The diamond necklace glittered against her throat. Tiny stones were set in oval links, each link surrounding a large, round diamond. It shimmered with every breath she took, and the necklace almost looked alive. In that moment, she understood why Lucien had said that the necklace deserved to be worn. Shutting it away in that box seemed almost cruel.
"Thank you, Lucien. It's perfect." Not wanting to meet his gaze, she instead looked around the room as she tried to think of an innocuous subject to discuss. The carpetbag on his desk caught her eye. "I understand that you've sold the casino. Is that all you plan to take with you?"
"I keep few personal items here. And anyway, it's time to move on. I leave for Somerset tomorrow."
Her stomach sank. "I won't see you again?"
"Invite me to your wedding. I promise to be there."
Tempy felt a little sick to her stomach. "About tonight. I feel terrible about using you to distract Clarisse."
"No need. I made a promise to help, and I intend to keep it. After all, you've already kept your promise to me. The sale of my casino is complete, and I'm now free to pursue my new life."
"Are you certain you want to do this?" Tempy asked. Her hand went to her neck, and she traced the necklace with her fingertips. It now felt warm to the touch.
When she noticed that he was watching her hand, she dropped it to her side.
He looked away. "I'm certain," he said. "In fact, I think that it will serve as a sort of tonic. I need to move on and make a break from this life, and spending time with Clarisse will be a change of pace for me." He shrugged. "Plus, I very much want to help you recapture the life you always dreamt of. I know how much Ernest means to you, and how close your ties are to his family. I don't want you to lose that."
At that moment, Tempy envied Lucien. Envied his ability to face his future and let go of the past. It certainly would make her life simpler if she could do that as well. But she also knew what it was like to be alone. To have nobody. No family. She couldn't face that. Therefore, she needed Ernest, didn't she?
A knock interrupted her thoughts. Boothby opened the door just far enough to stick his head into the room. "It's time," he said curtly, and then shut the door with a click.
"It's time," Tempy echoed. She bounced on her toes a couple of times as she tried to generate some enthusiasm for what she was about to do, and then she moved toward the door. She and Lucien had planned to separate Ernest from Clarisse as quickly as possible so that Tempy would have as much time as she needed with Ernest. As long as Clarisse didn't insist upon staying by Ernest's side, things should go smoothly.
Lucien followed her out the door, and they quickly spotted the other couple.
Ernest stood next to the roulette table and when he caught sight of Tempy in her ice-blue gown, his jaw fell slack. He scanned her from head to toe, pausing briefly on the glittering necklace. She could swear that his eyes lingered for a moment on her cleavage. She'd used a slightly darker shade of powder, just as Mme Le Clair had shown her, to enhance the V, so she was pleased that her efforts hadn't gone unnoticed.
She was surprised, however, when a chip slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. She knew from his sister, Emily, that he'd promised his parents that he wouldn't gamble tonight, and it irritated her to see him breaking that vow.
Clarisse noticed his clumsiness and glanced around to see what had startled him. When she spotted Tempy, her smile froze.
Tempy smiled back. In fact, she beamed. With Lucien by her side, she headed directly for the couple. "Miss Beaumont, what a pleasure it is to see you again."
Clarisse smiled in return, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You must come here frequently."
Tempy glanced at Lucien and smiled at him before returning her attention to Clarisse. "So it would seem," she said, keeping her response intentionally cryptic.
"I read about you in the papers," Clarisse pressed.
"That happens to Tempy all the time," Ernest said. "There's never anything to those stories." But he glanced at Lucien. "Is there?"
"Of course not," Lucien said, almost dismissively. He smiled at Ernest, but then focused his attention on Clarisse. "One of my little informers tells me that you haven't been able to find a decent terrine de pâté de campagne since coming to England. Can I tempt you to try mine? It's a specialty of Hamlin House."
"One of your informers?"
"I'm afraid that's my fault," Tempy said. "Emily mentioned it to me, and since I knew Lucien prides himself on that particular dish here at Hamlin House, I mentioned it to him. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," Clarisse said, her lips tight.
"I've arranged for our chef to make it tonight, in your honor," Lucien said.
Clarisse tipped her chin down slightly and then glanced up at Lucien. Tempy recognized the move as one Mme Le Clair had taught her. It made one's eyes appear larger. Brava, Clarisse.
Separating Clarisse from Ernest was easier than Tempy had expected. It all went perfectly, in steps that almost seemed to mirror the dance steps of a quadrille. Tempy and Lucien had arrived in front of Ernest and Clarisse together, but in moments they had danced away with their new partners.
Clarisse willingly allowed Lucien to lead her across the room toward some small tables. At a signal from Lucien, one of the footmen quickly laid a table with a fresh white cloth and set the terrine de pâté de campagne on it with a flourish.
Tempy saw that Lucien's admiring glances appeared to salve Clarisse's bruised ego, especially when Tempy, following their plan, cast the couple a look of jealous rage.
When Clarisse noticed Tempy's anger, she preened and redoubled her charm. Poor Lucien wouldn't have stood a chance if the entire scene had been real.
Tempy and Ernest chatted about inconsequential things, but during their entire conversation, he kept his gaze fixed on her, apparently unable to look at anything else. Ernest seemed enthralled by her. It was all going according to plan.
Tempy shot Ernest a slightly embarrassed look. "I have some items I'd like to return to you. They're in my reticule." She glanced around, making her discomfort at talking about this in a public setting obvious.
Fortunately, Ernest picked up on her embarrassment and glanced around for someplace private where they could talk. After a moment, he led her into one of the little niches the casino provided for private tête-à-têtes. Long velvet curtains at the entrance to the niche were held back with gold-tasseled cords. Ernest pulled her behind one of the curtains so that her back was against the wall.
The velvet curtains muffled the sounds of the casino, providing them with a modicum of privacy. "I was surprised to see you with a chip in your hand tonight," Tempy said. Then she snapped her mouth shut. Why had she started off by criticizing him?
Ernest smiled. "It was my lucky chip. I saved it from the first night I was here when I won so much. I thought it might bring me luck again tonight."
Tempy decided not to mention the promise he'd made to his family. Instead, she pulled the drawstrings of her reticule loose and extracted Ernest's grandmother's brooch, along with a small packet of letters. She held them out to him.
He accepted the items with hardly a glance, tucking them away in his inner breast pocket. Then, he leaned toward her, placing one hand against the wall just above her shoulder.
"You look luminous tonight," he murmured, his coffee-scented breath warm against her bare shoulder. "Why is that?"
"Could it be the glittering gemstones?" Tempy cast Ernest a sidelong glance. Was this it? Was this the moment when all her work would come to fruition? She needed to be careful, just as Mme Le Clair had warned her. What had she said again? Having a fish on the hook isn't the same thing as having him on your plate.
"No, it's not that," he said, waving his hand as though brushing away her prosaic explanation. "It isn't something external. It's something inside you. It's as though you've stoked the fire within your soul and now it burns so brightly it bursts from every pore."
"Ernes
t," she said, her voice sounding breathy. "You don't usually speak this way."
"You inspire me. I can't imagine my life without you in it." Ernest took her hand in his.
"Me? I inspire you?" These were the words Tempy had wanted to hear from Ernest for so long, but now that he said them, they didn't provide her with the joy she had anticipated.
Instead, they only made her angry. Angry that she'd had to wait so long to hear them. Angry that she'd had to remake herself in order for him to notice her. Angry that she was no longer being true to herself.
The strong surge of emotion startled her, and Tempy tried to master herself. This was her chance, wasn't it? Her chance, finally, to have her old life back?
She should be jubilant.
Not angry. Not bitter. Not annoyed.
But there it was. Not jubilance. Anger.
"Why do I inspire you now, Ernest, when I never did before? And what about the life you envisioned with Clarisse?"
"Clarisse? I don't know." A befuddled expression crept across his face as he drew his brows together. "I suppose I became entranced with her because she was new. I wasn't thinking straight. Blame it on being in Paris." His expression softened, and he seemed to become more caught up in his memories of the other woman. "Clarisse is so different from anyone else I've ever met. She's exciting and interesting. We always have fun together."
"Then why are you here with me?"
He refocused his gaze on her, returning to the present. His eyes seemed to drink her in, savoring every nuance, every measured change she had made to herself. "You're different now. And it isn't just the hair and the way you dress. I do like those changes, but that's not it. It's what I mentioned before. You have a fire within you now. A confidence that wasn't there before. You've been transformed."
Something inside her broke. "But why weren't you here with me? Why is it that you never supported me in my passion for writing? Why haven't you been in my life these past weeks? Why did I go through this transformation without you?"
He gaped at her.
"I'm still the same person. Don't you understand that? I still want to write. I still want a family. I still want all of the things I've always wanted."
"But what about me?" His eyes widened as if the possibility that she might reject him had just dawned on him. "You still want me, don't you? Because I'm here for you, Tempy. I know I hurt you, but I'm here for you. You can depend on that."
"Can I? I used to believe that." She looked at his sincere-seeming gaze and recognized the self-delusion behind it. "But how can you cast me aside so easily for Clarisse, and then cast her aside just as easily for me?"
"I...I made a mistake. I see that now. Please, Tempy. I want you back."
But having him say the words she'd longed to hear left her cold. She stared at him, trying to dredge up any feelings of love and warmth, and discovered that they simply weren't there.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ernest, but no."
She pushed away from the wall, planning to move past Ernest so that she could return to the casino floor.
"Wait, Tempy. Please," he said, blocking her way with his arm. Then he wrapped arm around her and pulled her close, pressing his hips against hers.
She tried to lean away from him, but he lifted his other hand and cradled the back of her neck. He lowered his head, aiming his mouth toward hers.
He kissed her.
In a gross reproduction of the kiss she'd shared with Lucien, Ernest's lips pressed against hers. She opened her mouth to protest, but he took the opportunity to slide his tongue against the inside of her upper lip.
She wrenched her head back and her hand flew up, landing a stinging slap against his cheek.
"I said, 'No'."
32 - ... While Lucien Distracts Clarisse
From his position across the room, Lucien watched Tempy and Ernest talking together near the roulette table.
"He's unlike most Frenchmen," Clarisse said. "He's sweet. But I must admit, he...how do you say...Il me fait tellement frustré."
"He makes you frustrated." Lucien said, providing her with the translation.
She nodded. "He can't seem to decide where we will live. When we were in Paris, he promised we would live there," she said lifting one hand, "but now that we are in England, he wants to live here," she said, lifting the other. "He says he wants us to live near his family."
"But a man who loves his family, isn't that admirable?"
"Only if he loves me more," she said, lifting both hands and shaking them in frustration. "I don't want to have him care more for his parents' opinions than for mine. He was prepared to live in Paris until his parents voiced their objections. His goal seems to be to please them, not me."
"Don't you like it here?"
"Bien sûr. Of course I do, but that isn't the point."
"I understand. But once you are his wife, you will wield a great deal of influence over the man. I've discovered that men who love their wives will do anything to please them. I have no doubt that you'll hold that same power over Ernest. How could any man deny you your heart's desire? He'd have to be made of stone."
Clarisse fluttered her eyelashes in a practiced way that Lucien normally might have found intriguing, but he recognized the move from Mme Le Clair's lessons.
"You flatter me." Clarisse dipped her chin and then looked up at him, widening her eyes. "Certainly you don't find me so attractive. After all, I see the way your Miss Bliss looks at you. Surely she's captured your heart, hasn't she?"
He glanced across the floor at Tempy. When she caught his eye, she shot him an icy glare. It was the perfect expression of jealousy.
Lucien had to suppress his own smile. When he and Tempy had made their plans for the evening, they had choreographed that flash of jealousy. It was meant to goad Clarisse into believing that Tempy saw Clarisse as a rival for Lucien's affections.
Clarisse stepped a little closer to Lucien, and when he glanced down at her, he saw an expression of satisfaction cross her face. The cunning woman had fallen for the bait.
"My heart is my own," he quipped. But was it? He glanced back at Tempy and saw Ernest leading her toward one of the curtained alcoves. A sharp pang of jealousy shot through him. It was happening. He knew it was.
He smiled down at Clarisse, perhaps a little too brightly. "Would you care for some champagne? I have a bottle chilling in my office, if you'd care to join me."
Apparently Clarisse, too, had noticed where the other couple had gone. And she didn't seem pleased. She raised her chin and nodded, a sharp, definite nod. "I'd love to."
She wrapped her arm around Lucien's and he led her off the casino floor. Her hand clutched at his forearm, alerting him to the tension she was trying so hard to conceal.
"I think we are well quit of them for now," Lucien murmured. "Let them resolve whatever it is that lingers between them."
Her steps faltered for a moment.
"He needs to know that he can't take you for granted. After all, you don't want to marry a man easily swayed by other women."
At that, her chin rose and her shoulders straightened. Her grip on his arm loosened slightly, but remained. Lucien continued toward his office, and she readily kept pace with him.
Once they were inside, Lucien popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured it into two fluted glasses.
Clarisse drained over half of her glass, and Lucien refilled it promptly. He didn't like the way the scene reminded him of a similar one enacted with Tempy just two short weeks ago. He'd much prefer it if Tempy were here with him rather than Clarisse.
"You are a very understanding man," Clarisse said. She twirled the stem of her glass between her long, slender fingers. "How did you come to know women so well?"
"I've been running this casino for years. To be successful in this business, you must learn human nature. That applies to both men and women."
Clarisse sauntered closer to him, the movement of her hips causing her hoopskirts to sway seductively. "Do
es that mean that you can read my 'human nature?' Tell me then. What is it saying to you?"
Lucien set his champagne glass on the desk as Clarisse moved closer. She stopped when her body was just inches from his. Her skirts pressed against his legs and he caught a whiff of her rose-scented perfume. It was a much softer, simpler scent than the spicy lavender blend that Tempy favored. But he didn't like the way Clarisse's scent invaded his senses. He had to force himself not to back away. After all, he had promised Tempy he would do this.
Clarisse continued to look up at him expectantly, and he realized that he needed to reply. "I think, perhaps," he said silkily, "that your human nature has been overtaken by more, shall we say, animal urges."
Clarisse's face took on a more fervent expression and she pressed closer to him. Lucien raised his hand, not sure whether he was warding her off or pulling her closer. But his intentions didn't matter, because instead of doing either thing, he inadvertently bumped her champagne glass. The golden liquid splashed down the front of her bodice, and Clarisse jumped back with a squeal of surprise.
"I'm terribly sorry," he said. Fumbling in his pocket, he extracted a freshly laundered handkerchief. He held it out to her, the red "H H" Hamlin House monogram on its corner stark against the white fabric.
With an angry huff, Clarisse snatched it from his outstretched hand. "I had no idea you could be so clumsy." She dabbed at the droplets of wine dribbling down the bare skin of her chest, but she was unable to do anything about the darker spots that had soaked into the bodice of her dress. "It was a mistake to come here tonight. Look at me. How can I walk back out there looking like this? I must go home, immediately."
"I'll send for your cloak. Nobody will see the stain."
"And send for my carriage as well. Tell Ernest to find his own way home this evening. That's no more than he deserves."
The sense of relief that filled Lucien was almost overwhelming as he hurried to complete Clarisse's bidding. He was certain that she would have seen through his ruse if he'd tried to kiss her. And he wasn't even sure that he would have been able to bring himself to do it.
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