walked briskly along the river to clear his head as he reexamined the next steps in his plan. As he had expected, John still wanted his casino.

  Very much so.

  John hadn't even tried to disguise his interest. That was one of the things Lucien liked about him. He was straightforward and honest, and those were admirable qualities in a man. Now the question was, how could Lucien encourage John to move quickly? Lucien needed to propel his buyer toward a decisive action, and it would be best if he did it before news of his new title became common knowledge, because once that bit of information was out, people would assume he'd want to sell the casino and would feel free to offer him amounts well below its actual value. Of course, they'd do so in the guise of doing him a favor. As if gouging someone was ever a kindness.

  As he slowed his pace and strolled down the dock, Lucien swiftly sorted through his options. Once he included John's continued interest in owning the casino in his own calculations, Lucien was able to play out a number of scenarios before choosing the option that would best achieve his desired outcome.

  Hurrying this deal along shouldn't be a particularly difficult task. He simply needed to create a sense of urgency for his buyer, and the best way to do that would be to let him believe that he had competition.

  Even though that wasn't the case.

  Lucien had built Hamlin House from nothing, and selling it felt like cutting off his arm, but it was for the best if he wanted to ensure that it remained strong and had a solid future. So he would only sell it to the right man, and he'd already decided that John Snowden was that man.

  Content with his new plan of action, Lucien came to a stop and turned to walk back toward the pub. His coachman, Higgs, should be waiting somewhere nearby with his carriage.

  Lucien glanced over toward a group of people standing along the dock. They appeared to be waiting to greet the passengers from a steamer ship that had just arrived.

  The steerage passengers were hurrying off, hefting their baggage and keeping a sharp eye on their belongings. The docks were a favorite haunt for pickpockets. The area was riddled with grubby little children who'd slit your throat just as readily as they'd pick your pocket.

  Lucien wondered briefly about Miss Bliss and then paused. What had caused her to suddenly pop into his thoughts?

  He turned and looked again at the people on the docks. Yes. There she was. He must have recognized her without being aware of it. What a strange young woman. A journalist, moreover. How outrageous. But Millicent held her in high regard, so there must be quite a bit more to her than he'd seen so far.

  Lucien was about to continue on his way when he saw Miss Bliss step backward and stumble over some baggage.

  Lucien sprinted toward her. He was too far away to break her fall, and he winced when, even at this distance, he heard her head slam against the dock with a thwack. He wove between the dockworkers, porters, and passengers, trying not to hurt anyone as he rushed to Miss Bliss's side.

  An older woman was fussing over her, pulling Miss Bliss's skirts to rights so that her limbs would be hidden from view.

  "Miss? Miss? Oh, my goodness." The woman looked around, and her gaze landed on Lucien as he hurried toward them. "Oh, thank goodness! She fell, and I don't know what to do about her. Do you know her?"

  Lucien nodded as he knelt beside Tempy. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. The fall must have knocked her unconscious.

  "Oh, thank goodness," the woman repeated. "I was afraid she was here alone. My son is coming down the gangplank just now, and I can't linger, but since she has you, I don't need to worry." She turned away and hurried off.

  Lucien looked back down at the young woman who was now in his care. He picked up her gloved hand and squeezed it. "Miss Bliss. Can you hear me?"

  She breathed steadily, but her eyes didn't open. With a sigh, he scooped his arms under her back and knees as he prepared to lift her from the dock. As her skirts shifted, he noted a reticule that had been hiding under them. He eyed it for a moment and then picked it up as well. It was probably hers.

  Lucien shifted the slim burden in his arms so that her head rested comfortably against his shoulder. He noted that her small black bonnet had a long hat pin securing it to her chestnut hair, so he didn't need to worry about having it blow away in this wind. He did, however, need to take care that he didn't get jabbed with the thing.

  He wished he could see her eyes. He hadn't noticed their color yesterday, and now he wondered. Would they be brown? Green? He guessed green, as green eyes often accompanied hair that had a hit of red, as hers did.

  She smelled of lavender. He'd always been partial to that sharp, clean floral scent. It reminded him of summertime and the lavender fields he'd tramped through in Somerset when he'd visited there as a boy.

  People made way for them as Lucien carried Miss Bliss toward the road. He looked around, wondering if he should walk back to his carriage or hail one of the hansom cabs waiting to pick up passengers. The decision was simplified when he recognized the sharp whistle emitted by his coachman, Higgs.

  The carriage pulled to a stop right in front of Lucien. Higgs jumped down from his perch and hurried to open the carriage door. "I saw you scoop her up, sir, so I came as fast as I could. Who is she? Is she badly injured?"

  Lucien hadn't told any of his employees about his new title yet, so they hadn't started my lord-ing him. He'd need to decide how to handle that, now that he intended to accept the inheritance.

  But that wasn't important right now. "She's an acquaintance, and I don't know how badly injured she is. All I know is that she fell and she's unconscious. I'll take her home and send for a doctor." A thought struck him. "Blazes. I don't know where she lives. I suppose I'll have to take her to Hamlin House."

  With Higgs's assistance, Lucien settled Miss Bliss on the seat and squeezed in next to her. He cradled his arm around her small shoulders and tucked her head against his chest to keep her from being thrown around on the drive. Higgs shut the door with a snap, and then Lucien felt the carriage shift as the coachman climbed onto the driver's seat.

  The carriage had been traveling for a while when Lucien heard a soft sigh. Miss Bliss's gloved hand, loose in her lap, shifted. She raised it and slid it across his chest. Her fingers opened like a little white starfish and rested there for a moment as she turned her face toward his. Her eyelashes fluttered, tickling his neck in a pleasant manner.

  And then she froze.

  The hand that had been resting so softly against his chest suddenly pushed against it, and she thrust herself toward the far side of the carriage seat. She winced as the back of her head bumped against the side of the
carriage. She rubbed at the lump that must have developed there, and a look of comprehension came over her. She relaxed slightly.

  Her gaze focused on Lucien and her brows furrowed. "Mr. Hamlin?"

  "None other."

  She glanced at her surroundings. "This is your carriage?"

  He nodded.

  She gingerly touched the back of her head again. "It seems that I own you my gratitude along with an apology."

  "Apology? Why?"

  She sat up straight and began checking her clothing, making small adjustments here and there. He couldn't tell what she was doing, but she looked a little better once she was done. She really was quite fetching. "For requiring any assistance in the first place. I apologize for making such a ridiculous scene."

  "Think nothing of it," he said. "I'm glad I was there to help." With the sunlight shining into the carriage, Lucien could see that her eyes were green, just as he'd guessed. Green with little flecks of gold. "Our mutual friend highly recommends you, and I trust her judgment."

  "You can't know how much that relieves me. You've been quite kind."

  He waved her continued apologies away. "I didn't know where you lived, so my coachman is taking us to my casino. Would you prefer an alternate destination?"

  "I'd prefer my own home," she said, and then rattled off her street name.

  As soon as she said it, Lucien realized he'd already known where she'd lived. Everyone knew about the Bliss residence and the enormous statue of a train that Mr. Bliss had erected in the green space across from it.

  Lucien opened the small window and leaned his head out. "Higgs, we'll take the young lady home." After repeating the location, he pulled his head back inside and closed the window. "We'll have you there in five minutes. I didn't realize you lived in Mayfair. Your street is in a nice area."

  "Yes. I've always found it so." She shifted in her seat to look out her window, and he watched her profile as she chewed at her bottom lip. She frowned and glanced at him. "Why do men cheat?"

  "What?"

  "I said, why do men cheat?" She stared at him, clearly expecting an answer.

  "Because they like to win, and because they are greedy. Is that what your article is about?"

  She looked at him blankly. "What? No. Not that kind of cheating. The other kind."

  The other kind? "You mean, men whose affections wander?"

  She nodded.

  "Ah. I suspect this has something to do with that letter you snatched from the table yesterday. Is that what brought you to the docks today? A man who you believe cheated you?"

  She looked away and turned a deep shade of pink. "No! It has nothing to do with any of that." A haughty look curled her upper lip into a charming sneer, as though her face was unaccustomed to making that sort of expression. She couldn't maintain the look for long, however, and her features soon smoothed out. "I need you to answer my question. I'd like a man's point of view."

  Lucien shrugged in that Gallic way he'd perfected. It had never failed to annoy his grandfather. With fingers splayed, eyebrows raised, and lower lip jutting out just slightly, he communicated his disavowal of any knowledge regarding the subject at hand. "Perhaps he was bored. Perhaps he wanted to feel better about himself. I don't know the man."

  "There is no man. This is purely an academic question."

  "Ah." It was obvious that she was lying, but Lucien saw no reason to argue the point.

  Miss Bliss leaned closer to the window. "We're almost there. I recognize this street." She noticed her reticule on the seat and picked it up, giving him a grateful smile as she slid its string handle around her wrist. "I didn't get to thank you for allowing me to visit your casino."

  "Think nothing of it," he said, pleased that he could offer her this bit of assistance. "As I explained to Millicent, it's no problem to have you visit and interview the staff when we're closed."

  "Closed?" Miss Bliss's voice squeaked. "But that won't do at all. I need to observe your patrons. How can I do that if I come in when you're closed?"

  He shook his head. "That's as far as I'm willing to bend. I can't allow you to bother my patrons. They come to Hamlin House to relax and enjoy themselves and I don't want a reporter vexing them."

  "Oh, but Mr. Hamlin. It isn't like that at all," she said, twisting the fabric of her reticule with white-gloved hands. "If you'd allow me to explain, I'm sure you'd change your mind."

  Lucien didn't like the expression on Miss Bliss's face. She looked desperate, and that couldn't be good. The moment the carriage pulled to a halt, Lucien opened the door.

  He'd rather not be trapped inside the carriage with this woman in her current emotional state. He had the distinct impression that he'd just dealt Miss Bliss an unexpected blow, and it left him feeling like a cad.

  Lucien jumped down from the carriage and turned to face her through the open door. "This happens to be a particularly inopportune time for a reporter to visit." He took her hand and helped her step down from the carriage.

  As Miss Bliss's foot touched the pavement, she stumbled slightly, and Lucien immediately wrapped his arm around her waist so that she wouldn't fall. As soon as she seemed to be steady on her feet, he withdrew his support.

  The door of her stately home flew open and a man who appeared to be her butler hurried outside. Relief washed through Lucien. The sooner he could transfer the care of Miss Bliss to those who could help her, the better.

  Despite his obvious concern for his employer, the butler shot Lucien an expression of shocked disapproval. Apparently he wasn't accustomed to seeing his mistress arrive home in the company of a strange man. That only served to confirm Lucien's impression of her as an ingénue.

  "Please assist Miss Bliss," Lucien said brusquely, taking a step back to distance himself from her. "She had a fall and hit her head. She might be concussed."

  The butler paled and rushed forward to offer his arm for support but Miss Bliss hardly seemed to notice him as she kept her gaze pinned on Lucien.

  "Please, Mr. Hamlin. You don't understand," she pleaded. "If I can't visit your casino, I won't be able to write my article."

  Lucien frowned as he shook his head. "Under different circumstances I might have allowed you access, but it's not possible right now."

  "But you're the owner," she said, looking confused. She pressed her hand against her forehead as though she were suffering from a headache. "Surely you could allow me to visit. You're in charge of everything that happens there."

  "That's the point, Miss Bliss. I am in charge." He bowed slightly and touched the brim of his hat. "Good day, Miss Bliss."

  Although he'd done the right thing for his casino, that didn't keep him from feeling as though he'd kicked an innocent child. It took a great deal of fortitude for him to ignore Miss Bliss's continued pleading and climb back into his carriage, but he did.

  As the carriage moved down the street, the sound of her voice faded in his ears, but it continued to echo in his heart, leaving him feeling like the worthless cur his grandfather had always believed him to be.

  7 - Mr. Dickens

  Tempy's breathing became labored and it rasped in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. The ground slid under her feet as she hurried down the hill.

  Gravel.

  Now she could hear it crunching and rattling as bits of it skittered downhill ahead of her, racing her to the large expanse of water below.

  The steamship was there, preparing to depart. She knew her father was already on board. Why hadn't he waited for her at the house? Why had he left without her?

  Tempy could barely make out his figure as he stood on the deck of the ship and gazed uninterestedly at the shore.

  At her.

  Still running toward the ship, Tempy threw her hands up and began waving frantically, trying to draw his attention.

  At first, Tempy was afraid her father didn't notice her, but then his gaze drifted up to focus on the hill.

  On her.

  Thank goodness. Father wouldn't let the
ship depart without her.

  But then she noticed a flurry of movement among the dockworkers. With a jolt of panic, Tempy realized that they were casting off the lines that kept the ship tethered to shore.

  "No!" shouted Tempy. "Wait for me!"

  Despite her shouts, nobody else on board the ship turned to look at her. Her father's gaze didn't alter. He continued to stand without moving, watching her run toward the ship.

  Tempy pushed herself to move faster. She was desperate to narrow the gap. Desperate to reach her father. But her burst of energy didn't help. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn't close the distance between them.

  A glimmer of water appeared between the ship and the shore.

  It was leaving.

  Leaving without her.

  "Father, don't go!" Tempy's voice was the only sound that existed, and it seemed to reverberate around her. It grew, becoming a boom that should have left everyone aboard ship deaf.

  But her father turned his head away from her, as if responding to another person's voice. She saw a flicker of motion next to him and then Ernest was there, standing with her father, with his bright blond hair fluttering in the breeze.

  "Stop!" she shouted. "Don't leave me here all alone!" But this time, her voice didn't seem to have the same strength. It was as if the air itself swallowed the sound, muffling it in a featherbed.

  Her father gestured in her direction and Ernest spotted her. He grinned broadly and waved at her.

  He waved goodbye.

  Then Ernest's family gathered around him, all waving cheerfully at her.

  How could they look so happy? So excited? "Don't go!" she shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "I want to go with you!"

  Ernest's sister, Emily, looked confused for a moment. Had Tempy's pleading words reached her? Emily seemed on the verge of saying something to Ernest, but her mother pulled her away. Emily turned her back on Tempy and allowed Mrs. Lipscomb to draw her inside the ship's cabin.

  The breadth of water between shore and ship grew larger and larger. By the time Tempy reached the water's edge, no one was there. The workers had all disappeared. In fact, the dock had disappeared as well.