Paying the Virgin's Price

by Christine Merrill

  'I think that will be satisfactory. Thank you.'

  Damn. If he'd had any intention of winning, the bet would have been unfair beyond words. Why did she not cry off? It would serve her right for insulting him if he took the things back, for she was too ignorant of the ways of the table to have any idea what was happening to her. If he was able, he would throw the game to her. And if not? At least it would be over quickly. 'Shall we begin?'

  He had prepared himself to play as inexpertly as possible. But it was hardly necessary. For a change, his incredible luck was not with him; the cards would not go his way. She was most fortunate in the hand he had dealt, and as the game progressed she beat him easily. He smiled, relieved that he would have no further guilt upon his soul. Now she could take the things he had given her, knowing that she had earned them. He emptied his purse onto the pile of bank notes already on the table. 'There. You have bested me. The house and the money are yours, fairly won to do with as you wish.'

  She frowned at the money in front of her, and her expression was no different from the people he had beaten over the years, as dissatisfied with winning as they were when they lost. 'But you did not try.'

  'It is not enough to play your own hand but you must play mine as well?' He responded a little tartly to her criticism, for in the end, he had not been able to persuade himself to lose. He had played the best game possible with the hand he'd dealt himself and had still not been able to beat her. 'I tried hard enough against a player as inexperienced as you are. Enough so that you might have a chance of winning, if luck was with you. Which it was. And that is the end of it.' He pushed the pile of notes back to her side of the table.

  'You insult me, sir. If you do not bring your full skill to the table? It is little better than cheating.'

  There was that word again. 'Cheating? I?'

  'Since the object is to win and you were attempting to lose, yes. I demand that we play another round.'

  'Hand,' he corrected. 'And I do not cheat at cards.'

  'Another hand, then. And if you do not cheat, then you are not as good at this game as I expected. Deal again, Mr Wardale.'

  'The deal passes to you, Miss Price. Which should help to convince you that I do not cheat at cards.' He said it loud enough so that all could hear. 'I swear, I have never had such trouble over losing a game.'

  Everyone laughed as she went about the painfully slow process of shuffling the cards to her satisfaction and carefully counting out the hands. She glanced up at him. 'I mean to bet all I have.' She pushed her pile of winnings back toward him.

  'Then I shall put up something of equal value, this time, to prove to you that I am trying.' He thought for a moment. 'I have a country house as well as the town house. I meant to retire there. But you shall have it, at the end of this hand.'

  'If you lose,' she said. 'But I expect you to do your best to defeat me.'

  'My best?' She still did not understand what she was asking of him.

  She nodded. 'Do not insult me. Play the game, as you would against a stranger, and let fortune decide the winner.'

  Let fortune decide? He might as well take the house back now and not bother with the game. The last hand had been a fluke and he did not expect another. 'If you will force me to bankrupt another Price at this table, then you do not understand what the last game cost me.'

  She looked back at him, her eyes tranquil. 'You will not bankrupt me, because unlike my father, I have the sense to stop playing, once I am satisfied with the results. You will leave me as you found me, with a small savings. Which was not such a bad thing, really. I have been behaving most strangely of late, and I date the change to the moment I opened your first envelope.'

  She thought that the money was what wrought the change in her? He had hoped that it was more than that. For it would have been most flattering to think that she had felt changed on the day that they first met, as he had. He sighed. There was no way to leave her as he found her, if she wished honesty from him. And in comparison to that, the money was a small thing. 'If losing the house again is truly what you wish, I am sure another hand will do the trick.' And he bent over his cards in concentration.

  And he lost again.

  It was not unheard of, to lose two hands in a row. Uncommon for him, of course. But not impossible. She had been right. It was a game of chance. Anything might happen. And he had barely tried, on the first hand, so it should not count against him.

  The woman across the table was livid. 'How dare you, sir? You are trifling with my...my...my patience.'

  He stared at the cards, which had picked a most unusual time to betray him. 'I am doing nothing of the sort. I was quite fond of that house. If I'd known that the hand would not go my way, I'd have bet something else. My stable. Matched bays, a phaeton and a curricle. All on the table, Miss Price. Please do me the honour of keeping your original stakes. But give me a chance to regain the country house.'

  'All or nothing, sir.'

  'Damn.'

  She drew in a sharp breath at the oath.

  'Your pardon, Miss Price.' He glared at her, which probably spoiled the apology for his rudeness in swearing. But the temptation to let her win had dissipated. It was one thing to give up the London house, but to have no home at all was not what he had intended for penance. After all the years he had played here, it galled him to lose it at cards to a green girl. And at Macao, which was hardly worthy of his skill. He had a reputation to consider, and their play had drawn quite a crowd of onlookers. They would not let him forget it, if he cried off now.

  But his luck was sure to turn on the next deal, just as it always had. 'All right then. If you insist. My stable against your houses.' He dealt the cards.

  As he stared down at the unplayable mess in his hand, he bid a silent goodbye to the horses, and the houses as well. She set down her cards without joy, and called out 'Macao' as though it pained her to say the word. If she must beat him so thoroughly, the least she could do was take joy in it.

  He glared at her again. 'Do not dare say that I arranged that for your benefit, Miss Price. It would give me more credit than I deserve.'

  She looked up at him, alarmed. 'If not for my benefit, then why is it happening?'

  'I have no idea. Deal the cards.'

  'Certainly not. This has gone on long enough, and is not working at all the way I planned.' She rose to go.

  'Sit!' He said it far too sharply, and she dropped back into her chair as though he'd yanked her into place. He struggled to control his emotions, trying to remember a time when he had been flustered at a gaming table. Embarrassing displays of temper were for his opponents, not for him. He took a deep breath. 'I beg your pardon. Please. Sit. You must give me a chance to break even in the game, at least. Another hand, please.'

  She shook her head. 'I suspect that that is what my father said, when he gambled with you. He assumed, until the very last hand, that his luck would turn.'

  That was what all his opponents thought. But they did not know what Nate did: There was no hope for any of them to win against him, until the curse was lifted. And this game would not go on much longer. Another hand and things would change in his favour, just as they always had.

  Unless...

  'Please,' he said urgently. 'One more game, Miss Price. For the sake of my curiosity, if nothing else. The contents of my bank accounts, against all that you have.'

  She gave him an amazed smile. 'And what would that leave you, should I win?'

  'Very little, I expect.' He grinned at her. 'And it doesn't matter a jot to me.'

  'But how shall you live?'

  'I shall find someone to stake me, and gamble again with someone else. As long as I have anything left of value, I shall return to the tables and wager it, Miss Price.'

  She stared back at him, horrified. 'You are mad, sir.'

  'I would have to be, to make my living as a gambler. Once begun, it is almost impossible to stop. But I have not enjoyed it.' He looked at her very seriously. 'The only true happin
ess I have felt has been most recently. And that, I fear, was a transient thing. It seems the feelings I had for a young lady were not reciprocated. She disapproved of my profession.'

  'It is a most disreputable profession.'

  'I know that. And I wish, most heartily, to have a provocation to end my gaming, just as your father did. It was only when he had reached the point where he'd lost all and was bartering with precious things he had no business offering, that he realized what he had done and changed his life. And from what you tell me, he was repentant, even to the end.'

  'He was.' She said it softly, as though it had never occurred to her that she had been the cause of his change.

  'I suspect it was his stalwart devotion to you that affected him. There is much about you, Miss Price, that might cause a man to change his ways. Now if you please, deal the cards.'

  Her hands were trembling as she pushed the rectangles of pasteboard to his side of the table. And it was just as he'd hoped. There was not a useful card in the hand, nor any hope of bluffing her to think otherwise. He smiled, relaxed in his chair and prepared to lose the hand.

  She became more and more agitated with each trick she took. 'Do not grin at me so. I find it upsetting.'

  He smiled all the more. 'But it does not seem to be spoiling your play.'

  'It is pure luck, and you know it.'

  'Since I have never seen it on the other side of the table from me, I hardly recognize it.' He tossed his cards down on the table. 'That is it, gentlemen. The lady has ruined me.'

  But the poor girl across the table looked to be near tears. 'I did not mean to. I only wanted to give you your money back. I thought this would be the easiest way.'

  'I am afraid, darling, that things are never easy between us. I have made your life difficult, right from the beginning. And I am most sorry for it. What has happened here is divine justice, plain and simple.' He stacked the deck and began to shuffle again, glancing up at the proprietor. 'Bring me pen and ink. If the lady will play one more game, against my marker, we will see if my current luck holds.'

  'No! I do not want this. We have played enough. Let me go.' She was drawing away again, and he would have to be gentleness itself to keep her.

  He put down the cards and placed his hand on hers, before she could push away from the table. 'Diana. I beg you. Do not go. Not yet. There is one last thing I have to offer. Although, I dare say, you have it already. And if it is yours, no ill can come to me by gaming with it.' He took the pen and scratched at the edge of the paper for a moment, trying to remember the words.

  'To Diana Price, I promise you, in the event of losing this game, that with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.' He looked up. 'Although I seem to have done that last already. But no matter. You get the gist of it.'

  'Nathan Wardale, do not mock me.'

  'I do not, darling. My heart is yours whether you wish it or no, just as my possessions are. I will lay them all at your feet, if you let me. But if you doubt the sincerity of my gift, then pick up the cards I have dealt and win it from me.' He looked at the people crowded around the table. 'Anyone here can vouch for me. As long as I am gambling, my word is good. If you win again, you may walk away from this table and I will follow, abject to your every whim.'

  She was staring at him in a most odd way, and he feared she did not want him or his heart. She did not even want his money. And now she would prove it to him in front of all these people. She would push aside the cards and walk away and everyone would know him for a fool. Her gaze was fixed on him, searching his face for a bluff, trying to break his concentration, as he had done to opponents for years, and he could feel himself start to perspire. He wanted to blink and turn away from her scrutiny, ready to cry out that she should have mercy and be done with him if she didn't want to play. She could take the pot and go, and he would pretend that he had never made her the offer, and never bother her again. That he was sorry to have bothered her in the first place. Or her father, for that matter. Or anyone else in the room.

  And then she said, 'You would leave the table?'

  He blinked. 'If you wish.'

  'And never return?'

  His mouth opened automatically, ready to protest. But the thought that he could stop had never occurred to him. There had never been anywhere else to go. And now...

  She went on. 'Because I would have no use in my life for a gambler, Mr Wardale. And certainly no desire to attach myself to a man who would bring ruin upon us both.'

  Suddenly, it was clear to him how hard it must be for her to come to him and how fearful she must be that her married life would be a repeat of her mother's.

  And he knew he was standing at a crossroads. He could keep the life he had known and spend the rest of it financially safe at the tables he detested. And he would spend his nights alone. Or he could go with Diana today, into the unknown, with no guess as to how he would make a living for her, if the money he had was not enough for a family. Did he have skills, beyond cards and dice? He knew he was not a sailor. And he could not be an earl. But other than that, he had no idea who or what he might be. Until he found his way in the world again, every day would be a gamble.

  But then, he had always been a gambler. He smiled. 'This building has been more church to me than any other, for many years. When I am at the table, though I might bluff, I do not lie, I do not cheat, and I never welsh on a bet. If you win, I will walk away from here and I swear there will be no returning.'

  She shook her head ruefully. And then she smiled, and reached for the cards. 'Very well then. It is a game of chance, after all. There is no guarantee of the outcome. And you are said to be very lucky. Let us see how the play goes.'

  He looked down at his hand and knew that he could make nothing of it, and felt the swelling sense of relief that ultimate failure would give to him. 'I think I am very lucky indeed.'

  She looked down at her own cards, and did nothing to disguise the little moue of surprise on her face that he might have used to his advantage had he thought himself up to bluffing her. The play continued, and as she had with the previous hands, she beat him easily. She stared at the note on the table and blinked up at him in shock. 'I won.'

  'You did.' He grinned at her, feeling a lightness of spirit that had been missing since childhood, as though some great burden had been lifted from his back.

  'But does that mean...do you still wish...' Poor, sweet, sensible Diana was at a loss.

  'Very much so. Miss Price, would you do the honour of accepting my offer? You would make me a very happy man. And I will do everything in my power to be the husband you might wish.' He stood up from the table and came to her side, offering his hand to her.

  'I...I...Yes. I accept.' She was still looking at the cards, and then at him, as though the suddenness of it was quite overcoming her.

  So he pulled her out of her chair and close into his arms. And then he kissed her. Gently at first, and then slowly, ardently, passionately. And he felt her kiss him back, first with hesitance and then as she had on the night they'd been together, as though she did not wish the moment to end. When they parted, she looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye. 'Mr Wardale, really. We are in a public place. This is most improper.'

  He laughed. 'The place is most improper as well, Miss Price. My actions suit my environment. But if you wish to remove me from it, then perhaps my behaviour will moderate. Come, let us re-enter polite society. If you wish, I shall become the sort of lacklustre, milksop who would never dare to take you in his arms and kiss you senseless.'

  She reached down to the table and scooped her winnings into her reticule. And as an afterthought, took his marker, folded it carefully and tucked it down the bodice of her dress. 'I should certainly hope not, Mr Wardale. For both our sakes.' And then she smiled. 'We have much to talk of. There is the matter of Nell, for instance.'

  He smiled back, puzzled. 'And who might that be?'

  She seemed surprised at his reaction, and then said, 'Perh
aps you know her as Helena, although she does not favour that name.

  'Helena?' His mind clouded for a moment, with distant memories. 'How could you know her? Or what she favours? I swear, I have said nothing.'

  She touched his arm, and leaned close to him, whispering in his ear. 'She is safe and well. Married to a dear friend of mine. Although a full reconciliation might be difficult, given recent events. But considering what has transpired between us, anything is possible, is it not?'

  'My sister, found safe?' He took a breath, and steadied himself as a feeling of relief hit him that nearly knocked him from his feet.

  'There is much I need to explain,' she rushed to tell him. 'And I am sorry to have kept it a secret. For I knew how important it is to you. But for a time, I wanted you to be hurt, and then... It is all so very complicated...'

  He stopped the words with a kiss. 'Do not trouble yourself. I am the last person to berate you for withholding a difficult truth from me.' He kissed her again. 'If Helena is safe, that scrap of knowledge is a gift. You can tell me the rest in good time. But we will have all the time in the world, soon enough. Marry me, Diana Price, and I shall truly be the luckiest man in England.'

  Nate glanced up at the shadowy figure standing near the door and put a protective arm around his bride-to-be.

  The Gypsy stared back at him, dark eyes unreadable. And then, he gave the smallest nod of approval, a shrug and a gesture that might have been a salute of farewell. And he was gone.

  Epilogue

  Diana walked down the hall of her old house, to the study of her new husband. He spent much time here, poring over old papers, still searching for anything that might lead him to the true killer of Christopher Hebden. If not that, then he was sending discreet inquiries as to the whereabouts of his sister Rosalind, or penning hopeful notes to Nell, while trying not to upset her with suspicions about her new family.