A Rake’s Guide to Seduction

by Caroline Linden

  “You really needn’t stay by me,” Vivian said, and Celia jerked her eyes and her thoughts away from him. “You ought to go about with your guests.”

  “Oh, no, I am perfectly happy to sit with you.” Celia picked up some tangled threads and began picking at them with great care. From the corner of her eye she saw Vivian glance Anthony’s way, her mouth curved in a knowing little smile. Celia flushed. Vivian didn’t say anything else, though, and bent her head over her work.

  For a while it was comfortably quiet, a soft murmur of conversations around the room not distracting anyone from reading or winding thread. But then some gentlemen came back in from outside, and the evening began to disintegrate.

  “We need a fourth,” Lord William announced as he and Mr. Percy and Mr. Childress sat down with a deck of cards. “Hamilton, join us.”

  Anthony didn’t look up from his book. “Thank you, no.”

  “I insist.” Norwood laughed. “I should like a chance to sit at a table with you once.” Anthony’s eyes shifted up to look at him for a long, measured moment. Then his eyes went back to his book. He didn’t say anything. Lord William’s face flushed. “I say, Hamilton, that was rude.”

  “Let it go, Norwood,” said Mr. Childress as he shuffled the cards. “Your manners.”

  “Manners be damned. The fellow looked right through me, as though I weren’t fit to play with him.”

  “It’s penny stakes, Norwood,” Percy said, a bit downcast. “Not much worth a fuss. Billiards?”

  “No, I want to play cards. I want to see if his reputation is all it’s cracked up to be.” Lord William drained the rest of his wine and got to his feet. Celia glanced up anxiously. Vivian gave a tiny shake of her head. Rosalind was still on the far side of the room in conversation with Lady Throckmorton. David and Marcus had disappeared somewhere and not yet joined them. The other guests either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  “Norwood, you’re drunk,” said Mr. Childress in a low, firm voice. “Sit down.”

  “But I can beat him!”

  “No, you can’t.” Percy yawned and checked his watch. “No one can.”

  Celia wished Mr. Percy would keep his mouth closed. Lord William’s face turned scarlet. “The hell you say,” he growled.

  There was a soft snap. Anthony rose, putting aside the book he had been reading. “Very well, Norwood.” He strolled across the room to the table, seating himself across from Mr. Percy and leaning back very elegantly in his chair. With a sharp nod and an air of triumph, Lord William dropped back into his seat.

  Celia breathed a sigh of guarded relief. It was very bad of Lord William to insist, and Anthony ought not to have been pressed into a game he didn’t want to play. She realized he had done it to avoid a scene, of course. She made herself look away, not wanting to make it any more awkward than it already was.

  The gentlemen played for a while. The occasional mild oath and the murmured calls were the only conversation. After a while the mood appeared to ease, and Mr. Percy especially grew quite jolly as a servant brought more wine. Celia stole a glance at the table from time to time, and Anthony seemed perfectly calm. She was feeling rather grateful that he had given in so gracefully and headed off an argument or worse, when Lord William erupted.

  “Impossible!”

  The room fell quiet. Even Rosalind and Lady Throckmorton looked up. Lord William was breathing hard, his handsome face flushed. He gripped the edges of the table and his eyes, feverishly bright, were fixed on the cards.

  “Norwood, it doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Childress as he laid down his own cards. “It’s just a hand of cards.”

  “It’s penny stakes,” said Mr. Percy again, as if that were the most important point.

  “No!” Lord William lurched to his feet, sending his chair over backward. “It’s impossible! It cannot be allowed!”

  Mr. Childress rose as well. “Still up for a round of billiards, Percy?”

  “Certainly!” Percy bounded out of his seat with an anxious look at the lone remaining player at the table.

  Anthony was as calm and composed as ever. Unhurried, he started to rise. “Then I shall—”

  “Stay!” Lord William pointed a shaking finger at him. “Stay where you are, sir, and explain yourself.”

  “He had good luck,” said Mr. Childress.

  “I told you no one beats him,” said Mr. Percy.

  This did not, as it was perhaps intended, console Lord William. With a snort, he lashed out, sweeping all the cards off the table in Anthony’s direction. “Good luck, my arse,” he snarled. “You cheated!”

  Celia caught her breath. No one made a sound. Every eye was fastened on him. Anthony gazed at Lord William with unreadable eyes for a long moment, still half-risen from his seat. Then he straightened, gave a little bow, and walked out of the room. Perfect control, Celia thought, even when insulted to his face.

  “Let him go,” whispered Vivian, grabbing her hand as Celia made to follow him. Mr. Childress gave Lord William a deeply disgusted look, then turned and walked out. Mr. Percy stood rather aimlessly by the table for a moment, then quickly walked out after Mr. Childress. A murmur of interested conversation had already sprung up.

  “How dare that man call him a cheat,” Celia exclaimed to Vivian. “How dare no one else say anything! Let me go!”

  “A man’s got pride,” Vivian said, clinging harder to her hand. “If you run after him, how will that look?”

  “I don’t care!”

  “He might,” said Vivian softly. “Gentlemen are particular about things like that.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “Perhaps. But I think this particular gentleman has endured it for too long. Someone needs to stand up for him.” And this time Vivian let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anthony walked back to his room in an odd state of detachment. Norwood had called him a cheat in front of everyone, including Celia. At one time Anthony would have risen to the bait and gotten into a fistfight with Norwood or called him out, but not now. He was just tired. No matter what he did or said, or didn’t say and didn’t do, he was wrong.

  He used his unnatural memory and talent with numbers, and he was labeled a cheat. He found ways to support himself when his father threw him out, and he was named a speculator. He invested money for women whose husbands gave them little, and he was called a seducer. He stopped it all, and he was a fortune hunter. Even with Celia, he had done everything wrong. She had looked just as shocked as the rest when Norwood uttered his slander. Her expression had been the last blow; he couldn’t watch her, too, recoil from him in disgust. Not after he had begun to hope…to believe she was on the verge, perhaps, of accepting him….

  He had probably been wrong about that, too, though. Anthony was tired of pretending not to notice how the women watched him with fascinated speculation, how the men watched him with suspicion, and how the dowager duchess watched him with barely concealed hostility. Who was he to think Celia would choose him and his sordid reputation over—against—the advice and protests of her family and friends? He knew it had been a mistake to come. Before this party he had been content with what he had. Now he felt as though he had suffered some great loss, when in reality it had all been nothing more than a phantasm of his hopes and desires, teasing him with what he would never have.

  Franklin was waiting for him. Word must have spread like wildfire through the servants’ quarters. Anthony removed his coat and waistcoat, then stripped off his cravat. He told Franklin to pack first thing in the morning; they would return to London on the morrow. His valet bowed, and Anthony told him to go off to bed. He didn’t want anyone about tonight.

  Wrapping his dressing gown around him, he walked to the window. The drapes were still open, revealing the moonlit lawns and stables of Ainsley Park. Anthony leaned against the wall, looking out. He had looked forward to coming here as a young man. Whatever David Reece’s faults, the man had been a good friend to him, an arrogant, proud, lonely lad wit
h nowhere else to go once the earl had told him not to return to Lynley Court. Anthony supposed he ought to have been grateful Lynley paid the bills for his education, but he had vowed then never again to take anything from Lynley. The earl didn’t want him or need him, and Anthony wouldn’t need or want anything from the earl, ever again. And he hadn’t, not even when he’d been in dire financial circumstances and reputed to be the most scandalous man in London.

  At Ainsley Park he had been almost accepted, even after David had left school. But eventually he had not been welcome here, either. This time there was no doubt what was behind it. He had never done a single improper thing toward Celia, but he knew the duchess hadn’t wanted him around her daughter, just on general principles. Anthony supposed he couldn’t fault her for it. His reputation had already outgrown him.

  Ah, well. He had long ago learned there was no point in agonizing about it. Norwood’s outburst had perhaps been a blessing, for it gave him an excuse to leave. It would give Celia a kind way out as well….

  A sharp knock on the door broke into his thoughts. For a moment he didn’t move, but the knock came again. It was probably Percy, or perhaps even Ned, wanting to assure him—away from public view, of course—that they didn’t believe he was a cheat. His friends were like that.

  He went to the door and opened it, mildly surprised to see Celia standing there. “I’m sorry,” she burst out. “Lord William is a buffoon.”

  He flicked one hand, falling instinctively into an attitude of careless disregard. “Oh, it’s no matter. He’s a bit in his cups, no doubt.”

  “But he called you a cheat,” she exclaimed, “with no basis, and no one knew what to say or do, and I am so sorry you were so rudely spoken to at my house party.”

  A reluctant smile crossed his face. “Thank you for your concern.”

  Instead of easing, her expression only grew more worried. “May I come in?”

  He hesitated only a moment, then pushed the door wide. She slipped past him, and he closed the door.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice quivering. “I don’t understand why you never defend yourself when—”

  “How should I defend myself?” He leaned against the door. “Demand he prove it? Protest my innocence? Did Norwood look inclined to take my word as a gentleman?”

  She bit her lip, acknowledging the point. “But you said not a word.”

  Anthony sighed, pushing away from the door and crossing the room. He ought not to have let her in; a few soothing words and he could have sent her on her way. “I’m leaving in the morning. It didn’t seem worth the fuss.”

  Celia grew more agitated. She paced the room, her skirts swinging around her. “I thought—I know—Of course it is your right not to say anything when someone insults you. Even when it alarms and distresses others. But I wish—I do wish you could trust me enough to explain why you don’t seem to care when others malign you.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not a matter of trust. It simply doesn’t matter.”

  “To me it does. I think it is the key to understanding you.”

  Anthony raised his head and stared at her. Celia stared back, her eyes pleading with him. He looked away.

  She drew in a breath, then turned and walked toward him, and for a moment he braced himself. But instead she went to the desk and took a deck of cards, then went back across the room, right to the bed, where she climbed up and sat. She shuffled the cards and looked pointedly at him, then at the bed. Reluctantly he sat, sitting just on the edge opposite her.

  “Play me for the reason,” she said. “If I win, you tell me. If you win, I shall cease asking.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Celia tossed a card at him. He caught it and laid it on the coverlet between them. “Are you afraid I’ll beat you?”

  “Terrified,” he replied.

  “I’m not so bad at cards,” she told him, riffling the deck. “David taught me several tricks.”

  “You’d probably better not use them. They’re bound to be highly suspect, and of doubtful assistance.”

  “Pooh.” She tossed more cards at him. “I thought you would have more backbone than that. You refuse to answer my questions and shun my challenge. I thought you liked a challenge. What are you afraid of?”

  Anthony ignored the cards in front of him. “Celia, I don’t want to play cards with you.”

  “Don’t change the subject. What game do you favor?”

  He sighed and looked away. “No.”

  Celia heard the underlying steel in his voice and put down the cards. “Why not? You play with Norwood and the others, even when you don’t wish to.”

  “Yes, and none of them come away pleased.” He didn’t meet her eyes but flipped a fold of his dressing gown back and forth in his fingers.

  “Because you win,” she said.

  “Because they think I cheat.” He tilted his head back and looked at her from beneath lowered eyelids. “You know that.”

  Celia gathered up the scattered cards. “You can’t cheat at this,” she said, dealing. “It’s pure chance.”

  “At the beginning,” he murmured.

  “What does that mean?” He shrugged, and she leaned forward. “You can trust me, you know,” she said softly. He looked at her again, his golden eyes cynical. “I wouldn’t tell a soul, even if you told me you were cheating. Not that I think you are.”

  For a long moment he just looked at her. Celia almost held her breath; this was a turning point, she realized.

  She had heard the whispers, that he was a cardsharp and a cheat. She had never believed them, not really, but it did seem odd that he was so successful at the tables when other people—including David—seemed to lose as much as they won. What was Anthony’s secret? Could he actually be cheating? Celia didn’t believe it, but…Would he tell her? Did he trust her that much?

  “I can count the cards,” he finally said.

  Celia frowned. “Count them? You know how many there are.”

  “I can count them by suits and numbers,” he said. “As they are played.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant, and how that would help win. “Can you really? No, you are teasing me,” she said. Anthony pushed himself up against the headboard and took the cards from her, then dealt a round of vingt-et-un for four. Under his long fingers, the cards seem to fly to their places like trained birds.

  Then he began flipping cards, as if four players were playing, but all hands shown. At the beginning, he explained, he just watched and played on instinct; often he lost money, but he was careful to wager only small sums. But as the deck in his hand grew smaller, his wagers grew larger; he could remember which cards had been played, and—more importantly—which cards had not been played.

  “For instance,” he said, “I should not play on this”—he waved at one hand of cards on the coverlet—“because I know there are still five face cards unplayed; they are still in the deck. My chances of drawing one, and ruining my hand, are much greater.”

  Celia frowned, looking at the piles of cards. After a moment’s counting, she realized he was right. “And you know it, just like that?”

  “Yes, more or less. See what happens.” He laid out another circle of cards atop the previous one, and Celia’s lips parted as a jack of hearts landed on the hand in front of Anthony. A queen also turned up. Two of the four cards turned over were face cards. She looked at him, her mouth still agape.

  “That’s amazing.”

  He pulled a face. “No, it’s not.”

  “It is,” she insisted.

  He gave her a twisted smile. “That little skill got me thrown out of three schools as a boy. Everyone was certain I was cheating. I was too young and full of myself to let them win, and I suppose I gloated, too. A mathematics lecturer declared I couldn’t beat him, but like a fool, I did. He was so annoyed he wrote to my father, and that was the end of that school. All school, in fact.”

  “But why d
idn’t you tell your father?” Celia protested. “Wasn’t he upset that you were falsely accused?”

  Anthony slouched against the bolster and fixed his gaze on the card deck still in his hand, face down. “There’s the answer to your question, my dear. He didn’t care why or how I had beaten a lecturer at cards. He only cared that I was accused, and therefore disgraced him.” He held up the remaining cards, and without looking at them, said, “Ace of spades, queen of hearts, jack of hearts, a nine, two sevens, an eight, and a two.” With a flick of his wrist he tossed down the cards, face up. Each card he had named spilled across the counterpane. Celia let out her breath.

  “Amazing,” she whispered again.

  Anthony gave a disgusted snort. “The hell it is. I didn’t even try to win tonight; truthfully, I tried to throw the game to Percy. He’s just such a clodpole at cards he never took advantage.”

  “I shall never play whist with anyone but you ever again.”

  “I don’t like whist.”

  “You should,” she said. “We could win everything David and Mr. Percy own.”

  “I don’t play to beggar other people.”

  “But David deserves it,” she muttered. “So you’re going to leave in the morning because you can do something no one else can.”

  “I’m going to leave in the morning because I don’t want to be called a cheat again. And because…” He hesitated. “Because I don’t want to bring you down with me.”

  “You’re abandoning me, too?” she exclaimed. His face darkened even more.

  “I’m releasing you from an awkward position.” His words were clipped. He swung his feet to the floor and put out his hand to help her down, too. “Come. You should go.”

  Celia stayed where she was. “Why did you write those letters to me?”

  A muscle in his jaw tensed. “To lift your spirits.”

  “Is that all?”

  Anthony sighed. “Celia, you shouldn’t be here. I was wrong to allow you to come in.”

  “Is that the only reason?” she pressed. He wasn’t looking at her, and the pulse in his throat beat rapidly. “Just tell me,” she said quietly. “If that was the only reason, then I should thank you; it did raise my spirits.” He turned his back to her and walked to the window alcove, hands on his hips. Celia got off the bed and followed him. “Was that the only reason?” He didn’t reply. She touched his arm. “Anthony…”