Once Upon a Masquerade (Entangled Scandalous)

by Tamara Hughes

  A few of his companions looked in her direction as she descended the staircase. Noticing their stares, he turned around. His piercing eyes found her, and a jolt of electricity raced through her chest. She held her breath as his eyes dipped lower to her snug bodice, which revealed more skin than she’d ever dared. After a slight pause, his gaze slid to the curve of her waist and down her skirt to the short train extending behind her. Her nerves tingled under his careful scrutiny. She held her chin high and prayed she wouldn’t trip from the sudden weakness in her knees.

  Christopher turned back to the group of gentlemen around him, and disappointment slowed her steps, her eyes trained on his back. Would he ignore her?

  To her utter surprise, after speaking a few words, Christopher left the men and strode over to meet her at the bottom of the steps. She gave him her brightest smile and stepped down beside him. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Madam.” His restrained demeanor gave no hint of his mood.

  Stepping away from the landing to provide room to the other ladies joining the gathering mass below, they moved into the area between the two staircases. She tried to keep their conversation light. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon? It seems you know most everyone here.”

  Those hazel eyes speared her through. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our earlier conversation.”

  “Earlier conversation?”

  He pinned her with an exasperated look. “What if you’re carrying my child?”

  He’d worried all afternoon? “For heaven’s sake, we were together one time.” Now was the moment to put his mind at ease. She only wished she’d done so earlier. “Besides, you don’t need to worry because it isn’t true.”

  “Do you know that for certain?”

  “Yes,” she whispered back, for the first time feeling a tiny bit sad that it was so.

  “You bleed?”

  Mortified, she looked around them, praying they wouldn’t be overheard. “Not exactly.”

  “Then how do you know?” He looked ready to shake the answer from her.

  Heat rose to her cheeks. Did he honestly expect her to explain? “There are certain signs that always appear before…” The words caught in her throat. She couldn’t go on. “Trust me, I’m certain.”

  He brushed his hand through his thick hair with a relieved grin, then stiffened. Rebecca followed his steadfast gaze to a petite brunette in a powder-blue gown several shades lighter than her stunning eyes. With pale peach skin and fine-boned features, the young woman looked like a life-size doll. The woman glanced in their direction and her slight smile transformed her face into a vision of perfection.

  “Who is she?”

  Her question broke his hypnotic stare, and Christopher cleared his throat. “Her name is Adele Gebhardt.”

  Gebhardt? Perhaps relation to Nathan Gebhardt?

  An older couple joined the woman. Seeing where her attention lay, they ushered her across the room, but not before Rebecca recognized the look in Miss Gebhardt’s eyes, the longing and sadness in their depths.

  Her heart lurched. “Who is she to you?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “No one, anymore.” His voice reflected regret. “We were engaged at one time.”

  Engaged? No…formerly engaged. She pasted a smile onto her lips she didn’t feel in the least. “She looks to be a lovely lady. What happened?”

  He gave a low, harsh laugh. “With the exception of her brother, her family never approved of me. I have no noble lineage and I’ve only come upon money in the last decade.”

  “But you asked for her hand anyway.”

  “Yes,” he said in a distracted grumble. “Adele insisted she loved me, that she would defy her parents to marry me.”

  “What changed her mind?” Surely, she appreciated the man inside more than those superficial things.

  Christopher studied Miss Gebhardt, his eyes never straying. “On my last voyage, her brother died and Adele’s mother took to her bed with grief. When I returned, Adele broke our engagement, fearing the stress of our unsuitable relationship would be too much for the woman.” He nodded toward Miss Gebhardt and her parents, a frown tugging at his lips. “Her mother’s recovery has changed nothing.”

  “Maybe there’s still hope.” Not that she wanted to encourage him, but the look on his face…

  His brows slanted as if he were almost annoyed by her suggestion. “A year has passed, and no word. She’s made her decision.”

  He’d waited a year, for Adele? “Is that why you haven’t returned to sailing?”

  He shook his head, his frown dipping a bit lower. “Believing I was going to retire for good, I’d trained in a new captain—a married man with five children who needed the money far more than I did.”

  “How noble of you.”

  “Not really. I have a new ship that will be ready to sail in a matter of weeks.”

  Oh, that soon. “I’m glad,” she lied, struggling to keep her sudden melancholy from showing. Now wasn’t the time to mourn. He wasn’t gone yet. She searched her mind for a way to lighten the mood, and came up with nothing. “Well, I had no idea you’d been engaged,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

  His attention turned from Miss Gebhardt to scrutinized Rebecca, his gaze intense. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  That statement sounded a lot like a challenge, but at least he wasn’t peering at Miss Gebhardt anymore with that dispirited look in his eyes. “Indeed? Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He scowled.

  “Anything. I’m curious,” she tried again.

  “What is this, Rebecca?”

  “What do you mean? I’m making polite conversation before we sit down for dinner.”

  “Very well. My father’s best friend is the Chief of Police.” For some reason he paused as if to assess her reaction to this random fact. “I’ve been working with him on a murder case.”

  Now that was surprising. “Is investigation another talent of yours I’m unaware of?”

  “I have a special interest in this case. The victim was a good friend.”

  As dinner was announced, she thought about who the victim might be. She could only remember hearing of one high society person who’d perished under mysterious circumstances. “Mr. Gebhardt?” she asked in a hushed tone, her eyes darting to the woman they’d just seen. “Was he related to Miss Gebhardt?”

  “He was her brother.”

  Oh, dear. “Do you have any idea who the murderer might be? Is he someone I might know?”

  “Not he, she. And I have one person whom I’ve been watching closely. Someone who’s here tonight.” He spoke carefully, his eyes boring into hers.

  “Can you tell me who?” she asked, looking around them.

  Most guests had adjourned into the dining room. She scanned each woman left. In their fine gowns and glittering jewels, none appeared to be what she would expect a murderer to look like, not that she would know a killer if she saw one.

  Christopher didn’t turn to survey the room. He stayed focused on her and said nothing more.

  She understood why he couldn’t confide in her. Most likely he’d been sworn to secrecy. Still, she was happy he’d trusted her enough to tell her what he had. “I’m sorry my problems have been taking you from your investigation.”

  “Don’t worry, they haven’t,” he said, looking away from her. Again he seemed cold and distant, dashing her hopes that this evening they could be on more pleasant terms.

  Her spirits flagged as they made their way to the dining room, where a linen-covered table stretched out along the length of the hall. Mr. Henley waved them over as if he’d been watching for them.

  Christopher pulled out her chair before sliding into his own, and Mr. Henley introduced them to several couples. Soon a conversation about the pending opening of the Brooklyn Bridge ensued. After fourteen years of construction, the giant suspension bridge would finally be open to the public.

  Rebec
ca sat quietly while Christopher joined in the lively discussion. As talk began of how each planned to celebrate the grand opening, she scanned the table wondering if she would see anyone she’d met before.

  Her eyes passed over Adele Gebhardt seated mid-way down the table and spied Philip Westerly chatting with a striking brunette in a daring gold-colored dress, his arm resting on the back of her chair. Only hours ago, she’d seen him in an ardent embrace with Mary. Maybe Christopher had been right about him. She hoped Mary knew what sort of man she was dealing with, although she suspected Mary had much more experience in these matters than she did.

  Mr. Henley’s voice interrupted her musings. “Miss Bailey, may I say you look bewitching?”

  “Thank you,” she replied, taking the compliment as nothing more than a host’s duty.

  Accepting a plate of stuffed prawns, he continued, “I do hope you enjoy this evening’s entertainment.”

  “I’m sure I shall. What is it?”

  Mr. Henley beamed. “Once again, I’ve transformed the ballroom into a grand gambling hall.”

  Gambling hall? She forced a smile despite a growing queasiness. “You’re referring to card games and such?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Fear jumped to her throat. Getting close to the beast that now ruled her father’s life sparked a thread of panic. She cast a sidelong glance at Christopher and met with hazel eyes staring back. His brows furrowed for a moment, but he turned his attention to their host. “I’ve heard rumors you’ve outdone yourself once again.”

  “I can’t disappoint my guests, now can I? Each year expectations rise, and it seems new games are invented.” Mr. Henley leaned back in his chair. “Miss Bailey, do you have a favorite game?”

  A wave of heat enveloped her. “No, I’ve never participated in wagers.” Her father had done enough gambling for the both of them.

  Mr. Henley perked up. “Never? Then tonight shall be an enlightening experience for you. Don’t worry, first-time players are always the lucky ones.”

  She swallowed a gulp of wine and focused on calming thoughts. Just because her father lost control when it came to poker, didn’t mean she would fall into the same trap. Still, why take that risk? “I think it would be best if I simply watch.”

  Mr. Henley waggled his finger in her direction with a devilish grin on his lips. “I think not. As in any respectable gaming room, no one is allowed to simply watch.”

  Dear Lord, please let that be a joke. Calming a bit, she reminded herself that she didn’t have anything to wager, even if she desired to try. “I suppose I could adjourn to the library to finish the book I borrowed this afternoon. I did leave off at a most interesting spot. I’m eager to see what happens next,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t press her further.

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Henley cried. “After all the pains I’ve taken arranging this event, I would be sorely wounded if you didn’t participate.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about gaming.”

  Mr. Henley stuck out his lip in a painfully sad face. “I whine pitifully when wounded. Join us or you’ll all suffer.”

  She looked to Christopher, silently pleading for his help. His lazy smile warmed her down to her toes. “He’s telling the truth. It’s not a pretty sight,” he agreed, his eyes lingering on her lips.

  Too late now to plead a headache and retire to her room. “I can’t in good conscience wager knowing I would surely lose it all.” Not what a rich heiress would say, but better than admitting she didn’t have any to wager in the first place.

  “I’ll cover your gaming funds to ease your conscience,” Christopher offered. “And I’ll show you how to play the games.” Her mood lifted. She hadn’t expected that. “And you can keep whatever you win,” he added.

  She took a steadying breath. Anxiety would not conquer her. “If I lose?”

  He answered with a shrug. “Then we both lose.”

  Her nerves quivered. She clasped her hands together. If she wanted to spend this evening with Christopher, she’d need to face her fears. “All right then. Don’t expect too much.”

  Rebecca took only a few bites of the tantalizing dishes set before her, her stomach heavy as a stone.

  All too soon Mr. Henley rose from his chair. “Everyone gather around.” He led his throng of guests out to a set of heavy double doors in the main salon. Using great flourish and zeal, he declared the grand opening of the Henley Estate Game Room. He retrieved a key from his pocket, unlocked the great doors, and swept them open, his arms flung wide. “Let the games begin!”

  With Christopher’s guiding hand resting at the small of her back, giving her the support she needed, Rebecca followed the crowd into the dimly-lit ballroom. Dozens of velvet-topped tables ran along both sides and down the center of the room, all manned by servants wearing matching burgundy jackets. Dark carpeting with burgundy-red cabbage roses had been laid and several lamps hung low over the tables, lending a discreet atmosphere. Swiftly guests dispersed among the tables, and a low buzz of activity filled the room as the dealers began taking bets.

  Her fingertips prickled, and her shoulders tensed as they approached one of the center tables where a dealer released a marble on a spinning contraption.

  Christopher pointed to a grid of numbers painted on the table’s surface. “In this game, players bet on what number the marble will land on when the roulette wheel stops.”

  Willing her shoulders to drop from her ears, she watched as the little white ball fell from its track on the wheel, skipped twice, and landed on the number twenty.

  A cheer rose up from the winners, and Rebecca nearly flinched. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose, her attention turning to Christopher’s warm hand splayed across her back. His thumb stroked her skin with a feather-like touch that calmed her.

  Her gaze rose to Christopher’s face. She detected no teasing smile, no flirtatious look. Instead, he appeared absorbed in the events at the table.

  “Would you like to try?” he asked, his questioning expression innocent to the warm, swirling sensations his continued strokes caused.

  With a trembling hand, she opened the pouch he’d given her and pulled out a random coin—a quarter eagle. “Oh.” She searched through the bag for something smaller.

  “That’s fine,” Christopher reassured her. “Set it on the table before the betting closes.”

  She hesitated for an instant, then placed the coin on the number twelve with no particular reason why and wrung her hands.

  “The bets along the sides of the grid are better odds,” he said beneath his breath.

  Her gaze turned to the bars labeled even/odd and red/black. Before she could move her wager the wheel spun. “You might have mentioned that a tad earlier,” she grumbled. The thought that she’d wasted two dollars and fifty cents grated. She hated gambling.

  The wheel slowed, and the marble slid from its track. It didn’t skip this time, just rolled into a slot labeled twelve.

  “I stand corrected,” Christopher said with surprise.

  “I won?”

  “You did.”

  Amid the cheers around her, the dealer stacked eighty dollars and pushed the coins her way. Eighty dollars. She loved this game.

  Rebecca gathered her winnings and dropped them into the pouch. Her spirits soared, especially with Christopher’s hand toying with her back. She let out a sigh, her anxiety draining away.

  “Try again?” he asked, his lazy smile wreaking havoc on her pulse.

  “What do you think I should do?” she asked.

  “Judging by your last choice, I’d say you should do whatever you like.”

  Do whatever she liked. What if she’d like to kiss his lips and run her fingers through his curly mane?

  “You’d best hurry.” Christopher’s voice faded as the din in the room grew louder.

  She placed her lucky quarter eagle on the area marked “odd,” but her mind strayed to the curve of Christopher’s lips, the line of his strong j
aw.

  The wheel spun, and the marble rolled. This time it came to rest on twenty-four.

  She’d lost. Funny, she didn’t feel bad. Not when Christopher’s hand slid down to her waist, and he leaned closer.

  “There’s a game the next table over I’ve always liked. Care to try?”

  Nodding, she stayed close to his side as they moved through the crowd.

  “Faro is a fairly easy game,” he explained.

  One suit of cards lay spread out on the surface of the table. A large counter box, labeled with each possible denomination of card, rested to the right of the dealer. As the dealer called out, “Place your bets,” those around them set their wagers on the table.

  Christopher spoke into her ear to be heard above the din. “Wagers are placed either directly on a card or between the cards you’d like to bet on. Go ahead and choose. Since they’re beginning a new game with a fresh deck, it’s mostly luck anyway.”

  Placing a coin in the center of four cards—the ace, two, queen and king—she looked up at Christopher. He nodded his approval.

  When the activity at the table slowed, the dealer called, “All bets down,” and set the top card aside.

  Christopher’s voice rumbled low in her ear once more, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. “The first card in the deck is the soda card and is discarded. The next the banker will turn face up and is the losing card. You lose your wager if that card is one of those you bet on.”

  She held her breath as the dealer flipped over the card, a seven of clubs, and set it next to the dealer box. With a relieved exhale, she listened to Christopher go on, “The next card will be the winning card. If the value of that card matches the one you bet on, you double your wager.”

  “What if my cards match neither the losing nor the winning card?”

  “Then nothing. You can take the money back or bet it on another round.” The betters crowded around the table to see the winning card. Christopher stood so close she could feel the heat of his body at her back. The fabric of his jacket brushed against her bare skin, distracting her as the dealer flipped the card.