by Diane Gaston
She straightened. ‘At least that would be something, would it not?’
He would have preferred an excuse to toss Westleigh out on his ear, although her course was undoubtedly the wiser for both of them. He preferred a more subtle revenge, one that would cause Westleigh even greater pain.
‘It will be as you wish.’
She dabbed at her face again and folded his handkerchief. ‘I will launder and return this.’
He waved that away. ‘It is of no consequence.’
She picked up her mask. ‘I have taken up enough of your time. We should return to the game room, do you not think?’
Leaving her was the last thing on his mind, but she was correct. He should get back. ‘You may stay here, if you wish. Stay until it is time for your coachman.’
She shook her head. ‘I think it is like falling from one’s pony. One must remount immediately.’
She’d ridden a pony? Riding a pony seemed unlikely for an actress.
He’d pursue that thought another time. ‘Then I will go down first. You may follow a moment later. It will not seem as if we have been together.’
She gave him a grateful smile.
They both rose. She lifted the mask to her face and fussed with its ribbons. He stepped behind her and tied the mask in place.
She stood very still as he did so.
When he finished, his hands hovered over her shoulders, wanting to explore more of her.
Instead, he stepped away and walked out of the room.
* * *
Down in the game room, he found Westleigh almost immediately, laughing at something his companion had said. Westleigh caught his gaze and froze for a moment, an icy expression on his face. Rhys returned the unfriendly glare and resumed his patrol of the room.
In a few moments Celia appeared, searching the room, her reaction to finding Rhys as warm as Westleigh’s had been cold. She appeared perfectly composed, strolling to where Sir Reginald stood.
Sir Reginald greeted her like a long-lost friend. This man was a member of the aristocracy who Rhys could like. Sir Reginald was kind and friendly to everyone.
Westleigh also noticed Celia’s entrance. Rhys watched him leave his friend and make a beeline to where Celia stood.
Xavier appeared beside Rhys. ‘Would you mind telling me what all this is about?’
‘All what?’ Rhys countered.
Xavier inclined his head towards Celia and Westleigh.
Rhys waved a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing of consequence, I am certain.’
Xavier frowned. ‘Between Westleigh and the woman who captivates you? Do not take me for a fool.’
* * *
Celia watched Westleigh make his way across the room and knew he was coming after her. She cast a glance towards Rhys. He stood close by.
She turned to Sir Reginald. ‘Do you need a whist partner tonight, sir?’
Sir Reginald smiled in a jolly way. ‘Is that an invitation, madam? If so, I would be honoured.’
Westleigh came up to her side. ‘There you are, my dear. I feared I had lost you forever.’
She inclined her head slightly and spoke without expression. ‘Lord Westleigh.’
He bowed. ‘Are you ready for our game of whist?’
He presumed she would play cards with him? ‘I fear you are too late.’ She managed to sound civil. ‘Sir Reginald and I will be playing.’
That did not daunt him. ‘Whist? You will need partners, certainly. Allow me and my companion to challenge you to a game.’
Whist had been the game that Westleigh had played with her father that fateful night.
Her eyes narrowed.
Sir Reginald broke in. ‘Madam, I am completely at your disposal. We do need partners, but I leave it to you to say who that should be.’
She glanced over to Rhys, who had stepped away from his friend, but looked her way.
He was still near.
It emboldened her. ‘Very well. Sir Reginald and I will play whist with you.’
Westleigh fetched his companion. Celia wondered if his companion had been his partner when Westleigh engaged her father in play. If so, why had the man not intervened? Someone should have stopped such folly.
They took their places at a card table and the cards were dealt.
Soon Celia focused on the play instead of the detested player who sat at her right, too often brushing his arm against hers or fussing over her counters as if it were his job to tend to her.
The play was tame. Westleigh and his partner were particularly predictable in which cards they put down and when. Even Sir Reginald’s limited skills more than outmatched them. Westleigh could not have been a challenge to her father, who was very good at whist. Her father would have had no reason to cheat.
That knowledge was like a burden lifted from her shoulders. She now had no doubts that the charge of cheating against her father had been unfounded.
It also made Westleigh’s actions that night all the more reprehensible.
Perhaps the revenge she could enact against him was to play cards with him as often as she could. To take as much of his money as she could. It would probably not put a dent in an earl’s fortune, but it would be some restitution—the sort of restitution her father might admire.
While Sir Reginald shuffled the cards for the next hand, Celia glanced around the room, as she often did, looking for Rhys. Instead, her gaze caught upon Lord Neddington.
It did not please her that this young man was so frequent a visitor to this place. She had no wish for Adele to be enamoured of a gambler.
Celia watched Neddington walk through the room aimlessly. He turned towards her table and she quickly averted her eyes, but Neddington was not concerned with her. He was scowling at Lord Westleigh.
At least that was in the young man’s favour.
Between hands Celia kept tabs on Neddington who walked around, but never seemed to gamble. How odd. It did make her a bit less concerned about his character, though.
* * *
After several games Westleigh’s partner threw up his hands. ‘No more!’ He turned to Celia. ‘You have emptied my pockets, madam.’
He was even worse a player than Westleigh.
She smiled good-naturedly. ‘Perhaps you would like a rematch another night, sir.’
He laughed. ‘A night when luck is with me.’ He winked. ‘At least I won when you played hazard. We must coax you back to the hazard table, must we not, Westleigh?’ He turned to the earl.
‘It would be my pleasure to play whatever game the lady wishes.’ Westleigh eyed her in the same manner her husband had done before they were married.
It made her cheeks burn.
Sir Reginald, so harmless and friendly, said, ‘Well, madam, you may count on me to partner you any time.’
‘You are an excellent partner, Sir Reginald.’ She dropped her counters into her reticule and stole a glance at her watch. It was nearly time for her coach to arrive.
She stood.
Westleigh took her elbow. ‘Shall we play more hazard, my dear?’
‘Thank you, no.’ She drew her arm away. ‘I bid you gentlemen goodnight.’
She looked for Rhys, but he was not in the game room, so she made her way to the cashier and repaid the hundred pounds she’d not touched in her play. At the end, she carried away over seventy pounds. The huge sum filled her with guilt. Winning at hazard would cost Rhys directly. It was a poor way to repay his generosity.
Celia wanted to see Rhys before she left. After cashing out, she glanced in the supper room, but he was not there. She asked the hall servant where Rhys was.
‘Drawing room,’ the man told her.
Celia climbed the stairs. As she neared the doorway to the drawing room, she heard Rhys’s voice and held back.
‘Your concern is unfounded, Xavier,’ Rhys said. ‘And insulting, as well.’
‘Insulting?’ His friend’s voice rose.
‘I am well able to make my own decisions about business and ab
out women.’ Rhys spoke with heat. ‘I do not caution you against dallying with any of the several women who vie for your attention, you know.’
‘There would be no need.’ Xavier’s tone was just as angry. ‘I know how to handle women.’
‘And I do not?’ Rhys countered.
‘Come now.’ Xavier turned placating. ‘This infatuation with the masked woman is something else. You do not know who she is. Or what she wants.’
‘She wants what I want. Money,’ Rhys answered. ‘And she has given me her name. That is enough for me.’
‘Rhys—’ Xavier began.
‘Enough,’ Rhysdale broke in. ‘I need you as a friend, not a nursemaid. Do not press me further on this matter.’
Celia stepped away from the doorway as Xavier strode out of the room. Seeing her, he hesitated only briefly, long enough to look half-apologetic, half-provoked. He continued on his way down the stairs.
She knocked on the door.
Chapter Seven
‘May I speak to you, Rhys?’
Rhys turned in surprise at the sound of her voice. ‘Celia! Come in. Close the door.’
She looked wounded, as well she might. He’d been about to pour himself some brandy. Now he needed it even more.
He lifted the decanter. ‘Would you like a glass?’
She nodded.
‘How much of that did you hear?’ he asked as he poured.
She took the glass from his hand. ‘Enough to know that Mr Campion does not like that you hired me.’
He’d been afraid of that.
‘It is none of his affair,’ he assured her. ‘He thinks he is acting out of friendship.’
‘If my employment causes you a problem—’ she began.
‘You cause me no problem.’ He reached over and gently removed her mask. ‘That is better.’ He brushed a lock of hair off her face and gestured to the sofa. ‘Please sit, Celia.’
By God, she looked lovely this night. The white of her gown was embroidered with a cascade of flowers created from shimmering silver thread. In the game room amongst the sea of black-coated men, she’d glowed like moonlight.
She lowered herself onto the sofa where she’d sat before. Where he’d held her before.
‘I did not mean to overhear,’ she said. ‘I only came upstairs to thank you again. And to let you know that I managed being in Westleigh’s company without too much distress.’
‘I was watching.’ He sat in the nearby chair. ‘I also noticed that you won.’
‘I did.’ She shook her head. ‘He is a terrible player.’
Their conversation was stilted and devoid of the intimacy they had so recently shared in this room. That she’d overheard Xavier did not help.
‘Terrible?’ That knowledge pleased him. Rhys was a master of cards. He took a sip of brandy. ‘A competent card player would have no need to cheat against him, then.’
Her face shone with pleasure. ‘You have guessed my thoughts.’
She looked even more lovely.
He took another sip. ‘How much did you win?’
‘From Westleigh and his partner? About twenty-five pounds.’
His brows rose. ‘So much?’
She waved a hand. ‘They were reckless in their betting, as well. I decided to play him as much as I can. Take as much of his money as I can.’ Her voice cracked. ‘For my father.’
He understood her need for revenge, but it puzzled him. How did Westleigh have that much to lose? He was supposed to be on a tight leash regarding his spending.
She lowered her gaze. ‘I must confess that I won much more than the twenty-five pounds from Westleigh. I won even more from hazard.’
He’d noticed. ‘You had a winning streak. How much did you win finally?’
She looked apologetic. ‘Fifty pounds.’ She quickly added. ‘I know it was not well done of me. It is a great deal of money out of your pocket.’ She opened her reticule. ‘I wanted to see you so I could pay it back. I only regret I cannot repay all that the patrons betting with me must have won.’
He pushed the reticule away. ‘I’ll not take your winnings. And do not concern yourself about the gentlemen betting with you. Those who stayed at the hazard table will have lost it all again. Or will another night.’ He gazed at her. ‘Not everyone is so wise as to stop when ahead.’
‘I was not wise....’ She made a nervous gesture with her hand. ‘To own the truth, I was terrified. The excitement made me lose all sense.’
‘Not all sense, or you would have played until your reticule was empty.’ He finished his brandy. ‘That excitement is all part of the game. I have been a gambler too long not to have felt that same exhilaration.’
‘It makes a person foolish,’ she rasped. ‘I cannot afford to be foolish. It will hurt me, but tonight my foolishness hurt you.’
‘Gambling is always a risk, but remember that this was a risk I agreed to take. This night you won and I lost. Tomorrow it may be different. We will keep an eye on it.’ He reached over again and touched her cheek. ‘Do not fear. I will not let you be harmed by it.’
Her eyes grew wider and her fair skin glowed like an angel’s.
Xavier was right when accusing him of wanting to make her a conquest. He wanted her as intensely as a man could desire a woman. But Rhys also genuinely liked her. He felt a kinship with her.
It was rare for him to feel kinship with anyone. He’d long ago accepted that he was alone in the world. He even expected to lose Xavier’s friendship eventually, when the man finally found a woman he wished to marry. Xavier’s allegiance would shift, as it should, to a wife and family of his own making.
Or perhaps his friendship with Xavier was ending over Celia.
Rhys dared not hope for anything more than temporary with Celia. No doubt her secrets would eventually separate them.
As his secrets might from her.
But for the moment he relished her company. When had a woman ever made him feel such sympathy as he felt towards her? He wished he could make Westleigh pay for killing her father, for bringing her such pain.
He wanted to enfold her in his arms and take all her pain away.
He looked into her eyes. ‘I like you, Celia Allen.’
Her eyes darted around the room. He’d frightened her.
She smiled nervously at him. ‘You have been...like a friend. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for paying me to gamble. For enduring my fit of tears over Westleigh.’
He held up a hand.
She twisted the laces of her reticule. ‘I should go. My coachman will be here soon.’
He stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet, but did not stop there. He pulled her into an embrace.
He could not tell if she was alarmed or pleased.
‘I suspect we are two of a kind, Celia,’ he said. ‘I am glad you are in my employ. I am glad I will see you night after night.’
Her eyes grew huge and her voice trembled. ‘You are holding me. Are—are you going to kiss me?’
‘Is it what you wish?’ He could feel the rise and fall of her breast against his chest.
It fired his senses, but he waited. She must want this, too.
She rose, no more than an inch, but it was all the invitation he needed.
He lowered his mouth to hers.
Her lips were warm, soft and tasting of brandy and he wanted more, much more. She melted into him and her lips pressed upon his, as if she, too, could not get enough. He lost himself in the pleasure of her, his hands eager to explore her, undress her, pleasure her—
She broke away. ‘This is not wise, Rhys,’ she cried.
His body was still humming with need, but he forced himself to give her the space she needed.
‘You are sounding like Xavier.’ He smiled. ‘It probably was not wise to hire you in the afternoon and kiss you in the night, but I do not feel like being wise with you, Celia. I want more from you.’
Her eyes gr
ew big. ‘More from me?’
Did she not understand?
He would be clear. ‘I want you in my bed.’
She stepped away. ‘I—I do not know.’
He honoured her distance. ‘It is your choice, Celia. No matter what you decide, our employment agreement still stands.’
Her expression turned puzzled. ‘My choice,’ she said to herself.
The clock on his mantel chimed four bells, causing them both to jump.
She rubbed her forehead. ‘I must go. I am already late. My driver will be concerned.’
He reached out and took her hand. ‘Tomorrow, give your driver a later time.’
She looked like a frightened deer.
He did not wish her to bolt. ‘Do not distress yourself,’ he spoke in a soothing voice. ‘You know what I want, but do not let that keep you from coming back and gambling. You need not answer me now. I am a patient man.’
She stared at him, but finally said, ‘I will think about it.’
It was not the answer he had hoped for, but he contented himself that it was not a definite no.
‘Do not think.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Feel.’
She made a sound deep in her throat, before turning away from him and hurrying towards the door.
‘Celia,’ he called to her.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.
‘You forgot your mask.’ He picked up the piece of white silk and crossed the room to her. ‘Stay still. I will put it on you,’ he said.
Her breath accelerated as he affixed the mask to her face and tied the ribbons that held it in place.
‘There you go,’ he murmured.
She stepped away, but turned and gave him a long glance.
He opened the door. ‘I will walk you to your coach.’
As they left the room he kept his distance, but walked at her side down the stairs to the hall where Cummings quickly retrieved her shawl. She put it on herself carelessly, but as soon as they were out the door, he wrapped her in it to protect her from the misty night’s chill. Almost immediately the sound of her coach reached their ears even before it became visible.
She stepped forwards so her coachman could see her. He stopped the horses and Rhys lowered the steps. He squeezed her hand as he helped her into the coach.