Seeking the warmth and reassurance of her grandmother’s company, she made brisk strides to the vendor, purchased two cups, and hurried to the sand ring across the grounds.
Chapter Thirteen
Hazard. The name of the game warned participants of its lethal threat, its definition a precursor for risk, danger, and expenditure of some kind whether that be monetary or, at times, a piece of one’s soul. Winners gained everything, losers lost all, the game able to seduce even the most skeptical fellow all luck could change on the next roll and wager.
Kellaway enjoyed the rush of tossing the dice, lucky beyond comprehension, his skills honed to an expert level and his strategy flawless, so when he walked into any St. Giles hell, smarter men backed away from the table and squandered their money on alternate games of chance. The contrast of the outside world—a tangle of narrow alleys and dangerous corners filled with drunks, thieves, and unfortunates—with the plush interior of the hell where liquor and coin flowed freely evoked a wry realization that he belonged to neither, a dissenter on both levels.
He surveyed the crush inside Dante’s with a keen eye, having chosen the establishment due to the information supplied by his mother and Laurence’s habits. Tonight the crowded room was a nuisance. Faro tables were three people deep, liquor flowed freely to ensure men emptied their pockets, and the haze of cigar smoke hung in the air, heady and thick. He cut Jasper a glance across the room, an observer to a heated game of Loo, and waved him over with a subtle nod. Kell spied Laurence across the room, the scarlet handkerchief his mother had planted in the artist’s breast pocket an indication he’d found his mark. Shadowing the man would prove little effort. Kell stood above most other gentlemen, his height an advantage.
Twenty minutes later he settled beside Laurence at the nearest Hazard game. The other two participants abandoned the table upon his arrival as if he’d invited the plague to buy in. Kell couldn’t contain a satisfied smirk. He’d been away, but his reputation remained intact, an excellent advantage and unfortunate circumstance for Laurence who knew no better. He doubted their paths had ever crossed. Kell played at the tables in the back of the club where wagers reached staggering heights of twenty thousand pounds hinged on one roll of the dice. He entered and left discreetly through the back entrance and rarely mingled with the crowd at the front of the house.
Now wagers were placed and the gambling commenced, Jasper a background presence and reassurance events would not escalate to an unmanageable level if Laurence proved a sore loser. Kell signaled for a brandy, a flash of titanium hair catching his eye and distracting him from play, the dice clenched in his fist. The club offered a variety of entertainment and the ladybirds in this establishment were shrewd and plentiful. He’d sampled many, enjoyed few, and at present desired none, yet the half glimpse he’d caught of long blonde hair brought with it an instantaneous remembrance of his mermaid on the beach, a strong reminder to finish up business with Laurence and return to Brighton. He wanted nothing more than to find her again and sink into her promised oblivion. The lady showed an uncommon ardor and passion for intimacy he’d thought singular. Something about the manner in which she expressed her desire struck a chord within his soul, unlike the brash propositions of his mistresses or blatant physical requests of those he took home for an evening’s respite. One taste had whetted his appetite for more.
But now was not the time for erotic fantasies. The sooner he finished the task this evening, the faster he’d bring his desires to reality.
He tossed the dice into the cup and established the main, pleased to see Laurence wager with the house. Kell threw in and nicked. Laurence lost, cursed, and placed more money on the painted table. It was almost too easy. Hazard might be a game of chance, but Kell had played so often and for so long, the dice were kind, happy to once again be in the control of a respectful friend. He nicked several more times, enjoying the exasperation in the artist’s eyes when he repeatedly upped the wager in confident belief Kell’s luck would run out and he’d recoup his losses, only to be proven wrong again.
Now was the time for conversation. A chance to make this settlement more interesting before he smoothed over his mother’s mess and avoided yet another scandal.
“Having a run of bad luck.” Kell indicated the dice in his palm as he dropped them into the cup. “The bones never let me down. You might want to follow my lead and bet against the house.” Taking the bait, the artist too prideful for his own good, Kell watched as Laurence wagered with the house once again. “Suit yourself.” He shot out his wrist and the dice tumbled to reveal seven, a perfect sum.
“That’s impossible.” Laurence rose from his seat, his face screwed into a grimace, his brows low as if surveying Kellaway with high suspicion. “You’ve nicked six times in a row. Nobody plays Hazard that well.”
“What are you implying?” Kell’s voice held the steely edge of anger barely contained. His fists were as lethal as his gaming skills, and his boots held a knife and a gun. No reinforcement would be needed from Jasper if Laurence got out of hand, but Kell meant to resolve a scandal, not cause a new one.
“Gentlemen?” A burly attendant stepped forward to investigate why gaming at the table had stopped. His interference ensured others took notice, which they did and, slowly, as if ripples in a pond, voices lowered, people stalled in their play. The hell quieted.
Laurence appeared hard pressed to continue now that the entire room trained their eyes on his mottled face, yet Kell couldn’t assign embarrassment or anger as the cause until the man voiced his complaint. For certain Laurence must be aware that to accuse someone of cheating would create the biggest scandal of all and guarantee his own suffering. No gentleman would excuse such insult.
“I…I spoke out of turn.” Laurence suppressed his stammer and eyed his dwindling coins as he settled in his seat.
Kell watched closely, the word “cheat” so hot on the tip of Laurence’s tongue he licked his lips twice to keep it inside.
“A smarter man would choose his comments more carefully…and his wagers.” Kell reclaimed the dice where they lay waiting and dropped them into the cup. Slowly the hell recovered, disappointment replacing the thirst for altercation. Laurence remained silent. When it came time to place a bet he pushed everything he had in front to the narrow margin marking the house.
Now was not the time to lose.
And Kell didn’t.
Not waiting for Laurence to scuttle off and sulk in a corner, he pushed his advantage, meaning to provoke the artist into a foolish wager and then, a resolution of his mother’s concerns. “Looks like you’ve run out of cash before you’ve had a chance to recoup the night’s entertainment. I can lend you whatever blunt you need for this evening. Say the word and you’ll have a bottomless pocket tonight.”
“Why would you do that? I lost my temper a few minutes ago and nearly…” Laurence appeared apprehensive though his eyes lit with the gleam of temptation. “Bottomless? I could play through the evening without concern?”
“Not a one.” Kell flicked his eyes to the attendant at the center of the floor and with a curt nod, the worker appeared at their side. “Allow Mr….” He lowered his brows in a look of feigned confusion. “Your name again?” Though they’d never been introduced.
“Laurence.” This time the word leapt from his tongue.
“Allow Mr. Laurence an unlimited line of credit this evening. He’s my guest tonight. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
The goal was accomplished, the trap set.
Kellaway watched as Laurence straightened his shoulders and returned to the table. Things would proceed swimmingly from here on out. With Laurence indebted, a warning that he should abandon his foolish threats against his perceived paramour should suffice to end Kell’s mother’s worry. The investment in time and money would be worth the outcome.
Kellaway settled against the bolster within his custom carriage and exhaled heavily.
“I don’t understand why we’
re bound for Brighton. We’ve only returned two days ago.” Bitters made no effort to conceal his displeasure.
Neither did Kell. “You don’t need to understand.”
Rain slanted hard against the glass windows, the foul weather obliterating Kell’s plan to again banish Bitters to the seat up top. It would prove a struggle not to gag the man with his own cravat if he continued to voice his objections and complaints.
“It’s a full day’s ride, and you’re not one for conversation of late. You’ve been restless and out of sorts. Were you to allow me to consult your schedule, complete correspondence, or update your business matters, this ride would prove productive.”
Bitters turned the key on the lantern and lit another candle. Perhaps he hoped the extra light would bring with it a dawning of reason but Kell was in no mood for good sense or foolish antics. All concurrent messes in London had been dealt with easily. Laurence was no longer an issue, the artist more interested in the Hazard table than the posed lady on the chaise. He was easily mollified with a night of gluttonous gambling, a bit of gaming tutelage and no further debt due.
Elaine had been sent a generous settlement, another greedy problem solved. And Jasper had extended a dinner party invitation for the end of the week. He’d need to revisit London to make amends with Emily. Still, a return to Brighton proved inevitable. No matter the foolishness of the trip, the decision was simple.
“I hardly understand all the inconvenience if you plan to repeat our travel in a few days’ time.”
“You are aware you work for me and not the other way around, are you not?” Kell spoke the words with a calm control that warned Bitters to tread with care.
“Of course.” Bitters huffed an impatient breath. “I’m your man-of-house. Which is why whatever the situation wants in Brighton, I might have resolved it before we left. As long as I’m made aware, I see to your requests and advise when necessary.”
“You are relieved of the latter portion of your responsibility.” Ridiculous, such an order, but Kell voiced it out of spite.
No one spoke a word for some time.
Eventually Bitters fell asleep and Kell relished the peace found in the servant’s slumber. Bitters was correct. This trip to Brighton made no sense at all. He’d only shaken the dust from his boots yesterday, confronted Elaine, settled his mother’s mess, and slept a few hours before demanding his carriage be made ready for the return trip. It was mad and impulsive, indulgent and foolish. Kell didn’t care. He wanted what he wanted.
He wanted Angel.
And the escape of physical pleasure. To know again the serene unmatched force of attraction he’d discovered with her on the moonlit beach, because during the brevity of their shared time, he’d found relief from the pain that hit at his heart like a battering ram. Other women had helped keep him afloat through the years; however, they were never allowed to touch his heart. But somehow, for some unexplainable reason, Angel was different. She wanted nothing from him but pleasure. Perhaps she sought to escape some unnamed problem as well. It would be yet another quality they shared.
Upon examination, and he’d spent hours deliberating the preoccupation, he had no way to explain his unrelenting desire, simmering ever present just below the surface. Distraction didn’t clear his thoughts. Her image was there when he woke and when he slept. Surely he dreamed of her too. Something strange drove him, whether curiosity or unresolved lust, and he reveled in satisfaction over her uninhibited acceptance and unyielding passion. He’d tasted a bit of her and knew it wasn’t enough. Traveling eight hours to satisfy this need mattered little, despite the fact all kinds of solutions prevailed in London: willing widows and pleasure gardens. Bitters complaints were a nonentity, along with money, time, and responsibility.
“I have disagreeable news, Angelica.” Grandmother poured their favorite blend of tea into two cups where they sat at the kitchen table, the gingerbread biscuits purchased at the fair on a plate between them as the hour grew late. “While we were away, a missive arrived from your father. I found it sticking in the front door’s hinges, the messenger unwilling to wait for our return.” The solemn delivery of these words were an indication Grandmother knew exactly how disheartening the news.
“What did it say? When will he come?”
“Tomorrow, first light.”
A long silence ensued and Angelica was hardly aware of the silent tears wetting her cheeks.
They sat a while, their tea growing cold, the biscuits untouched.
For a moment, Angelica forgot her intention to protect her grandmother from the truth about Helen. “I envy Helen. At least she’s escaped this unfair future.”
“You can’t mean that.” Grandmother’s voice was soft, the delicate subject not something they’d ever discussed. “Your sister may be in danger, destitute, or worse.”
Angelica looked at her grandmother in surprise. So she knew about Helen. They both knew the “worse” but refused to give life to the word.
“But she made her own choice.” Emotion caused her words to come out as broken as her spirit. “She didn’t allow Father to force her into an unwanted predicament.”
“Didn’t he though? Helen made foolish mistakes that left her with little choice. I love your sister dearly but I’m consumed with worry whenever I dare allow myself to consider what fate she’s chosen. Alone, with a baby on the way, in a harsh city or worse, with no one to help her.”
“You know?” Bewilderment replaced tears. “How long have you known?”
“Your father came here looking for Helen the day after she left. He assumed she’d seek shelter and advice, but your sister never appeared on my doorstep.” Grandmother’s face expressed a well of despair equal to Angelica’s own. “I would have protected her no matter the circumstances.”
“I had no idea.” Angelica shook her head in regret. “And now I have done the same.” She could never admit she suggested that Helen flee. If anything happened to her sister, if she’d come to terrible harm, it would scar her conscience forever; but truly, they’d conspired together thinking there was no other escape from their father’s religious tyranny. Father had threatened horrible consequences, waving his walking stick so closely to Helen’s stomach it was as though he wished to beat the child from her. The culmination of Father’s threats, Helen’s fear, and Angelica’s wish to help her sister forced the rash decision. No matter how many times she reviewed their options since that day, a better solution didn’t present itself.
She’d stolen a purse full of Father’s money meant for the church and helped Helen pack a small bag before putting her on the postmaster’s coach at the corner of Worth Street. She’d watched the vehicle pull away with a mixture of dread and hope, her heart broken and her future unsure. Then she’d returned home and feigned complete ignorance of the entire situation, never suspecting the turn of events would lead Father to act in rash consideration of her future. A few days later he’d adopted a pervasive calm that warned severe emotions lay beneath his exterior as he too lived a lie. His ideas of Angelica’s future slowly unfolded and now the debt had come due.
“I don’t wish to return to London.” Her voice, a forlorn whisper, sounded more a surrender than a battle cry. She touched each charm on her wrist in idle hopelessness.
“All will be resolved. I believe it in my heart. You must as well.” Grandmother grasped her hand tightly. “Helen always tested boundaries. You were the obedient daughter but now your father asks too much.”
“I have no other choice but to comply. I am trapped.” She raised her eyes, tear-filled, her lips tremulous. “I’ll never see the ocean again.”
“We’ll not discuss nevers. Go now. Walk on the beach. Pretend tomorrow doesn’t bring a harsh reality, and know too, that I believe all will be right in the end.”
Her grandmother left the table and returned to the bedroom, perhaps urging Angelica to follow the spoken advice, but she didn’t need prompting. She hurried to the door, dashed down the path, and sought the solace
of the ocean as she’d done almost every night since she’d arrived. Her heart ached, her head pounded, and the ebb of freedom slipping from her grasp urged her to walk faster.
Kellaway spied her through the telescope, a breathtaking apparition, barely discernible in the fractured moonlight. Why was she once again on the ocean’s edge flirting with the boundaries of his property? Within reach? Had his heart conjured her, the desire to taste her kiss and feel her soft skin powerful enough to resurrect her appearance? He spun the telescope aside, stilled for one breath more, then grabbed a blanket and took the stairs to the back exit of his home. He managed the steep incline undetected, closing the concealed door to the side of his house so no one could detect its presence. It was foolish and more than reckless, but he wouldn’t risk the chance of missing the mermaid who’d answered his call, no matter a mixture of fantasy and reality clashed with objection at her very existence.
Years ago in the Arabian Penisula, when he’d imbibed in excess and breathed too much smoke from the nearby pipes, he’d suffered a hallucination with striking similarity: a beautiful blonde woman, with ample breasts and slender hips, the invitation in her eyes more intriguing than her scantily clad body, the glint of moonlight on her silver jewelry an enchanting lure. He hardly remembered the delirium of that hazy dream, yet the woman’s image lingered in the recesses of his mind. Throughout his travels, he’d never met anyone who’d matched her beauty, no matter the faraway lands he’d traveled through were home to females with dark skin and coal-black hair. Here at home her vision remained unmatched as well, and he’d never forgotten the illusive fantasy with silken gold hair and extremely long legs.
Society's Most Scandalous Viscount Page 13