A Marriage of Notoriety

by Diane Gaston

  Xavier’s good looks did not matter one jot to Rhys. In fact, Rhys was perhaps the only person, besides Xavier’s own family, of whom he could say such a thing. Rhys was no fool, though. He knew women were attracted to Xavier.

  Xavier evaded the question. ‘I am reasonably sure she is merely here for the gambling. Not the sort to cause trouble.’

  Rhys laughed. ‘I thought you’d met your match.’

  Xavier shook his head.

  Rhys put a hand on Xavier’s arm. ‘I have a favour to ask of you.’

  During the war, Rhys twice saved Xavier’s life. At Badajoz. At Quatre Bras. Xavier would have done the same for Rhys. ‘What is it?’

  Rhys glanced around. ‘Take over the club for a few days, will you? The gentlemen with whom I was conversing have an investment that may interest me, but it would require a few days’ travel.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Xavier agreed. ‘What sort of investment?’

  ‘Steam engines,’ Rhys replied.

  ‘Steam engines?’ The machines that had caused such riots and unrest in the textile industry?

  ‘Expanding their use. Making them smaller. Steam engines will do great things, you will see.’ Rhys wanted another way to build wealth besides a gambling house. He’d never intended to make gambling his life.

  Gambling and soldiering had enabled Rhys to survive after Rhys’s mother died and Lord Westleigh abandoned him to the streets. Xavier, on the other hand, had grown up amidst luxury and the devotion of his parents and siblings. They made unusual friends.

  Xavier nodded. ‘If it looks to be a good investment, make certain I have a share.’

  Rhys leaned forwards. ‘If it is the sort of investment I expect, I may be asking you to take over the gaming house altogether.’

  Run the gaming house? Xavier would do it. He delighted at doing the unexpected. Nearly everyone he’d ever met expected him to coast through life on his looks, but that was the last thing Xavier intended to do. He’d prove himself by skill, cunning, strength. Character. He’d already proved himself a good gambler, a brave soldier; he’d not mind proving he could run the best gaming house in London.

  He glanced back at Phillipa. ‘I’ll take over the gaming house, if it comes to that, Rhys. But now I had better not keep this lady waiting.’

  Rhys clapped him on the back and left the room.

  Xavier brought two plates of food to the table where Phillipa waited.

  ‘You must not have told him,’ she said as he placed a plate before her.

  ‘Told him?’ Ah, she thought he would tell Rhys about her. ‘Of course not.’ He meant no one to know she’d come here. ‘I am going to get you through this folly of yours without injury to your person or your reputation.’

  ‘Reputation?’ She made a disparaging sound. ‘After what you told me about my father today, is not the whole family drenched in scandal? What does my reputation matter now?’

  He signalled to a servant to bring some wine. ‘Society has always known your father to be a gambler and a philanderer. His self-exile to the Continent will seem like an honourable act. Your family’s reputation should stay intact.’

  The wine arrived and Phillipa took a sip.

  Her voice dipped low. ‘No matter. I have no need to preserve a reputation. That is for marriageable young ladies or matrons concerned about children.’

  He felt a stab of sympathy. ‘You do not intend to marry?’

  She glanced away. ‘Do not be absurd. You know what is beneath this mask.’ She turned back to him with a defiant gaze. ‘So there is nothing to risk. If I am attacked on the street, what will it matter?’

  ‘Do not pretend to be stupid, Phillipa,’ he growled. ‘A horror could befall you much worse than a cut on a face.’ At Badajoz he’d seen what violence men could inflict on women.

  She blinked. ‘I know.’

  He pushed the plate closer to her. ‘Have a bit of cake and let us speak of other things besides horrors.’

  She obliged him and he found himself fascinated by the small bite she took of the cake, of her licking a crumb off her lip. Her lips were a most appealing shade of pink.

  ‘I am not really so much in the doldrums, you know,’ she went on. ‘I was merely trying to provoke you.’

  He grinned. ‘Poke me and I’ll poke you back.’

  They’d played that game as children. Much to his annoyance, as he recalled.

  She pursed her lips. ‘You had better not poke me. I poke back much better than I used to. I am no longer a little girl, you know.’

  He could not help but let his gaze peruse her. ‘I know.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Do not make a jest of me, Xavier.’

  A jest? He was seeing her as a man sees a woman. ‘You ought to know me better, Phillipa.’

  ‘I do not know you at all now.’ Her expression turned bleak. ‘It has been a long time since we were children.’

  ‘I have not changed.’ He had changed, though. He’d once told himself he’d always look out for her, but he’d left her behind, a mere memory, as he grew to manhood and went to war.

  ‘I have changed.’ She lifted her chin again. ‘I have become quite independent, you know.’

  ‘Hence the excursion to a gaming hell.’ He touched her hand, but quickly withdrew.

  Her fingers folded. ‘A gaming hell makes it sound so nefarious. It is rather staid, though. What a disappointment.’

  He frowned. ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘Some debauchery, at least!’ She laughed. ‘I did not know what to expect, but my curiosity was piqued to see what my brothers thought would be the saving of our family. And of our village and its people. There are a great deal of counters being won and lost.’

  ‘In gambling, the house always has the advantage. Rhys’s success has been beyond everyone’s expectations.’ And Xavier vowed he’d make even more money from it.

  Phillipa finished her wine. ‘May I return to the tables, Xavier? I still have money left to lose.’

  He didn’t want to take her back to the game room. Not all the patrons of the place were gentlemen. She was too attractive—alluring, even—and she was alone. ‘Rhys is in the game room.’

  ‘Are you afraid he’ll recognise me this time?’ she asked.

  ‘You should worry over it,’ he countered. ‘He might recognise you. Or someone else might.’

  Her eyes shifted. ‘No they won’t. They have never looked at me long enough to recognise me in a mask.’ She stood. ‘I wish to return to the tables. I was getting accustomed to faro. I believe I will play some more.’

  He had no choice but to stand. ‘Very well, Phillipa.’

  When they walked back to the doorway, she inclined her head towards the piano. ‘Who plays for you?’

  He shrugged. ‘No one. It is left from the previous owner.’ Who also ran a brothel here as well as a gaming house, but she did not need to know that. A young fellow played the piano and the girls sang and flirted with the men.

  He escorted Phillipa back to the game room and left her at the faro table where he had found her.

  ‘Campion brought you back?’ One of the men gave her a flirtatious look. ‘We despaired of ever seeing you again. Has the pick of the ladies, that one has.’

  Xavier did not hear Phillipa’s response.

  He could not hover around her, though. He’d only call more attention to her. There were gossips in the crowd who would make it their business to discover who she was.

  He would watch from afar, in case she needed assistance, and when she made ready to leave, it would not be alone.

  He stepped in to the hall where Cummings attended the door.

  No one entered or left without Cummings knowing of it. ‘Do you recall the new woman who came earlier, the masked one in the dark-green go
wn?’ Xavier asked.

  Cummings nodded.

  ‘When she is ready to leave, detain her and alert me. Do not allow her to leave until I speak with her.’

  Cummings nodded again and, if he thought anything odd in this request, made no comment. But, then, Cummings rarely commented about anything.

  ‘I thank you, Cummings.’

  Xavier returned to the game room, glancing first to see that Phillipa still played at the faro table. He’d keep an eye on her as well as on the other gamblers, and he’d be ready to see that Phillipa arrived safely to her town-house door.

  * * *

  After Xavier left her at the faro table, Phillipa’s very limited interest in gambling waned even further, but she persisted, merely to show him he could not drive her away.

  One of the gentlemen who’d escorted her to the cashier and to the gaming room approached her. ‘Are you enjoying yourself, ma’am?’

  How unexpected it was to be called ‘ma’am’ as if she were a married lady.

  Xavier glanced in her direction so she smiled at the gentleman. ‘I am indeed. I even win sometimes.’

  The gentleman laughed. ‘That is the main purpose of coming here.’ One brow rose. ‘Or do you have another purpose in mind?’

  By his very significant look, she knew he meant something of consequence. She was not sure, but it could be flirtation. How very unexpected, if so.

  ‘The gambling attracts me, of course.’ Why not simply ask him what he means? ‘What else could there be?’

  His eyes flitted over her person. ‘I saw that Mr Campion singled you out for notice. Are you to be another of his conquests?’

  Her smile stiffened. This was the second man to suggest such a thing. ‘Another of his conquests? Goodness! How many does he have?’

  He slid Xavier a jealous look. ‘He can have any woman he wishes.’

  That did not precisely answer her question.

  No matter. What difference to her how many women fell for the handsome Xavier Campion? What woman would not? She’d always known women found him irresistible.

  For some odd reason, it bothered her to hear this man say so.

  ‘Does he wish to claim you?’ the man persisted.

  Surely this was impertinence. Apparently impertinence was acceptable behaviour in a gaming house. And perhaps this gentleman did not think her a young lady worthy of respect.

  That was why most of the women in the room wore masks, was it not? They would be scorned and their reputations ruined if their identities were known here. The masks protected them.

  Ironically her mask merely assured that a gentleman would speak to her. He certainly would not have done if he had seen her face.

  She turned back to the faro table. ‘I do believe Mr Campion merely wished to welcome me to the house.’

  The man bowed. ‘I do understand.’

  He understood? She wished she did. She’d intended to merely avoid his question. There was nothing to be understood.

  He walked away.

  She shook her head. If that man intended a flirtation, he gave up too easily.

  She caught Xavier looking at her and, as she turned away from him, caught a woman glaring at her. Out of jealousy? Now this was a unique experience. A woman shooting daggers of jealousy at her instead of melting with pity.

  All this was new. New people. New experiences. If she’d not consumed a little too much wine when with Xavier and if the hour were not so dreadfully late, her heart would be racing with excitement. She found it difficult to keep from yawning, though. Her mask itched and her feet hurt and she yearned to be between the cool linens of her bed.

  She should leave.

  Phillipa walked out of the room and cashed in her counters with the cashier. She’d lost money, but it hardly signified since the money simply went back to her family. She made her way to the hall to collect her cape and gloves. The same taciturn hall servant stood there.

  And so did Xavier.

  When the servant walked off to get her things, she faced him. ‘Making sure that I leave, Xavier?’

  ‘No.’ He did not look pleased. ‘I will walk you home.’

  ‘That is not necessary, I assure you,’ she responded. ‘I am perfectly capable of walking by myself.’

  ‘Regardless, I will walk you home.’

  The servant brought her cloak and Xavier took it from him. He stepped towards Phillipa and placed it around her shoulders. The touch of his hands on her shoulders caused a frisson of sensation down her back.

  She disliked being so affected by Xavier Campion. It made her think of how she’d felt dancing with him. The thrill of coming close to him, of touching him.

  The servant opened the door and the cool evening air revived her.

  Phillipa crossed over the threshold with Xavier right behind her. ‘I do not need an escort.’

  He fell in step with her. ‘Nevertheless, I need to do this.’

  She scoffed. ‘Do not be absurd. You can have the company of any woman you like. One of the gentlemen told me so.’

  His step slowed for a moment. ‘Phillipa, if any danger should befall you on this walk home, I would never forgive myself for not preventing it.’

  He sounded so serious.

  ‘So dramatic, Xavier. I am not your responsibility.’

  His voice turned low. ‘At this moment, you are.’

  It was very late. Three in the morning, at least, and she had never walked the streets of Mayfair at such an hour. Certainly not with a man at her side.

  A man like Xavier.

  But she must not think of him like that.

  They crossed Piccadilly and as they headed towards Berkeley Square, their footsteps sounded a rhythm broken only by the echoing of a carriage or hackney coach somewhere in the distance. Other sounds—voices, music—wafted to her ears, only to fade quickly. She concentrated on the sounds, searching for a melody she might recreate on her pianoforte, a melody that would sound like the night felt. Cool, peaceful, empty.

  ‘Are you talking to yourself, Phillipa?’ Xavier asked.

  She’d been lost in her music. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Your lips were moving.’

  She’d been playing the music to herself. How daft she must appear. ‘I—I hear music in the sounds of the night. I try to remember them.’

  ‘Music?’ He could not hear the music, obviously.

  ‘In our footsteps. The carriages.’ She shrugged. ‘The other sounds.’

  He paused before responding. ‘I see.’

  Her mask irritated her face. She untied it and pulled it off, rubbing her scar before concealing her face with the hood of her cloak.

  ‘I like music,’ she explained. ‘I have studied music and the pianoforte a great deal over the last few years.’ Since that ball when she’d first danced with him. Of course, she’d never played ‘The Nonesuch’ again, though it had once been a favourite of hers. ‘It is my greatest pleasure.’

  ‘Is it?’ He acted as if interested. ‘I should like to hear you play.’

  Such a polite thing to say. The sort of thing one says when pretending an interest that doesn’t truly exist. Like choosing a dance partner as a favour to one’s mother’s friend.

  ‘I play the pianoforte alone. It consumes my time.’ She made it seem as if she preferred not to have an audience when she really longed to play for others, to discover if her compositions and her technique had any merit.

  He stopped speaking for a half a street.

  She regretted snapping at him. ‘I think I spend too much time with my music. I think that is why I did not notice that my family was in distress.’

  ‘You isolated yourself.’ He sounded as if that would be a sad thing.

  ‘Too much, perhaps,’ she admitte
d. ‘That is the main reason I decided to visit the Masquerade Club.’

  ‘Could you not simply decide to attend balls and routs and musicales instead?’ His tone disapproved.

  She was invisible in such places. No one looked at her if they could help it. No one spoke to her if they could avoid it.

  When she donned the mask this night all that changed. ‘Perhaps balls and routs and musciales are not exciting enough for me.’

  His fingers closed around her arm and he stopped walking. ‘Too much excitement can be dangerous. You must not play with fire, Phillipa.’

  ‘Fire?’ She laughed. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that men will notice you at the gaming house. They will not expect you to be an innocent young girl.’

  ‘Innocent girl? Young? I am three and twenty. Quite on the shelf.’ But devoid of any experience, of that he was correct.

  They walked again. ‘You have had your excitement,’ he went on. ‘Go back to playing your music now.’

  She was eager to return to her music room, to write down the notes she’d heard in the sounds of the street at three in the morning, the sounds of a gaming hell, of his voice.

  But she could not be done with the Masquerade Club. She wished to see and hear more; she wished to experience more.

  Too bad for him. ‘I plan to return.’

  ‘No!’ he growled.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I fully realise you do not wish me around you, Xavier, but it is you who have insinuated yourself into my company, not the reverse.’

  ‘You wrong me again.’ He sounded angry. ‘We are old friends, Phillipa. I owe you my protection as sure as if you were one of my sisters.’

  ‘Once, perhaps, you were under an obligation to do me a kindness.’ Her chest ached in memory. ‘Not any more.’

  A carriage clattered by and she forced herself to listen to the horses’ hooves clapping against the cobbles, the wheels turning, the springs creaking.

  She made it into music inside her head so she would not have to speak more to him, nor think about the thrill of him walking beside her, a sensation distracting in the extreme.