by Diane Gaston
His expression was all concern. ‘Are you feeling well enough to be here?’
She wanted to say her illness was merely the effect of carrying his child inside her, but that was no more than a foolish dream, one she’d dreamed before and been disappointed. She could say nothing to him about a mere foolish dream.
A week. If another week went by and she did not have her menses, she would dare to believe in it. She would tell him then.
‘I am still tired.’ And queasy. ‘But I think it is a little better today. I need to be here. I need to play.’
He turned impassive. ‘Then I will leave you to play. You no longer require my assistance gaining partners.’ He stepped away.
She placed a hand on his arm to halt him. ‘May I see you later?’
His eyes darkened and she felt the air between them grow alive with desire. ‘Come to my room when you are ready.’
* * *
Rhys walked away from her, but turned to watch her. She remained where they’d stood together for a moment, before strolling through the room, greeting others and stopping for brief chats. Finally she joined three others for whist and he was satisfied that she was well settled.
Xavier came up to him and turned to look in the same direction as Rhys. ‘She has returned, I see.’
The two friends had achieved a sort of truce while she’d been ill, but now Rhys heard something in Xavier’s voice that put him on guard.
‘Her illness is improved,’ Rhys said in as matter of fact a tone as he could muster.
‘She won at hazard again.’ Xavier’s voice was mild, but Rhys knew his message. ‘Quite a winning streak. Unlike any we’ve seen these last few days.’
Rhys faced him. ‘Your meaning?’
Xavier backed away. ‘No meaning. A mere observation.’
In spite of himself, Rhys’s suspicions were aroused and he played a version of Xavier’s discourse in his head. There was still much Rhys did not know about her. How many more secrets had she kept from him? She needed money. Maybe her need was so great she was driven to cheating. She was skilled enough to know how. Her father had been accused of it.
He stopped himself.
Her father had been killed because of cheating. Certainly that alone would serve as a caution to her. Besides, he did know her. In an intimate way, where secrets were harder to keep.
He glanced towards the doorway and saw Ned and Hugh advancing directly on him.
He met them halfway.
‘We would speak with you,’ Ned demanded.
Hugh looked as if he were ten years old again and ready to throw the first punch.
Rhys nodded. ‘Let us go somewhere private.’
He led them up to his drawing room on the floor above.
Once inside the room, he closed the door. ‘Now what is it?’
‘How could you do this?’ Hugh spat. ‘It is abominable even coming from the likes of you.’
Rhys’s brows rose. ‘Perhaps you might tell me what it is I have done.’
Ned faced him squarely. ‘Lady Gale is with child and you are the father.’
It was like a blow direct to his gut.
For a second Rhys could not even breathe. But he knew better than to give away his utter shock. He kept his face still, his expression bland. They obviously held all the aces and he had nothing.
‘Who told you this?’ He kept any emotion from his voice.
‘Miss Gale,’ Ned responded. ‘And her distress over the matter is sufficient reason for me to call you out.’
Rhys merely raised his eyes to him. ‘Are you calling me out, Neddington?’
Ned backed off. ‘No. Of course not. But this is badly done of you, Rhys.’
Hugh’s hands curled into fists. ‘Haven’t you done enough to our family?’
Rhys turned his steely gaze on him. ‘You are forgetting who you came to when the family needed rescuing.’
‘See here—’ Hugh shot back.
‘Stop it, Hugh,’ Ned snapped. He faced Rhys again. ‘Do you deny this? That you have been engaging in an affair with Lady Gale, who we now know must be Madame Fortune? That you have got her with child? A respectable woman from a respectable family. Think what this will mean to her stepdaughter.’
‘To her stepdaughter?’ Rhys laughed. ‘You malign both Lady Gale and Madame Fortune and your concern is solely for the stepdaughter?’
Ned’s eyes flashed. ‘Miss Gale is my sole concern. Do you deny what we say?’
Hugh broke in. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
Rhys made himself look blandly from one brother to the other, while inside he was furious with their implication that he was not worthy of a respectable woman. He was furious that they would criticise Celia as if her behaviour would somehow soil her stepdaughter’s virginal mind. Mostly he was wounded to the depths of his soul that Celia had not told him herself that she carried his child.
Finally he spoke. ‘If any of this were true, I fail to see how it is your concern. Do not come here and shout insults at me and to ladies who are not present to defend themselves. And stop spreading gossip like a set of garrulous hags.’
‘Everyone knows you are having an affair with Madame Fortune!’ Hugh cried.
Rhys countered, ‘They suspect. They do not know.’
Hugh sprang at Rhys.
Ned held his brother back. ‘Are you denying this, Rhys?’
‘I am not crediting any of it with more comment,’ Rhys replied in a firm voice. ‘One thing I will tell you. Do not speak with Madame Fortune about this. I will not have you throwing out accusations and speculations against patrons who have chosen to be masked and anonymous. You will keep silent on this manner or you will answer to me. And, do not forget, you need the money I provide to you.’
‘It is our money,’ Hugh cried. ‘We invested everything we had left in this.’
‘And I have paid back that investment,’ Rhys responded. ‘We are even now.’
‘You still owe us!’ Hugh leaned into Rhys’s face.
Rhys pushed him away. ‘If I hear one more word of this from anyone else, I’m holding you responsible and these doors will be closed to you.’
‘But this is our gaming house!’ Hugh cried.
Rhys swung so close his face was inches from Hugh’s. ‘This is my gaming house. That was the bargain. I decide who may enter and who will be banned.’
Ned pulled Hugh away. ‘We’ve said our piece. Let us go now.’
Rhys drove them towards the door. ‘Remember my warning. Keep silent on this or answer to me!’
They left the room and he slammed the door shut behind them.
Chapter Fourteen
With Ned and Hugh gone, Rhys had no need to hold in his rage. He prowled through the room, wishing he were in some seedy tavern in the East End so he could pick a fight and break some furniture, smash some glass.
Why had she not told him?
With a growl he pulled the door open and ran down the stairs, slowing only when reaching the last step. Cummings glanced up at him in surprise.
‘Cummings, ask Madame Fortune to come upstairs as soon as she is able,’ he ordered.
Cummings gave him a queer look, but nodded.
Rhys returned to the drawing room to pace and contemplate what in the room he might smash against the wall.
She said she was barren.
Had she lied to him about that? To what purpose? Having a child would shame her and, in his station of life, make no difference to him.
Except it did make a difference to him.
He gripped the back of a chair.
No child of his would come into the world in shame. No child of his would bear the burden of being called bastard.
It seemed a long time until he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He waited in the doorway.
She climbed the stairs wearily and a wave of worry washed over him. She was still ill.
She glanced up and saw him waiting for her. ‘Rhys?’
He turned an
d re-entered the drawing room.
She followed, pulling off her mask. ‘What is it, Rhys?’
He supposed he looked like thunder. He composed his face. ‘Neddington and Hugh just called upon me.’
She gave him a wary look. ‘And?’
He stepped close to her and leaned even closer. ‘They said you are carrying my child.’
She blanched. ‘I—’
He seized her arms for a moment, but immediately released her. ‘Were you planning on informing me of this fact?’
‘It—it cannot be a fact,’ she countered. ‘I was told by a physician that I am barren, that I would never conceive.’
He seethed. ‘Then why say so to Miss Gale?’
‘Adele,’ she whispered in an exasperated tone. She raised her head to Rhys. ‘I told her it could not be true, but she would not listen.’
He held her arms again and looked down into her eyes. ‘But it is true, is it not? Tell me now.’
She glanced away. ‘I can only say that—that I am late in bleeding.’
‘Then it might be true,’ he persisted.
She bit her lips and pain contorted her features. ‘It might be,’ she said in the tiniest voice.
He made an angry sound and released her again, swinging away and putting some distance between them.
* * *
Celia reeled under the force of his anger, so unexpected.
So crushingly disappointing.
She blinked away sudden tears and straightened her spine. ‘Do not concern yourself, Rhys. If it is true, I ask nothing of you. I have enough money to care for a child.’ Or she would after a few more weeks of gambling.
He swivelled back, fire shooting from his eyes. ‘Do you think I am trying to shirk responsibility? Is that the sort of man you think I am?’
She was taken aback. ‘Why else be angry about my possible condition?’
He seized her wrists and pulled her close. ‘I am angry you did not tell me. You might have done so this morning when I called and we were private. I am angry that you excluded me from this.’
She tried to pull away. ‘How could I say a word of it when everything I know speaks against it?’ Her throat grew tight. ‘I cannot hope it is a child.’
He released her, his expression full of pain. ‘You do not want it to be true.’
The grief of many years’ duration enveloped her once again. ‘I want it to be true with all my heart.’
He reached out to her again, this time tenderly touching her arm. ‘Then we have no conflict, no scandal. We can marry. You and our child will want for nothing.’
‘Marry?’ No. Never. Marriage was misery, a prison.
But this was Rhys. She might wake every morning in his arms, see his smile when sunshine filled the room. She might walk with him to the shops, sit next to him at the opera, share every meal with him across the table from her.
A knock sounded at the door and Cummings’s voice carried into the room, ‘Mr Rhysdale. Come. There is trouble in the game room.’
He looked at her with regret. ‘We’ll continue this.’
He left with Cummings, leaving the door ajar. Sounds of raised voices reached her ears. She tied her mask in place and followed him.
From the game room door the scene unfolded.
One man lunging after another, Xavier and another man holding him back. ‘You took my money! All of it! I am ruined! It is out of all fairness!’
The other man leaned threateningly towards him. ‘Are you calling me a cheat? I play a fair game!’
Rhys stood between the two. ‘We’ll have none of this. No fighting.’ He turned to Xavier. ‘Take him away.’ To the other man, Rhys said, ‘Calm yourself, sir. I suggest you cash out and leave. Tempers are too high at the moment.’
‘I won’t be accused of cheating!’ the man cried. ‘I demand satisfaction.’
‘I will have you banned if you do not calm down.’ Rhys pushed him away. ‘He is upset at losing, nothing more.’
Xavier and the other man dragged their charge out of the game room. As they passed by Celia, the man continued to wail, ‘I am ruined! What am I to do? I am ruined.’
Rhys meanwhile stuck with the other man, waiting for him to pick up his counters and a vowel written by the loser. He walked with the man past Celia, out the door, presumably to the cashier.
The other patrons turned back to their games and soon the sounds of wins and losses returned in its familiar cadence. Celia grew cold as she watched their faces. At the hazard table all eyes were riveted on the roll of the dice. At vingt-et-un, the players were spellbound by each turn of a card, at faro, the dealing box. Yet one man’s life was ruined and another man was willing to risk death for some dubious code of honour.
The room held perhaps seventy players and it seemed to Celia that each of the men wore her father’s face. She closed her eyes only to see him again returning home with smiles and gifts, swinging her mother around and swearing that life would be easy from then on. She blinked and he was now weeping into her mother’s lap, begging for forgiveness for losing money for rent, for clothing, for food.
Lord Westleigh sidled over to her. ‘Might I interest Madame in some more hazard? A little luck is in order, do you not think?’
She gaped at him. The scenario played out before her eyes a moment ago might have been the way it had occurred with her father. Did not Westleigh remember that night? Should she ask him if her father won? Was that why Westleigh accused him of cheating? Was that why her father had challenged him to a duel? Should she ask how it felt for Westleigh to shoot the pistol and see her father fall? Or how he lived with himself for merely running away? He’d hid behind some gentleman’s code of silence and had never been held accountable for the crime.
‘No hazard, sir,’ she managed.
‘Then let us have some supper.’ He took her arm.
She recoiled. ‘No!’
He gripped her harder. ‘Come now, madam, you must know I have developed a regard for you. You would do very well to take advantage of that fact.’
‘Take advantage!’ The very sight of him sickened her.
‘I would pay handsomely for some...private time with you. You would not regret the money or the experience.’ He leered at her.
‘Release me, sir,’ she demanded. ‘I’ll not bear your insults.’
He pulled her closer. ‘Do not say you prefer that bastard Rhysdale? He is nothing compared to me, I assure you. A mere hireling. You cannot prefer him to me.’
She lowered her voice, so angry at him it trembled. ‘How dare you call him a hireling! And I do prefer him to you. I prefer any man to you. Do not ever approach me again. For any reason.’ She wrenched out of his grasp and walked out of the game room.
He caught her in the hall and pinned her against the wall, leaning down into her masked face. ‘You will regret rebuffing me, madam. I have ways of retaliating against such insults.’ His mouth stretched into a malevolent grin. ‘Perhaps I will unmask you. You would dislike that, wouldn’t you.’
When he let go of her to reach for her mask, she pushed hard on his chest, knocking him off balance.
She hurried to get away from him. As she neared the cashier’s office. Rhys had entered the hallway, escorting the winning gentleman out. He gave her an apologetic glance, but she could not meet his eyes, nor tell him what just happened to her at the hands of Westleigh. She walked into the cashier’s room.
MacEvoy looked up at her. ‘Cashing out, Madame?’
‘Yes.’ She could hardly speak.
When she made her way to the hall, Westleigh was nowhere to be seen.
Xavier emerged from Cummings’s coat room.
‘Is Rhys in there?’ she asked.
‘He is. He is calming the fellow down,’ Xavier responded. ‘Do you wish me to get him for you?’
She shook her head. ‘But I must beg a favour from you.’
‘Of course.’ He inclined his head graciously.
‘Walk me home.’
&
nbsp; * * *
It took all of an hour to calm Mr Poole enough to release him to go home without the intention to kill himself on the way. It also took a loan from Rhys of one hundred pounds, money Rhys suspected he would never see again.
But he did not want the pall of suicide hanging over his gaming house. Besides, the man had a wife and children. They should not have to pay for the man’s sins.
Poole had to endure a strong lecture from Rhys regarding the duty a man owed to his children. It was a lecture that had special meaning to Rhys now and he was eager to settle matters between him and Celia.
As soon as Poole walked out of the house, Rhys ran upstairs to the drawing room, but Celia was not there. He checked the bedchamber. She was not there, either.
He returned to the hall.
Cummings stood in his usual place.
‘Did you see Madame Fortune?’ he asked.
Cummings shook his head.
Rhys checked the game room, the supper room and the cashier. MacEvoy told him she’d cashed out.
He returned to the hall just as Xavier opened the front door and entered.
Xavier held up a hand. ‘She asked me to walk her home.’
‘Did she say why?’ Was she ill again?
Xavier walked over to him. ‘She barely said a word. Something upset her. That was evident.’
He waited for Xavier to say more or to indicate that her leaving was somehow proof that her intentions were nefarious, but Xavier said nothing.
Rhys’s impulse was to rush out and run to her rooms to demand to speak with her, but it was nearly three o’clock in the morning.
He would see her when it was day and a civil time to call. He’d not wait a moment longer to discover why, after he had proposed marriage to her, she fled from him.
Chapter Fifteen
Ned spent the morning poring over his father’s accounts with his father’s secretary, attempting to decide which bills to pay and which to defer. Thanks to Rhys, the task was now tedious rather than desperate.
It was a task his father ought to be performing, but, ever since Ned and Hugh had discovered the dismal state of their financial affairs and confronted their father with it, their father had washed his hands of his responsibility, as if the bearers of the bad news were responsible for the problems.