The Gamble

by Laura Parker

  Unfortunately, she was not equally unmoved by his nearness. She could no longer look into his dark face with its cool, privately amused mien and not be reminded of the bargain between them. Ever since she had offered herself to him for one night in exchange for his help she could think of little else but what she would do if he forced her to pay up. But it was not enamored enchantment. She sensed, despite his seeming disinterest, the disturbing notion that he would demand his due whether she won or lost.

  They touched only where his fingers spanned her elbow. Yards of silk and lace and boning and ruffles and padding separated her from him. Yet, she seemed alternately scorched and chilled by his presence, a quixotic combination of physical heat and haughty aloofness. How very odd it was, to feel suffocated by his mere presence.

  Where was her spine, her contempt for him? Even as she had struck the bargain with him, she intended to cheat him. If only he would step away, she thought with a sudden flushing through her body, she could concentrate on the genuine problem at hand.

  She glanced doubtfully up at him and the moment’s panic eroded as she realized that he had not noticed her agitation. Resplendent in a gold silk coat and black breeches, he was studying the room through those silver-bright eyes, which did not include her in their perusal.

  There was no emotion in his lean, sun-bronzed face and she wondered momentarily if he ever sought relief from this gaudy yet empty existence. No, of course he would not. He was a viscount. However idle and indulgent his life might be, he would know nothing of loneliness or sorrow or regret, or impotence before life’s greater forces. From his auspicious birth his every whim would have been catered to. Even now, he thought he had taken control of her scheme to raise money for herself. Let him. He would be the very last soul to whom she ever told the truth. It was the last and only hold she had over her own destiny.

  Perhaps she worried needlessly.

  For exactly two hours each afternoon for nearly a week she had sat with him at the tea table in Countess Lovelace’s salon while he showed her how to cheat at cards. He had taught her how to palm a card, especially handy when one needed an extra trump or to come ace-high in a tie. He had taught her how to deal from the bottom of the deck when one had glimpsed the nether card and saw an advantage in possessing it. Each day when he left her he had ordered her to practice until his return the lesson of that day. Even without his prompting she would have. Yet never once during their lessons had he touched her, spoken charmingly to her, or even indicated that he thought of her as other than an apt pupil for this brand of licentiousness.

  Or, perhaps, his interests were otherwise engaged.

  A physician had come to examine the countess the morning after her collapse. After he left Lady Charlotte had locked herself in her room and not reappeared for the rest of the day, though Sabrina had heard her weeping on and off until after midnight. When she finally did appear next morning, she was as wan as a wax figurine. She had refused to answer any questions about her health yet claimed she was too unwell to venture beyond her door. Even so, she had welcomed the viscount into her private chamber on several occasions.

  Sabrina considered yet again the troubling possibility that they were lovers. At the very least the countess seemed to possess a surfeit of affection when it came to Jack Laughton.

  Unable to still her curiosity, she said casually, “I trust we did the right thing in leaving Lady Charlotte alone.”

  Jack glanced at his protégé, his face betraying none of the feelings her beauty aroused in him. “You cannot help with what ails her.”

  She turned to him. “Has she confided to you what is wrong?”

  “No.”

  It was a syllable meant to end the discussion.

  Jack steered her toward the table he had selected with more care than he would have for himself. He did not know what motivated her desire to win a fortune. He suspected it was simply the thrill of the game. He wanted her to experience that thrill and not be called a cheat because of it. Therefore he had chosen a likely bevy of quail as her first targets.

  To his surprise and satisfaction, she had a natural talent for cards. But the urge that motivated him was far from altruism.

  From the night they had sealed their bargain, he could think of nothing but her. For days as he sat so quietly and passionless across from her, pretending that cards brought him to her side, he had endured the sight and smell of her until it had teased his lust to breaking point. Minute after minute as she sat chastely unaware of his scheme, erotic images cascaded through his thoughts. He mentally peeled her gown from her shoulders and buried his face in the warm, fragrant skin between her breasts. He imagined how it would feel to touch and kiss and suck from her all resistance, until he had roused her equally to his need. Would she simply follow him into that sweet agony of desire? Or would she be afraid, reluctant? Would he need to tease and gently caress from her the passion she did not yet know existed within her? Or would she capitulate freely, offering drowning wet kiss for kiss, touching him boldly and stroking him hungrily until he entered her and gave them both what they most desired?

  She was naturally sensual; her every graceful movement, her wit, and the way she looked at him when she thought he did not notice told him he was winning her without even a touch. He would let her have her victory before he took his.

  He maneuvered her quickly and efficiently across the crowded room to a table near the back where three gentlemen and two ladies sat playing ochre.

  “Good evening, Healy. May another join you?”

  “Lord Darlington!” The Irishman was on his feet in an instant but his gaze traveled to Sabrina’s face and then swept downward in an appraisal that left the young man’s mouth softly agape. “Won’t you be introducing me to your lady, my lord?”

  “I was contemplating it, but it seems you might drool upon her.”

  The fair-skinned man blushed painfully. “Hardly fair, Darlington!” He winked at Sabrina. “We Irish reserve our best manners for the ladies.”

  “In that case, I’d be obliged if you would see to my sister-in-law.” Jack ignored Sabrina’s amazed glance as he released her arm. “Newly arrived from an Atlantic crossing. Expected to squire her about. Naturally, I loathe these family duties.” Without a backward glance, he turned and sauntered off.

  Sabrina stared after him in silent fury. How dare he leave her in the company of the only other person in Bath whom she had met before. A head of hair devoid of powder and a little rouge would not be enough to fool a flea. Had Darlington forgotten the Pump Room meeting with Lord Healy, or was this a deliberate trap, the beginning of another of his humiliations?

  “Lady Laughton?”

  The name was repeated before Sabrina turned toward the Irish peer, a bewildered look on her face.

  Healy smiled his most charming smile. “I beg pardon, my lady, but I assumed being a relation to the viscount you were a Laughton. Lord Darlington didn’t, after all, finish the introduction.”

  “No, he did not.” Sabrina extended her hand, prepared to brazen out the encounter until Healy called cheat. Perhaps she could then persuade him that it was merely a jest on the viscount’s part. “How very nice to make the acquaintance of a friend of Jack’s.”

  He did not blink at her intimate use of the viscount’s first name, seemingly too engrossed in the exact location of the ornate pearl drop resting in the cleft of her bosom. He took her hand and bowed formally over it. When he had straightened he stammered. “I—I didn’t quite catch the name.”

  Sabrina smiled wryly. Perhaps she had no reason to fear recognition. She had not worn anything so daring as this gown to the Pump Room and—really!—the man had yet to look above her collarbone.

  She choked on the very idea of Darlington posing as her brother-in-law. “The viscount is often abrupt. I find it a tiresome affection when it’s done purely for the effect it has on others, don’t you? We are not blood relation. Only by marriage, distantly.”

&nb
sp; “But—?”

  “I never take him seriously. Do you?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Sister-in-law, indeed.” Her chuckle again drew his gaze to the now quivering pearl. “Jack’s foolish attempt at claiming ownership, I should think.” She gave a little sigh of tolerant exasperation. “I am a widow.”

  “I see, I do, indeed.” Healy’s eyes filled with a new understanding. If she was not Darlington’s blood kin then she was fair game, providing Darlington was not his competition.

  Unlike the lady, Healy did not share an appreciation for the viscount’s wicked sense of humor. He glanced back over his shoulder just to make certain the viscount had left the vicinity before he turned to pull out his chair for her. “Do join us, Lady—”

  “Luck,” Sabrina supplied with a merry laugh as she promptly occupied his seat.

  “Well!” Mischief kindling in his green eyes. This was one member of the Darlington clan whose sense of the absurd he shared. “I’ve always wanted to court Lady Luck.” This time he did not attempt to disguise his ogling of her bosom. “Say you gamble, my lady.”

  She offered him a suggestive glance. “In more ways than one, Lord Healy.”

  “The answer to a man’s prayers, my lady,” he returned warmly. “Allow me to introduce the other members of the party.”

  As Sabrina nodded through the round of introductions, it was all she could do to keep from glancing in the direction by which Darlington had left. I don’t need him, she mused silently. I can do this. I must. For Kit!

  There had been no word, no answering letter, from her brother. Despite the pretense of illness, she was certain Cousin Robert would not long allow her the freedom of Lady Charlotte’s household. Worse, any day he might send for her to come to London to be wed. Tonight was the only chance she would have to win a hefty sum.

  She picked up the first card dealt her and saw that it was the Jack of Spades.

  “Blackjack!” she murmured under her breath. This was a sign of luck, surely. Yes, she would be as bold as the highwayman himself.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Queen high!” Sabrina declared as she spread her winning hand upon the verdant napped-wool tabletop.

  Her pronouncement was followed by a nice round of applause from the small gallery of players who had abandoned their own tables in order to follow the extraordinary luck of the newcomer amongst them.

  For the last hour of the three-hour play, Lady Luck, as the precocious cardplayer continued to call herself, had amassed from the modest start of fifty pounds nearly five hundred.

  “Lady Luck, you are well dubbed,” Healy answered with an admiring shake of his head. “The Little People themselves could not curry the favor of gold any the better.”

  “I’m flat, as well,” declared Lord Cray, the gentleman on his right.

  “I am in need of a change of partners,” responded the only other woman remaining at the table. She eyed Sabrina with clear envy. “You are as fortunate as you are lovely, my dear. Only reflect that neither endures.”

  As she rose, one of the gentlemen from the throng surrounding them pulled back her chair for her and then quickly deposited himself in it.

  At the very moment the gentleman’s posterior touched the chair, a rough masculine voice exclaimed, “Demme, sir! Move you aside. I want a seat!”

  Sabrina glanced up into the face of the owner of that bombastic voice and saw beneath an elegant wig the beefy features of overindulgence. The man’s eyes were small and black, their gaze frank with insolent curiosity as it met hers.

  “Gad, but you’re a winsome filly.”

  Sabrina looked away at once.

  “Damme, spirited too!” he voiced with relish. “I will have a hand at this table.” Without waiting, he grabbed the back of the newly seated gentleman’s chair and jerked it back meaningfully. “Take the air, sir! I will play the lady.”

  As Sabrina watched, the man hastily abandoned his place and then she glanced again at his usurper. He wore a blue coat with silver scrollwork down the front, but the elegant coat could not disguise his essential boorishness. The ruby stickpin in his jabot and the huge diamond in the ring on his right forefinger were at odds with his thick neck and brutish countenance.

  He smirked and jerked his head toward her. “Evening to you, m’dear. May I join the table?”

  He seated himself in expectation that there would be no objection.

  Sabrina rose from her chair and announced to the table. “I’m afraid I do not play with strangers.”

  When the boastful man had stood up again, he grabbed the padded shoulder of the gentleman nearest him. “Introduce me to the lady, Cray.”

  Lord Cray did so. “Sir Alan Buckley, allow me to introduce our guest for the evening, just arrived from the Indies, I’m told. Lady—er …”

  “Lady Luck,” Sabrina supplied succinctly. She sat down and reached for her goblet of wine, intentionally preventing Buckley from reaching for her hand. “A name which means as little to Sir Buckley as his means to me.”

  Undismayed by her manner, Buckley chuckled. “Allow me to change that impression. Demme me, ma’am. You’re about to play cards with the gentleman who has this very day apprehended the notorious highwayman Black Jack Law.”

  “Lady Luck, you’ve spilled your wine,” Healy exclaimed.

  Sabrina glanced down at the scarlet creeping across the green baize from her overturned goblet. “So I have,” she said without emotion.

  As a servant appeared at once with a linen napkin to sop up the spill, Sabrina lifted her gaze to the smirking man. This man had apprehended Jack Law? That seemed impossible.

  “I surmise you’ve heard of the culprit, my dear?”

  “Indeed, we all have,” Healy answered, to be convivial. “A most notorious fellow. Rumored to be a gentleman of Quality.”

  Buckley rolled his eyes in the Irishman’s direction. “ ’Fraid that’s nonsense,” he said coolly. “He’ll swing as the baseborn miscreant he is.” He rubbed his hands together. “Dash it all! The demnition of a convict has set up me appetite for sport.”

  Sabrina jerked her head up from a contemplation of her scattered thoughts. “How can he be condemned if you’ve just arrested him? Surely there must be a trial?”

  A puzzled look came in Buckley’s black gaze. “What need for a trial when the truth’s been thrashed out of him?”

  “What?” Sabrina’s voice wavered on the single syllable. Her hands clenched in her lap. “You beat a confession out of him?”

  Buckley grinned, hugely enjoying her attention. “A heavily muscled arm and a coachman’s whip can mete out justice quicker than a moldy judge.”

  Sabrina shivered. “You killed him?”

  “Never a bit!” Buckley’s thin mobile mouth widened like a chasm. “Needs to learn not to be impudent, ain’t he? Won’t be protesting his innocence and threatening the general public again. But I left enough for the hangman’s gibbet.”

  “That is disgusting!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.

  He eyed her up and down without rancor. “ ’Pologies, o’ course. Got to respect a lady’s sentiment, demme, or where does any gentleman stand?” He did not seem the least bit regretful to Sabrina, but smugly superior. “Now, let’s have no more nonsense. Deal the cards, m’dear.”

  “I will not play you, sir.” The disdain she felt was undisguised as she rose a second time. “Excuse me.”

  “Gently, m’dear.” Buckley bounded to his feet “Naturally, delicate sensibilities overwrought. Jack Law himself would tell you, ’twas no more than his due. Had to keep a criminal in his place, that’s all.”

  Sabrina tried to keep her voice level but it was frosted with dislike. “All Englishmen are owed the right of a fair trial, Sir Alan. All men, even the guilty ones.”

  She sensed the mood of the crowd was growing restless with their dissension. Not because they believed her to be in the right or even bec
ause she thought the sentiment of the crowd was with her; she knew too clearly that it was not. They were here to play cards not deal in politics.

  He smiled in conciliation. “If more Englishmen believed in the law, m’dear, we would have less Jack Laws. But a rabid dog must be put down before he infects others.”

  She heard the assenting murmurs of those surrounding their table. Of course, they would be relieved that one more threat to their way of life had been removed from their midst. None of them had met him or had shared his kiss. To think of the dashing highwayman utterly defeated, bloody and battered …

  Sabrina reined in her wayward thoughts. She must be mad. Had she not herself taken aim and fired at him?

  Oh, but it felt as though her heart were being ground under a boot heel! Must not think of him. Must not!

  “Lady Luck?” Healy prompted.

  Sabrina turned to find the Irishman studying her in concern. “Are you unwell, lady, or do you refuse the challenge?”

  Sabrina blinked. “What challenge is that, Lord Healy?”

  “Mine,” Buckley said promptly. “One hand, ‘tis all I beg. Double your winnings and take home a bit of Sir Alan’s blunt.”

  “Double?”

  “The very thing, Lady Luck.” Buckley reared back on his heels, a shrewd smile on his face. “Name the game, m’dear. Name the stakes. Buckley will accept it, double or nothing.”

  For one fantastic moment, Sabrina nearly offered to wager her five hundred against Jack Law’s life. Absurd! She would be thought worst than a sentimentalist, she would be considered a fool. No matter the outcome, she knew the felon would not be freed.

  Anger swamped her. Had she not been sent to Bath because of matters she could not control? Jack Law had lived his life as he chose, knowing full well the price he would have to pay if caught. Then there was Kit, her poor innocent Kit, whom she could free, but only if she amassed sufficient funds.