My Fair Mistress

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Rafe had come here to convince one particular young man that he did not.

  Spying the imprudent whelp at last, he strode forward, stopping a few feet to the right of his quarry’s shoulder. Silently, he watched the play.

  Vingt-et-un was a game of odds and calculations, requiring a keen mind and a knack for knowing which cards had already been played, and which were likely to turn up. The dealer had fourteen showing, a queen and a four. The young man had a five and a two displayed, with a third card turned facedown.

  Rafe watched Allerton flip the edge of his concealed card up, then down. A long moment of quiet followed as he clearly tried to decide his best move.

  “Stay,” the young earl declared.

  “Dealer takes a card. Four of spades. Dealer has eighteen.”

  In a practiced gesture, the dealer reached out and turned over Allerton’s cards. “Player has seventeen. The house takes the hand.”

  Coins and cards were swept clear of the table.

  “You ought to have taken the hit, Allerton,” Rafe advised as he stepped closer. “Odds were fair you’d have come out ahead.”

  Julianna’s brother turned his head, dark eyes flashing at the interruption. They lost some of their fierceness when he saw who had spoken to him. “Pendragon. How do you do?”

  Rafe dipped his chin in reply.

  “Must say I’m surprised to see you,” Harry said. “Didn’t know you frequented places like this.”

  “I don’t. But I understand you’ve been making a habit of it again lately. Are you here alone?”

  The young lord shook his head. “No, I came with a pair of my cronies, but they preferred the hazard tables, so I left them to it. Fool’s game, hazard. All luck with no need for skill.”

  “I’ve found that most games of chance cater to the fool in a man.” Before Harry had a chance to think about the statement and ruffle up, Rafe continued. “Why don’t we adjourn to a more private location. There are matters that require discussing.”

  Harry’s lips thinned as if he was going to object; then he shrugged. Pocketing the few coins left to him on the gaming table, he rose from his chair.

  They found a small, unoccupied table in a corner of the room and settled in across from each other. Harry signaled for a drink—a brandy, which was promptly brought across to him.

  Rafe waited while the younger man took a swallow, an action he assumed stemmed more from an attempt to look mature than a genuine desire for the liquor itself. He wondered if that might be the main allure of this rather seedy gambling establishment as well—the need many young men had for showing off and trying to prove their worth to their friends.

  “So what’s this all about?” Harry asked, swirling the alcohol in his glass as if he were completely at his ease. “I thought our business was finished. The loan is paid off in full. My sister told me she had taken care of the matter some weeks ago.”

  “Yes, indeed, Lady Hawthorne came to me and settled your accounts. But that matter is not why I’ve sought you out tonight.”

  A puzzled frown settled on the young lord’s brow. “What, then?”

  “It is your current behavior about which I’ve come to talk, my lord. I’ve heard several unsettling reports concerning your renewed interest in the gaming tables. Sadly, I understand you are in a fair way to becoming as deeply sunk in the hole as you were when you came to me to bail you out.”

  “It’s not so bad as that,” Harry protested. “I’m only a few hundred down.” He caught Rafe’s gaze, then glanced away. “A couple thousand, then, but all fellows face a few ups and downs; it’s part of living the life of a gentleman-about-town. My luck will turn in a thrice. It’s bound to do so.”

  “And if it does not? Luck is a fickle mistress. And if I am not mistaken, it was your presumption that your luck would turn for the good that led you into dun territory in the first place.”

  Allerton spun his glass in a stationary circle. “And so, you what? Want to give me another loan?”

  “Quite the contrary. I want you to stop gambling.”

  Harry stared for a long incredulous moment, then barked out a laugh. “You what!”

  “I believe you heard me just fine, my lord. Your behavior is foolhardy in the extreme. If you do not bring yourself under control, you will soon find yourself at ruin’s doorstep with no hope of recovery.”

  Harry drained the last of the spirits and set his glass down with a mild thump. “I shall be fine.”

  Rafe leaned forward, his words low. “Were it up to me, I’d let you stew in your own rash misfortunes, but you have others who depend upon you, tenants and servants who count on you for their livelihoods and welfare. Even if you care nothing for them or for your legacy, you must surely have a care for your family, your sisters. Lady Hawthorne did not beggar herself on your behalf only to see you fall back into your old ways. For reasons I cannot fathom, she loves you and trusts you. Do not abuse her faith. Your sister is a good woman and she deserves better than to be disgraced by your reckless excesses.”

  A long moment followed as Harry gawped at him. Red washed into the younger man’s face like an incoming tide, his shoulders turning stiff with ill-concealed defensiveness.

  Rafe watched as Allerton tried to gather his composure.

  “You may be my elder, sir,” the earl finally sputtered, “but I do not believe my private affairs are any of your concern. Nor do I think it proper for you to discuss my sister in such a familiar manner. I d-demand that you apologize at once.”

  A few gamesters turned their heads at his outburst, then glanced just as quickly away when they encountered Rafe’s steely glare.

  “Be quiet, boy,” Rafe ordered with soft menace. “We don’t need the whole room listening.”

  Harry scowled, but lowered his voice. “You do not have the right to lecture me. You aren’t my father, after all.”

  “No, but if I were, I would have seen to it you were reined in long ago. Since your father is dead and you have no proper male to guide you, I have reluctantly decided to act in that capacity. From this moment forth, you are banned from the gaming tables. You are also banned from participating in any other form of betting, including cockfights, bear baiting, horse racing, boxing, and the like.”

  Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I refuse?”

  “There will consequences.”

  “What sort of consequences? You’ve a reputation, Pendragon, but I don’t see how even you can stop me. Nor do I see why you should care to do so.”

  If not for your sister, I wouldn’t lift so much as my pinky finger to aid you, Rafe wanted to say. But Julianna would be devastated if she found out what her scapegrace brother was doing. If Harry could be made to see reason before any lasting harm was done, Julianna need never know anything of her brother’s brief return to disgrace.

  “I have my reasons,” Rafe stated. “As far as stopping you, I will have no need. I shall simply put out the word that you are no longer to be welcomed in establishments such as this one and that your credit is not good. You will also discover that no one will loan you the funds to cover your vowels should you be foolish enough to seek out their services.”

  Harry’s hands trembled. “I can’t believe you control all the moneymen in the city.”

  “Quite correct, I do not. I’ve only influence with the reputable ones. Should you venture into the clutches of the cent-per-centers, I believe you’ll find those chaps far less understanding than I when you come to them begging for more time.”

  “You weren’t understanding. You would have taken my estate.”

  “Yes, but they’ll take your life. Oh, they’ll start small, a broken thumb, maybe a crushed hand or foot…”

  Harry gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a fishing buoy.

  “…And if they don’t get results after the hand and perhaps a shattered kneecap, they might decide to beat you severely enough to rupture an organ or two. If you don’t succumb from that, there are other ways to prove
their point.”

  “W-What point? What d’you mean?”

  Rafe leaned casually back in his chair. “I mean that men, even those of good family, occasionally wash up in the Thames. Or come spilling out of a wharf barrel, where their dismembered bodies have rotted into something that rather resembles soap.” He pinned Harry with a gimlet eye. “I wouldn’t ever want to hear that had happened to you.”

  A green cast to his complexion, Harry looked as if his brandy might decide to make a reappearance.

  “So tell me, my lord,” Rafe continued. “Can I count upon you to take my suggestion and stop gambling?”

  Eyes wide, Harry nodded.

  “I didn’t hear that, my lord. What did you say?”

  “Y-Yes. I said yes. I’ll stop tonight. I promise.”

  “A wise choice.” Rafe glanced up as a pair of young lords stumbled into the room, both of them obviously well into their cups. “I would also advise a change of friends. Find a few fellows who don’t depend upon a bottle or a deck of cards to be entertained.”

  Harry frowned, then gave another nod.

  Rafe pushed back his chair. “I’m glad we had this chance to talk. Now, I really must be leaving. It grows late and I’ve business to attend to early in the morning. Good night, my lord.” Rafe climbed to feet.

  “Good night,” Harry mumbled, eyes cast downward.

  Rafe began to walk past, then paused and bent toward Harry’s ear. “Oh, one other thing, in case you find yourself having second thoughts about your decision to reform. My associate is just across the way.”

  Rafe watched Harry glance past his shoulder, saw his eyes widen to an alarming size as he located Hannibal waiting near the salon doors, big arms crossed like hams over his massive chest.

  “I’ve shared the particulars of your little situation with him and he says he’d like to have a brief word as well. I’ll just leave the two of you to get better acquainted.”

  “Acquainted?” Harry squeaked.

  “Hmm. He thought you might enjoy a tour of the wharf district. It’s quite illuminating at night.”

  Rafe nodded and turned on his heel.

  Hannibal would scare the stuffing out of the boy, but he’d make sure he came to no harm. Rafe just hoped this lesson would finally do the trick.

  Julianna stepped into the Allerton House drawing room and crossed to take a seat in a chair near the fireplace. Alone, she found she didn’t mind the solitude, knowing it would be of a brief duration. Once Maris and Henrietta finished changing into their evening attire they would join her for a quiet family dinner. Afterward, the three of them planned to attend the Farisbrooks’ rout, which from all reports promised to be a mad crush with more than three hundred of London’s finest in attendance.

  Lord Middleton had agreed to act as their escort.

  Julianna didn’t know if she approved, nor could she say she was pleased by the amount of time the viscount seemed to be spending with her sister of late. She had rather imagined Major Waring to be Maris’s favorite but apparently no longer. Once a frequent visitor at Allerton House, the major had stopped calling some two weeks before.

  Had he and Maris had some sort of falling-out? Julianna had tried to discuss his absence once, but Maris hadn’t wished to talk, so Julianna had said nothing more. In the meanwhile, Maris and the viscount had grown closer, her sister accompanying him riding and driving and dancing.

  Now, he was bringing his carriage around to take them to tonight’s ball. Handsome and charming, Middleton seemed an excellent catch—Society certainly thought so. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing, Julianna decided. Maybe the viscount’s affection for her sister was genuine.

  Julianna sighed. If only Rafe were escorting us this evening.

  She paused at the thought, a little startled to realize how much she wished it could be true. Her lips curved, imagining how magnificent he would look in a black tailcoat and satin evening breeches. And how divine she would feel strolling into the ball on his arm.

  But what a pea goose she was to even consider such fancies. Rafe would never be welcomed at such an exclusive Ton party. The Lady Farisbrooks of the world did not invite men like him to their homes, regardless of his wealth or the excellence of his manners.

  At least she would see him tomorrow. Lately, though, she found herself wishing they could meet more often than their agreement prescribed. A few stolen hours no longer seemed enough.

  A footfall sounded at the entrance. Turning her head, she expected to see her sister or cousin. Instead, Harry strode into the room, handsome in formal black evening clothing, his crisp white neckcloth tied in a perfect mathematical.

  Julianna raised a brow, surprised to see him so elegantly attired and wearing breeches, no less. Harry rarely wore breeches.

  “Well, don’t you look dapper tonight!” she said, offering him a smile. “Going to a ball?”

  Subtly tugging at one of his sleeve cuffs, he crossed the room and took up a position near the fireplace mantel. “Yes, the Farisbrooks’. I thought I might accompany you ladies this evening, if you have no objection.”

  Now she really was surprised. “Well, of course not. We’d all be delighted to have you come with us.”

  He gave a nod. “Thought I’d stay in for dinner as well. Been too long since I remained at home for an evening meal.”

  Good gracious, what is amiss? she wondered. As a young man still earning a few additional coats of Town bronze, Harry never wished to stay in. Being with his friends seemed to always come first these days.

  “Yes, you are right,” she said, “it has been a while since the four of us sat down to a family meal. Since before the start of the Season, I suspect.”

  He nodded again, then glanced down, scuffing the bottom of his evening shoe against the marble fireplace surround.

  “Is anything wrong, Harry?”

  His head jerked up, his brown gaze colliding briefly with hers before turning away. “No, not a thing.”

  A long moment passed. Releasing an audible breath, he crossed the space and lowered himself into a chair next to hers. Raising his chin, he met her gaze. “Jules, I owe you an apology.”

  “Why, whatever for?”

  “Neglecting my duty, for one. I should be more considerate of you and Maris, be more available to escort you places and see to it you are both well looked after.”

  She gave him a puzzled smile. “We are fine; you need not worry. Cousin Henrietta and I are old hands at maneuvering in Society, and we find proper male escorts when needed. For instance, Lord Middleton is arriving later with his carriage to take us to the rout.”

  Harry’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, his aid won’t be required in the future. I’ll take you where you need to go—you have only to say the word.”

  “That’s very good of you, but what of your friends?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been spending too much time of late with my friends. A certain distance from a few of them won’t hurt. Besides, before long the Season will be over and all of us on our way back to the country. I have duties at Davies Manor that need my attention as well. I’ll be glad to be back in Kent. It’s peaceful in the country, easy and uncomplicated.”

  My goodness, Julianna thought, from whence has this epiphany come? Well, whatever or whomever had inspired it, she could only be grateful. Seeing Harry willingly assume the responsibilities of his title settled her mind and reassured her heart. He had a great deal of growing up still to do, and would surely make a few mistakes along the way, but for the first time she truly believed he was on the right path.

  “And I’m done with gambling,” he continued, looking very earnest, though a bit uncomfortable, as if his cravat were tied too tight. “I…um…I believe I’ve finally come to my senses on that score. A man can come to a bad end if he isn’t careful. A very bad end.”

  His skin blanched faintly for a moment before his natural color returned. Reaching out, he took one of her hands and gave it a lingering squeeze before letting go.
“And I wanted to thank you again for bailing me out as you did. I do not deserve having a sister as wonderful as you. I don’t want you to worry ever again. I swear I won’t give you cause for disappointment.”

  “I know, dear. And you’re welcome. For everything.”

  Yes, everything, she thought.

  Harry would be appalled if he knew the truth, that even now she was paying his debt by being Rafe Pendragon’s mistress. Yet even if she could turn back the clock, she knew she would not. How could she want such a thing when it would mean she would never have met Rafe? Never lain in his arms? Never shared secret moments and intimate thoughts with him, divulging things about herself that no one else knew?

  And he did know her, more deeply than her closest friends. Her heart clenched at the realization.

  Seconds later, female voices sounded in the hallway.

  Harry gave her a smile before standing to greet Maris and Henrietta. Glad of the interruption, Julianna stood as well.

  Warm May sunshine streamed through the bedroom windows, flowing in a gilded wash across the carpet, and over the coverlet that had been kicked into a heap at the foot of the bed. Draped in nothing but a sheet, Julianna snuggled against Rafe, her head pillowed comfortably on his shoulder.

  “…So it turns out the salt had been switched for the sugar,” she said, continuing the story she was telling. “Never in my life have I witnessed a more miserable group of diners. And poor Lady Milton, I thought she was going to have some kind of seizure after she and her one hundred guests, including the Prince, all tried her prized dessert of cream puffs.”

  “Salt puffs, don’t you mean?” Rafe chuckled. “That must have been a sight.”

  “Oh, it was. Every fork at the table went down in unison and every single person reached for their wineglass at the same time. What a flurry of coughing and choking there was! For a moment, the dining room sounded like a plague house full of consumptives.”