Gambling on a Scoundrel

by Sheridan Jeane

  As she took her first step toward the house, Major Payne put a restraining hand on her arm.

  "Wait a moment," he said. "There's no need to play the innocent." He pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I simply wanted to speak with you alone." He jutted his chin toward a path leading into the trees. "There's a bench just through there where we won't be disturbed. I'm certain I won't disappoint you if you choose to join me."

  Tempy jerked away. "You've misjudged me, sir." As she turned away from him, she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She barely kept from breaking into a run as she hurried toward the doors.

  "If that's the case," he called after her, "you might want to reconsider some of the choices you made this evening."

  Tempy paused just outside the drawing room door to compose herself. She didn't want anyone to think she'd been fleeing from the man. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed more slowly as she tried to slow her heart rate.

  "Is everything all right?" Lucien asked from behind her.

  She jumped and whirled around. Had she walked right past him without seeing him? She'd been so intent on returning to the safety of the house that she must not have noticed him in the darkness. "You startled me. What are you doing out here?"

  "Making sure you're safe," he said in a low voice. His deep bass rumbled, striking a chord that resonated within her.

  Tempy leaned toward him, drawn to his strength and solidity. "You followed me?"

  "I saw you leave. I was concerned about the intentions of your escort, but I see you kept him in hand and didn't need my help."

  It came as a surprise to know that he'd been watching over her. She'd become so used to doing things on her own over the past year that having someone want to protect her seemed strange. But he hadn't interfered or tried to control her, and she realized that she liked the sense of security that his presence engendered. She hadn't often felt that way in the past.

  "Some of the guests are going home. Would you like to leave as well? We have a long drive back to my estate."

  She nodded. "And thank you. For watching over me."

  He shrugged that Gallic shrug again, and her gaze focused on his lower lip as it jutted out ever so slightly.

  That kiss in his office had been unforgettable.

  She really needed to get back to London. And quickly.

  25 - A Restless Night

  After one more day in Exmoor, they began their return trip to Bath.

  For Lucien, ending this little holiday would be both a torment and a relief. A torment, because with the success Tempy had achieved in so short a time in reinventing herself, it was obvious that her lessons would soon come to an end. And a relief, because his acting abilities were being stretched to their limits.

  Sooner or later he knew he'd slip. In fact, if Mary hadn't been with them during the long ride home from the dinner party, he was certain he'd have lost his battle against temptation. Tempy's dress had nearly done him in. But he had to admit that he'd enjoyed watching the various reactions she'd elicited by wearing it.

  But being around her so much during this trip was its own special kind of torment, and the tension was beginning to wear on him. To have her so close and then pretend that she meant nothing to him was torture.

  Tempy pulled all of his attention all the time, but it wasn't anything she did intentionally. In fact, when she was around him like this, she didn't use any of the tricks that Mme Le Clair had taught her.

  She was just Tempy.

  Pretending he didn't notice everything she did, every move she made, exhausted him.

  It was nearing twilight when they walked into his home along the Royal Crescent. Lucien retired to his bed chamber for a short time to change his clothes and wash up before returning to the drawing room. He was a bit surprised when Tempy and Millicent arrived just moments later. They both looked a bit weary.

  "I think I'll get some fresh air," Millicent said. "We've been cooped up in that carriage for hours." She gave Tempy a critical gaze. "You look a bit peaked, dear. Would you like to rest?"

  Tempy sighed, sounding annoyed. "Thank you, Millicent, but as I keep saying, I'm fine. What would I ever do without your constant concern?"

  Millicent chuckled. "Was that sarcasm I detected, darling? You really must be tired. I won't be long." She was on her feet and out the door before anyone could react.

  Tempy let out a heavy sigh as soon as Millicent was gone. "With the many little comments Millicent's been making all day, I'm nearly convinced she wishes for me to be sick too. I think she resents that she's the only one who was ill on this trip."

  Lucien pushed himself from his chair. The idea of staying alone in the drawing room with Tempy was more than he could bear. Millicent was right. She did look tired. And vulnerable.

  It wasn't a good idea to be with her right now. She didn't want him. Not really. She wanted Ernest. Lucien knew he'd end up making a fool of himself if he stayed with her this evening. "Far be it from me to comment on a lady's state of exhaustion, but Millicent may have a point. We've had a busy few days. Would you like to relax and have a quiet evening?"

  Tempy's smile held a tinge of relief. "That would be lovely."

  "How about a light dinner then? I can arrange for the cook to send something up to your room if you like. Or, if you prefer, you can dine with Millicent." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the lie he was about to utter. "I need to go out for a while. I have some things I need to take care of." It was only a small lie. One that had her best interests at heart. Along with his. All he knew was that he couldn't stay here alone with her any longer.

  She seemed to deflate, as though his lie had pricked her and drained away her last reserves of energy. "We head back tomorrow, is that the plan?"

  He nodded. "There's a train that leaves Bath at noon. That would put us back in London by early afternoon. Is that agreeable?" He avoided her gaze as he reached out to pull the velvet cord that would call one of the servants. He wasn't even sure if she responded. But did it matter? Either way, he still had to leave.

  Lucien was out the door and on his way to a nearby restaurant within the next five minutes. He'd never spent much time in Bath before this, and he had to admit that it was a beautiful town, especially now, at sunset.

  But he wasn't in the mood to appreciate such beauty alone.

  He made his way toward Wrightson's, a restaurant he'd noticed during his last visit. The place was pleasant enough. It was clean and comfortable, and the food was good. And best of all, no one looked at him twice for sitting alone. He wasn't the only solitary diner. He noticed two others. One was an older man who contented himself with reading a book while he waited for his food. The other was a middle-aged man with sharp features. Lucien had noticed him when he'd entered because of the cane he leaned upon. Rather than reading, this man chose to write, scribbling away in a small bound book using the stub of a pencil.

  Lucien lingered over the meal, finishing a bottle of red wine with it. He normally didn't drink alone, but tonight seemed like the perfect occasion for it.

  He stepped back outside into the damp night air. It was early. Tempy and Millicent would probably still be awake, so he couldn't go home yet. Lucien glanced up and down the road. There were a few pedestrians strolling along it, so he decided to join them in their pastime. As he meandered his way through the streets of Bath, he moved steadily downhill, making his way toward the river.

  To him, the river had always meant people and life and activity. It was a place where a person could mingle with others and yet still remain anonymous. And anonymity meant freedom. When Lucien was in his casino, he was at the beck and call of every patron who passed through the doors. He was the face of Hamlin House. Normally he embraced the role willingly. But tonight he craved something different. And Bath opened her arms and offered it to him.

  He could see why so many people found this place appealing. There was a serenity about it. A healing peace.

  A door open
ed and a burst of laughter interrupted that peace. He turned his head and peered toward the glow of light shining through the open door. The pub was a cheerful one, and suddenly the warmth and camaraderie it offered beckoned to him. He moved toward the light.

  As he shouldered his way through the door, he paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room. There were a few open places at the bar, but he noticed an empty table near the back wall and moved toward it. The bar was perfect for a person who wanted to socialize and be seen, but if one preferred the role of observer, then a table at the back was far better suited to that purpose.

  Lucien settled into a spot with his back to the wall, watching the room while sipping whiskey. He was surprised when the pinch-faced man from Wrightson's entered the bar. The man seemed to be leaning more heavily on his cane than he had been earlier in the evening as edged closer to a vacant stool at the bar. Lucien observed him closely. Seeing the man twice in one night was beyond pure chance. Was he being followed?

  Another man approached Lucien. "Mind if I take this chair?"

  Lucien waved his acceptance, and watched as the man dragged the chair across the room toward a large group of men. They appeared to be celebrating something. There was a lot of smiling and patting of backs. Based on the snippets he heard, Lucien was fairly certain that someone had just become engaged.

  Even though his awareness was focused on the man sitting alone at the bar, Lucien examined the young man everyone was congratulating. And "young" he was. He must be only about twenty-three or so. Lucien had been almost exactly that age when Rebecca Formsworth had died. But even so, he wasn't sure that he'd ever been quite as callow as the young man across the room. He'd never had that luxury.

  The vagaries of heredity that had created such different character traits in his uncles and in his father had come together in an unusual combination within Lucien. In him, his uncles' ease at making quick calculations had merged with his father's sense of responsibility. It made him perfectly suited to running a casino. And from what he could tell so far, he also seemed well suited to assume the new role of the Earl of Cavendish.

  As the evening wore on, the group of young revelers began to absorb the other small knots of patrons in the pub. A few people appeared to attempt to include the loner sitting at the bar and scribbling in his journal, but the man rebuffed them all.

  It wasn't long before the merrymakers absorbed Lucien into their group. He was willing. They shared drinks and stories and jokes. It was one of the most fun and relaxing nights he'd had in a long time. And he'd probably never see these people again.

  As the young groom's friends plied him with spirits, he spoke more and more about his bride.

  "What does she look like?" asked one of the men who'd been absorbed into the group. "Is she pretty?"

  "She's as beautiful as...as a spring day," the young man said, as he groped for words to describe her. "Her hair's black. As black as Lord Witton's stallion, and she's prettier than any other girl in town."

  "We get it. She's beautiful," someone else said in a bantering tone.

  "He's just besotted with her," another man said. "Has been for years. He can't help himself."

  "You're lucky your family likes her. I remember how upset they got when your brother started chasing after that serving maid. They were none too pleased with him when he brought her home to meet them."

  The groom shifted his weight as he pulled back his shoulders and thrust out his chest. "Don't you go comparing my Lily with the likes of her. Of course they didn't like her. She's a church-bell. Chiming all day long. She never would shut up. And the things she'd say. The sauce-box on that one would drive a man to drink."

  Lucien suppressed a chuckle. The young man was much more colorful when it came to describing the woman he despised than he'd been when describing his own bride. Perhaps love had made him unable to find the words to use.

  "Well, you're lucky they approve of Lily," someone said. "I've known your parents long enough to tell that they would have made your life nigh impossible if they hadn't."

  Lucien's thoughts turned inward as he considered those prophetic words. Hadn't that been what his grandfather had done to his father...made his life impossible? His father's decision to marry a Frenchwoman who had no family or status had only served to ostracize him from his family. Once they'd married, they'd never found a place where they truly belonged. Father didn't have the funds to socialize with those peers who would accept his marriage, and he was never completely accepted by their working-class neighbors either. Everyone was polite, but there was never that warm camaraderie that spoke of true friendship.

  But Tempy's situation was completely different from that of his father's. She was alone, yes, but she wasn't penniless. And she obviously never thought about the whims of society. She'd already proven she didn't care a whit about them by ignoring their condemnation and becoming a journalist worthy of the attention of Charles Dickens. So why was she so determined to become part of Ernest's family? It made no sense.

  Perhaps she was simply driven by momentum, like a freight train barreling down a hill. What if he were to divert her onto a different track? One that led her to him?

  As the crowd began to dwindle, Lucien glanced over at the bar again to locate the pinch-faced man, but couldn't find him. Had he left? It must be quite late. Tempy must certainly be asleep. Perhaps this was the perfect moment to head home. He needed a good night's sleep before he decided on what course of action to take with Tempy.

  Once outside, Lucien began walking toward the Royal Crescent. Remembering the pinch-faced man, he carefully surveyed his surroundings, but he saw no sign of the man. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Fortunately, an empty hansom cab came lumbering past. At his wave, it pulled to a stop. He climbed aboard and was home within ten minutes.

  There were no lights burning upstairs in the bedrooms. Tempy must be asleep.

  Would he be able to sleep soundly tonight? That was more than he could say for any other night since he'd left London. He sighed, his mind turning toward thoughts of Tempy again, just as they had almost every night since he'd met her. No, tonight would be another sleepless one. Of that he was certain.

  As he awoke the next morning, the gloom of the overcast day kept Lucien's eyes from being pierced by sunlight. He'd need to have a chat with Boothby about adjusting the curtains at night. Fortunately, however, this was one of the few flaws that he'd found in Boothby's performance as a valet during this trip. He glanced at the bedside clock. It was already ten thirty. He'd need to move quickly if he wanted to eat and be aboard the train by noon.

  Feet on floor, he thought to himself. Feet on floor.

  Lucien only groaned a little as he forced his body to move and planted both feet on the thick rug that covered nearly the entire floor of his bedroom.

  After pouring tepid water into a bowl, Lucien soaped up and rinsed off and then carelessly dropped the damp towels to the floor. He pulled on the clothes that Boothby had carefully laid out for him, pausing only to choose which waistcoat he wanted to wear.

  Blue. Today seemed like a blue day. He selected a waistcoat of cobalt blue with a tone-on-tone windowpane print and shrugged into it. He draped his frock coat over his arm and then hurried downstairs to join the ladies and make his apologies.

  The breakfast room was empty. In fact, from what he could see, there were no signs of movement from either of the ladies.

  "Boothby," he called as he reached toward the bell cord. He gave it a sharp yank. "Boothby."

  Boothby hurried into the room, a newspaper folded in half and tucked under his arm.

  "Oh, good, you're here. I'm surprised the others aren't up and about yet. We need to leave within the hour if we want to catch that twelve o'clock train. Will they be ready in time?"

  Boothby didn't speak. Instead, he held out the folded newspaper. Lucien froze for a moment. This couldn't possibly be good.

  He hated being r
ight. Especially this time. His mouth thinned as he read the headline.

  BEAU BEGUILES BLISS

  By Earl E. Byrd

  Temperance Bliss, sole heiress of the estate of Herbert Bliss, the founder of Bliss Railways, has recently been associating with Lucien Hamlin, the proprietor of the popular casino Hamlin House. Sources close to Miss Bliss indicate that she has been a frequent visitor to his gambling establishment.

  Should this be a cause of concern?

  Has Miss Bliss been busily losing her fortune in one of London's most notorious casinos?

  Others have noticed a marked change in Miss Bliss's behavior of late. Could this account for the sudden change in the affections of her longtime friend?

  Not only were Miss Bliss and her chaperone recently seen in Mr. Hamlin's company in Bath, our "poor little rich girl" also accompanied him to a dinner party held at the home of Judge and Mrs. Conner in the town of Porlock. One guest commented cryptically that Miss Bliss's scandalous choice of attire that evening had been fortuitous, because any other dress would have been ruined by an unfortunate accident that took place following the meal.

  Lucien clenched his jaw as he glanced toward the staircase. No wonder Tempy was still upstairs. She must have already read this and had decided to avoid him for as long as possible. Millicent must be with her. He scanned the rest of the article. It went on to make suggestions about Lucien's past with regard to Rebecca. They sounded startlingly similar to the accusations Formsworth had made back in Porlock. Apparently Formsworth and the reporter had spoken. Lucien could spot Formsworth's twisted version of the past from a mile away.

  He should have known better than to bring Tempy with him. The trip had been a mistake.

  In fact, all of it had been a mistake.

  He never should have agreed to this ridiculous plan. Wasn't this exactly the sort of bad press he'd feared? Not that he blamed Tempy. This wasn't her fault. But the timing couldn't be much worse.