“I’ll get you some chips,” Alexander said, brushing her on the shoulder.
A balding older man was to her left, his attire indicating he had likely been at one of the parties she would have attended if she weren’t here. He didn’t pay her any attention, just kept picking up his chips and dropping them into a stack, over and over. Click, click, click. The woman to her right was someone she did recognize, although she had never been introduced. At least ten years older than Eleanor, and likely many more years wiser, she was wearing a gown that would be risqué at a society party but fit perfectly here. It was a brilliant purple color, cut low at the bosom, with only the barest suggestion of sleeves. The woman’s hair was jet-black, coiled and curled on top of her head with purple luminescent feathers sticking out from various sections of her head.
Cotswold would be very impressed.
The woman, Purplehead, didn’t look over at Eleanor either. She was staring at the table in front of her, a look of complete and utter concentration on her face.
Eleanor glanced to the spot as well, wondering what Purplehead was looking at. Nothing; just the red baize of the table.
The dealer tapped two fingers in front of Eleanor. “Are you in? You’ll have to place your stakes.”
Resting on the table was a board with a sequence of cards, all in the spades suit.
“Bet on what you think the winning card will be.” It was Alexander, who was leaning over her shoulder to place chips in front of her. “You can bet on a few cards to have a better chance of winning, but that means, of course, that you stand to lose more.”
“Of your money,” she retorted, picking up four chips and dropping each one on a different card.
“Excellent point,” he said in an amused tone. She was acutely aware of him behind her, his breath on her shoulder, his presence making her body tingle.
She and the other players watched as the dealer removed a card from a box and placed it to the left, then repeated the action, placing the card on the right.
“I don’t know how to play this game,” she whispered.
“There’s not much to it,” he whispered back, his words tickling her ear.
“So that’s why you chose it for me?”
She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “I don’t think you’re stupid, if that’s what you’re implying. Just watch.”
She uttered a hmph, but did as he said, watching as the dealer gestured toward the cards with chips on them and paying out the bets. It seemed that each player had to bet on which card the dealer would turn up, which did seem rather easy, so perhaps she shouldn’t mock Alexander’s judgment.
“You can move your chips around, if you want,” he said as the dealer completed the payouts.
She shrugged. “I might as well keep going the way I am.” The dealer hadn’t paid her any money, but she supposed that might just mean that she had better odds in the future.
“You should.” His voice, low and resonant, made her think about all the things she could keep going with, and she shivered with awareness.
If she had to bet on what would happen later that evening, she was sure to win if she said “kissing” and “potentially other things.”
A gambling den was certainly exciting, but not nearly as exciting as the prospect of being held in his long arms. Not to mention those other things.
The dealer drew another card, and then some chips ended up in front of her. “I won!” she exclaimed, making the man on the left and Purplehead both turn to her, identical scowls on their faces.
It was exciting, not nearly as exciting as the other activities, but she would have to move it up the excitement queue. It was definitely more exciting than standing against the wall at yet another ball, clearly more exciting than listening to Ida discuss some mathematical formula, and possibly more exciting than having her mother get her tea correct.
But she had no real-life circumstances to test that last one out.
She waited as the dealer did another round of dealing and paying out, and then she turned to look at Alexander, who stood behind her, his expression amused. “This is fun! No wonder people—”
And then his expression changed, and he clapped his hand over her mouth, grasping her elbow and making her stand with the other. “Shh. Do you want everyone to know you’re not supposed to be here?”
She shook her head vigorously until he removed his hand from her mouth. She wanted to laugh at his expression, but kept herself quiet, merely grinning up at him.
“What game should we play next?” she asked, her eyes darting around the rest of the room. There really was an awful lot of red.
“We should try Hazard. Or, more specifically, you can watch as I play Hazard. It’s a very complicated game.”
“So you’re saying I’m stupid again?” She surprised herself—and probably him—by winking as she spoke.
He responded as though he was going to lean down and kiss her, at which her whole self yelled an internal cheer, but then stopped himself. Leaving herself quite disappointed. And nearly cheerless.
“Fine, let us go so I can marvel at you playing another game. At least this time you won’t be removing your shirt,” she muttered.
He glanced at her, his eyebrows drawn up as though knowing precisely how much she’d like to see him without his shirt.
She had to admit he and his eyebrows were right.
Lady Eleanor’s Good List for Being Bad:
Bet on what you want.
Chapter 19
“You were the caster?” she asked. “And why do they call it ‘Hazard’ anyway?”
They’d spent another hour or so after he’d won at Hazard wandering from table to table, her stream of interested observation amusing him more than anything else. More than winning, even.
Nobody had recognized her, and in fact, he’d caught a few glances of appreciation from some of the other gentlemen present, something that made him want to growl at them and claim her as his own.
Which she most definitely was not.
They returned to the carriage, her still peppering him with questions, all about what she’d seen and who she’d spied and why people spent all their time staring at cards, anyway?
He couldn’t seem to keep himself from staring at her, honestly. She was bright, and lovely, and he couldn’t believe nobody else had seen it before this evening. It was as though she was something only he could see, and he couldn’t stop looking at her.
“I was,” he said. “And the other players were the bank, and they were betting on what the rolls of the dice would show. Although actually the rules are more complicated than that. It took me a while to learn them.”
“So I might have to return then, hmm?” she asked. She had an enormous grin on her face.
“Did I manage to overwhelm you, then, Eleanor?” Her given name slipped out without his being aware of it, although to call her Lady Eleanor when his mouth had been on her breast seemed unduly stuffy.
And he was not unduly stuffy.
“You did, Hercules,” she replied, accompanying her words with a happy sigh. “Do you know,” she began, now crossing over the carriage to sit next to him, “it wasn’t the fact of being at the gambling den,” she said, emphasizing the last word, “that was so exciting. It was that I was anonymous, yes, but that I chose to be anonymous. And that I could see everything! You can’t imagine what it’s like to wander around with everything being fuzzy. Having clear vision to see what’s around you is something I didn’t realize was so important.”
She stopped speaking abruptly, uttering a surprised, “Oh!” as she heard herself.
“Yes, it is.” He took her hand in his and raised it to kiss her knuckles. “Thank you for making that clear to me as well.”
She turned to look at him, her expression fierce. “You don’t see yourself clearly, not at all. I see that.” And then she uttered a rueful laugh. “Imagine me telling someone I can see. But the thing is,” she continued, her earnest tone making him pay atten
tion, as though he wouldn’t otherwise, “is that you are far more than what you think.”
“How do you mean?” He was genuinely curious; he’d never been accused of being more of anything, unless it was in height. And sexual expertise. But the first wasn’t under his control, while the second wasn’t something that would be widely discussed, even if it was widely known.
“I mean that you are a good brother—you agreed to my demands because you were concerned for your brother’s future. Even though you thought I might be dim-witted.” She paused. “That is what you thought, correct?”
Not until the second time they met. But that didn’t matter. He swallowed. “It was. Only—” he began, stopping when she held her hand up and kept speaking.
“I certainly don’t think you think that now, not after all of this,” she said, gesturing between them. “Because if you did, you would not be the man I know you are.”
The kind of man who kisses—and more—the woman his brother is supposed to marry? That kind of man?
“I know you don’t believe me,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Because you’re thinking you betrayed your brother or something. But the truth is, your brother hasn’t exactly been clamoring to get to know me.”
Not clamoring, precisely, no.
He really was a terrible person. Only—only she was so lovely, and fun, and witty, and he liked spending time with her, liked seeing her tongue dart out to the corner of her mouth as she worked on translating erotic poetry. He couldn’t deny liking, also, the way she looked at him, that sly but innocent look of desire.
“Can you come to the bookshop tomorrow?”
He had not meant to ask that. He should have been telling her he couldn’t see her like this any longer, that he could find someone else to do the translation, that they shouldn’t be spending time together so intimately.
Instead he’d asked her about the translation. Which meant spending more time alone with her. Just thinking about it made him want to smack himself in the head.
“I would.” Her reply was immediate and enthusiastic. So perhaps she spoke without thinking as well? “I have to be home for calls, but I am free for some hours around lunch. If that is when you are going,” she added in a hesitant tone.
He strongly disliked that she ever felt hesitant. That she felt she couldn’t see, either in front of her, or who she was. He wished she could just be Lady Eleanor, not someone to be bartered for funds, or salvaged in pursuit of reputation. That she was seen only as what she could do, not who she was.
“I’ll bring something for lunch.” He spoke in a gruffer tone than usual, his words tinged by the emotion he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—acknowledge.
“That sounds lovely, thank you.” She beamed up at him, her smile nearly blinding him, even though it was relatively dark inside the carriage. “I think I should be able to finish tomorrow,” she added, her tone not seeming to indicate that that meant they would no longer be spending time with one another. That then Bennett would propose, and she would be his sister-in-law. Not his translator, not the woman he’d come to value, but something much, much less.
But meaning so much more.
“Well? How was it? Wherever you went?”
Eleanor blinked as she entered her room. Cotswold was nowhere in sight, but her three sisters were, all three perched on her bed in various states of relaxation. Olivia was sprawled diagonally, while Ida was seated at the end of the bed, and Pearl was tucked between the two of them.
All three had expressions ranging from curious to condescending. No surprise at Ida’s expression, though Eleanor could detect a hint of curiosity there also. Or else why would she have waited up?
She turned her back to her sisters and gestured for one of them to start undoing her gown. “It was wonderful.”
“How disrespectable was it? Was it a house of ill repute?” Olivia said the final words in a voice that indicated she should not be knowing about such a thing, much less saying it aloud.
“Of course not!” Even though Eleanor was not entirely certain herself what a house of ill repute was. Eleanor pushed her sleeves off her shoulders and wriggled out of her gown, immediately picking it up and folding it over the chair at her dressing table. She gestured for the girls to make room, and climbed up into the middle of the bed.
“If I tell you, you’re not going to accidentally tell Mother, are you?”
“You mean behave exactly like Mother would?” Ida said drily. “No, not on your life. I cannot speak for the twins.”
“No, we won’t.” As usual, Olivia answered for both of them, Pearl nodding her agreement.
“I went to a gambling den.”
Ida’s eyes widened, and Eleanor congratulated herself on being able to shock her usually dismissive sister.
“And did you gamble?” Pearl asked, her voice rising to a squeak on the last word.
“I did.” Eleanor paused for dramatic effect. “And I won.”
Olivia clapped her hands together. “That is wonderful! And nobody recognized you, of course, since it’s not as though people truly pay attention to you anyway, at least from what you’ve said.”
Eleanor winced at the truth, but she couldn’t deny it.
“You were accompanied by Lord Alexander, weren’t you?” Ida asked.
“Mmm.”
Eleanor tried to keep her tone noncommittal, but she should have guessed her sisters would see through her.
“You like him, don’t you?” Olivia said in an accusing tone. “More than Lord Carson?”
“Well,” Eleanor began.
“Eleanor, do you want to marry Lord Carson?” Ida turned her shrewd gaze on Eleanor, who wanted to squirm under the scrutiny.
She took a deep breath. She had to be as direct—as blunt—as Lord Alexander himself now. She couldn’t tolerate it any longer. “No, I don’t.” And it wasn’t as though it was just because of Lord Alexander. It was that whenever she thought about marriage with Lord Carson, it was as though someone had clapped her in irons and thrown her into that matrimonial cell she’d been dreading.
“Then you shouldn’t.”
All of the sisters gawked at Pearl, who had spoken with such firmness.
“Why should she?” Pearl spread her hands out in explanation. “It is not as though we are on the verge of total scandalous collapse.”
“Even though we are,” Eleanor muttered.
“But if she doesn’t, we won’t get our chance!” Olivia wailed. Even though the other day she had urged Eleanor to do what she wanted. The perversity of a younger sister, Eleanor supposed. “And then we’ll be stuck here, never being allowed to go anywhere, and Mother will complain and complain and Father will be furious and grunt more than usual.” She paused for breath, speaking again before any of her sisters could interject. “But it doesn’t matter, does it, if Eleanor finds herself more enamored of the feckless brother. Not that he has asked to marry her, has he?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “But—” she began, only to have Olivia speak some more, flinging herself dramatically on the bed in emphasis.
“And we will never get our chances to fall in love, even Ida!”
“You leave me out of this,” Ida warned. “I have no intention of getting married, much less falling in love,” she added dismissively.
“But, Olivia,” Pearl said in a firm tone of voice, “the whole point is that if Eleanor does what she wants to do we might be allowed to do what we want to do. And what is it you wish to do most in the world?” she asked, with a significant nod.
Which Eleanor didn’t entirely understand, but she could guess, judging by Olivia’s blush, that it involved Lord Carson. “We will be fine,” Pearl continued. “There is nothing more important than your happiness, Eleanor. Aren’t we all in agreement?” And she looked around at her twin and Ida, both of whom eventually nodded their heads.
“But if I decline Lord Carson’s suit, I’ll still be unmarried as of next season.” Unless something happens. Which wasn’t
going to happen—that wasn’t part of the bargain. Not that she wanted it to be. Not to mention, if she didn’t marry Lord Carson, his family wouldn’t get her dowry. And she had no idea what that might mean. Maybe she would end up doing substantial harm to people she had never met.
Pearl shrugged, apparently having taken on the role of Spokesperson for the Howlett Sisters. “Della ran off. We can’t change that. We can’t make people not talk about it. We can’t change Mother, even though we might want to.”
“Nothing in my tea, thank you,” Ida muttered ruefully.
“We can only do what we can do,” Olivia said, sounding as though she were inciting a riot. A riot of debutantes, but a riot nonetheless. “If you don’t want to get married to Lord Carson—though goodness knows I can’t understand that—then you shouldn’t have to. What kind of sisters would we be if we wanted you to sacrifice yourself just so we could have a chance at marriage?”
Sometimes Eleanor forgot how mercurial and young Olivia could be. Usually until she spoke.
“The usual kind?” Ida answered, her eyebrow raised in clear disdain.
Eleanor laughed and poked Ida on the shoulder. Ida looked startled to be treated so casually, but then her face brightened in a smile, one that didn’t appear to be conscious of possible judgment. It was a night of firsts, it seemed.
“I don’t know what I might end up doing.” It wasn’t that she wanted to warn her sisters as much as be clear about what might—or might not—happen. “I will tell them I do not wish to marry Lord Carson after all.” It felt like the right thing to admit aloud to her sisters, after all this time of just thinking it. “I will speak to Mother, and ask her and Father to allow you all to come out, no matter what marital state I am in. It’s not fair to keep you from all the fun simply because I don’t yet have the perfect husband.”
Images of what a perfect husband would look like flashed across her mind, looking dangerously like a very tall man who teased her, admired her, and kissed her breathless.
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