Tempy stepped back through the archway and hid behind one of the potted plants, peering between the leathery leaves to observe the couple as they stood at the cashier's window.
Clarisse wore the latest in French fashions. Wasn't that just like a Parisian? Tempy glanced down at her own dress, which she'd been quite pleased with a scant hour ago. But now, looking at the lovely confection in pale pink satin and creamy lace, she discovered that she felt dreadfully out of style in comparison.
Ernest and Clarisse gathered up their chips and moved through the archway into the main casino. They were just inches away from her, but fortunately they were scanning the room, either looking for a game to their liking or for people Ernest knew. As they walked on, Tempy could see that Clarisse led the way, resting her hand lightly on Ernest's forearm as she guided him.
Tempy scooted a bit farther behind the plant, circling behind it as the pair moved on. She sidled around the large pot, trying to keep it between her and the other couple. It proved to be difficult to keep her wide skirts out of the couple's line of sight. Mountains of fabric must have been used to create her dress.
Once Tempy was on the opposite side of the plant, she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to make her escape. Ernest and Clarisse had their backs to her, and the cashiers' cage was right behind her.
Tempy took two quick steps backward and began to perform what she hoped was a graceful pirouette, but instead, she felt her shoulder bump into something that gave way behind her. She heard a tinkle of glass, followed by a crash, and then had the sudden sensation of cold liquid dripping down the back of her dress. The footman she'd backed into tried to prevent the large silver serving tray she'd hit from toppling to the floor, but he lost the battle, along with his balance, and fell into her. This knocked her off her feet so that she landed on her seat in a froth of petticoats.
The round silver tray hit the floor with a clang, but didn't land flat. Instead, it spun, its edges bouncing up and down in a circle until it finally stopped moving and ceased making such an incredible racket.
The entire casino was silent as Tempy climbed to her hands and knees. She glanced over her shoulder and then widened her eyes in horror as the two people she most wanted to avoid in this world turned to see what had caused the commotion. It felt as though time stopped for an instant, and her gaze momentarily focused on the faint mote of dust that caught the light as it floated past her face.
Tempy turned away from the pair. At the same time, she grabbed the large silver serving tray from the floor and whipped it up to block their view.
She had to get out of here. What if Ernest recognized her?
Tempy lurched to her feet, keeping the serving tray raised to shield her from view, looking, she realized, just like a fallen knight lumbering to his feet after being unhorsed. Could this moment be any worse?
Tempy rushed toward the archway, only to find her escape blocked by a large man. She looked up, not wanting to meet his gaze, but what choice did she have?
It was Mr. Hamlin.
Tempy nearly lost her grip on the silver platter, but then clenched it more tightly than ever. She couldn't squeeze past Hamlin without forcing him to one side, so she stopped short in her headlong rush to freedom.
When she gave Hamlin a look of pleading desperation, she was appalled to see the restrained fury on his face.
"Please," she whispered to this man whose anger seemed to radiate from him in waves of crimson and scarlet. "You must help me. Don't let him see me this way."
Did Hamlin's face soften, almost imperceptibly, at her words? Every atom of her being focused on the man, willing him to help her.
9 - Angels Rush In
This infuriating woman was a walking disaster. Every time Lucien saw her, she was in the midst of some emotional crisis.
But the pleading look Miss Bliss gave him seemed to thaw something inside him, allowing his heart to beat a bit more smoothly as bits of ice broke free. She seemed to have a great deal of faith in his ability to rescue her from this humiliating situation.
Perhaps too much faith.
Lucien wasn't certain from which gentleman Miss Bliss wished to hide, but he felt certain that it had something to do with her recent abandonment by her faithless fiancé. Despite wanting to remain uninvolved, Lucien couldn't bring himself to peel Miss Bliss's fingertips away from the edge of the cliff to which she now clung only to fling her back to the howling wolves below.
"Boothby," Lucien said, addressing the young footman who had suddenly appeared at Miss Bliss's shoulder, "would you be so kind as to gather the young lady's winnings from the floor?"
Boothby nodded and immediately turned away to fulfill his task. Lucien then trained his gaze back on Miss Bliss, quickly gauging her level of panic. It was already too high, and he could tell that it was increasing with every moment that passed.
But why was she hoisting that enormous silver platter like a shield? Then, with a flash of comprehension, he understood. Of course. She was hiding behind it.
"This way," Lucien said, putting his hand on her elbow to escort her to safety.
Miss Bliss didn't move. Lucien exerted some gentle pressure, but she remained solidly affixed to that spot on the floor.
Lucien leaned closer to her ear and murmured, "Either come with me now, or face them alone." From his light grip on her arm, he could feel the tremor that his words elicited.
Miss Bliss kept her head down but gave a small nod. This time, when he put a little pressure on her elbow, she allowed him to escort her off the casino floor.
Lucien pulled a key from his pocket as he headed toward the locked door next to the cashiers' windows. He slid it smoothly into the lock and twisted it in a motion he'd made hundreds, no, thousands of times in his life.
But this was the first time he'd ever taken one of the casino's patrons into this area. It went against every rule he'd maintained over the years.
The cashiers looked at them, wide-eyed at this violation of his most sacrosanct rule, but no one made a comment. He frowned as he hurried Miss Bliss back toward the only other door in the cashiers' area. The door to his office.
Thumbing through his key ring, Lucien selected a second key that allowed him passage into his office. Once in the room, he locked the door behind them.
"Thank--" she began, but Lucien wouldn't let her finish.
"It takes a lot of audacity for you to come here when I made it clear that you're not welcome. Don't think you can presume upon me simply because we're both acquainted with Mrs. Kidman."
"But I..."
"There are no 'buts,' Miss Bliss. You are entirely in the wrong."
"Yes, I am."
"I--" He stopped. "You admit it?"
"Of course. This entire evening...no," she corrected herself, "I should say this entire week, has been one mistake or misjudgment after another. I don't know what's happening to me. I apologize for ignoring your wishes, but I felt so beaten down by everything that's happened to me that I simply had to do something constructive."
Someone knocked at the door, and when Lucien bade them enter, Boothby came in carrying Miss Bliss's tray of winnings. "I think I was able to retrieve most of your chips. One of the cashiers provided me with the amount that you'd withdrawn from your account, and I added your winnings from the roulette table. Unfortunately, some chips still seem to be missing."
"They're probably all here in my bag," Tempy said, bouncing her reticule by its strings so that her chips rattled against one another with a muffled clatter. "I wanted to hold a little in reserve."
She pulled the chips out and laid them on Mr. Hamlin's desk. "Thank you for gathering those for me."
Boothby poked at the pile of five pound chips with one finger, apparently counting them. "It appears that a fifty-pound chip is still missing," Boothby said. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to retrieve them all."
"Perhaps it's under one of the tables," Lucien said. He glanced at Boothby. "Ask the cleaning crew to look for it later. A
nd thank you, Boothby."
The footman nodded at the obvious dismissal and then left the room.
"One?" Miss Bliss cleared her throat. "That won't be necessary." She flushed and pressed her hand to her chest. "It isn't missing."
She slid her index finger and thumb down the front of her bodice, and Lucien couldn't stop his eyes from widening slightly. What on earth was this woman doing? At the next moment, something came flying out of her bosom and smacked him in the forehead.
"Oh, my!" she exclaimed.
Lucien looked at the floor by his feet and saw the object that had struck him. A red-rimmed chip. The missing Hamlin House chip with his "HH" logo imprinted on one side.
He bent over and retrieved it, finding the small object still warm from its nest. Instinctively, his hand closed around the little disk that had so recently been on such intimate terms with Miss Bliss.
He didn't like the direction in which his thoughts were wandering, so he forced himself to relax and unclench his hand, but it wasn't easy. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet Miss Bliss's gaze as he approached her. He stretched out his arm and dropped the chip in her trembling hand, glimpsing the "50" on it before it disappeared in her fist. Where would she put it? His gaze crept back to her cleavage before he flushed and spun on his heel. He quickly retreated to his former position across the room. How could someone as seemingly innocent as Miss Bliss affect him at such a visceral level?
He shook his head, hoping to clear it, and forced himself to focus on the problem at hand. "What precipitated the scene I just witnessed?"
"I was clumsy," she said, quickly depositing the chip in her reticule. Lucien swallowed his disappointment and avoided glancing at her cleavage again. "I took a step backwards and bumped into a man carrying a tray of drinks. It was entirely my fault, I assure you."
"It seems that walking backwards is a problem for you."
She looked at him blankly.
"That's what caused you to fall yesterday at the docks." He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice.
"Oh, no, that wasn't it. You see, I had just seen my fiancé with his new fiancée, and I was in such a state of shock that I tripped."
He shook his head in confusion. "Did you say you saw your fiancé's fiancée? That can't be right."
"It certainly isn't," she said vehemently. "That little French tart is trying to steal my Ernest from me, and I refuse to stand meekly by and allow her to destroy our future together. She doesn't know me well if she thinks I'll..."
He interrupted, sensing a diatribe building. "How does that explain your presence here and the scene I witnessed?"
"Oh. But they're here. Both of them."
"You followed them?"
"No, no. You don't understand. I was already here when they arrived, and I didn't want them to see me, so I hid until I could leave without being noticed. But then I bumped into someone holding a tray, and..., well, you know the rest."
There was another knock at the door and it opened a couple of inches to reveal Boothby.
"Not right now," Lucien said. "I'm busy."
"There's a gentleman by the name of Snowden, sir," Boothby replied through the narrow opening. "Mr. John Snowden. He's asking to see you."
Blast it. Now? The woman's bad luck was beginning to rub off on him. He needed her to leave.
"Is he waiting?"
"He's at one of the roulette tables. He asked that you send for him as soon as you're free."
Lucien sighed. Good. He'd have a moment to move Miss Bliss out of his office. He glanced at her. "This is why I didn't want you here. I have business dealings I need to address with this gentleman, and you are a complicating factor. I need to move this transaction forward smoothly."
She blinked. "Did he say John Snowden?" Miss Bliss asked, her face softening as she said the man's name.
"Why? Do you know him?"
"He was an acquaintance of my father's. I didn't know him well, but he came to our house on business occasionally, and he was always kind to me. He'd recently left the army and had decided to enter the railroad business. I wonder what business he might want to transact with a casino owner."
Lucien stared at her blankly for a moment. This woman, with her odd sense of dress, her unusual interest in journalism, and her obsession with winning back a former fiancé, confounded him. He'd entirely forgotten that her late father had owned Bliss Railways. "I realize that this is an impertinent question, but if you're the daughter of a wealthy man, why do you bother to battle your way through life as a journalist?"
She sighed. "You sound just like my father. Why do people assume that a woman has no desire to do anything meaningful with her life? Men want to accomplish things and nobody believes that it's odd, so why can't women?"
"What about a family? A husband?"
Miss Bliss reddened. "Having a family does not preclude a rich, meaningful life. My mother died when I was young, and my father had little to do with my upbringing. Although I do not plan to pattern my methods of parenting on his example, he allowed me to see that nothing is impossible. It simply takes hard work."
He stared at this unusual woman, startled by her words. How odd to hear something he'd often said coming from the lips of another. Especially from someone so unlikely.
"And society?" he asked, suddenly quite curious. "I'm sure you haven't found it easy to follow this path and still be accepted there."
Miss Bliss sighed. "I haven't. You ask probing questions. Are you certain you want to continue doing so while Mr. Snowden is waiting for you?"
Lucien snapped his jaw shut. How had he allowed himself to become so distracted? This woman was trouble. But maybe..."Perhaps you could help me."
"With what?" She raised one eyebrow. "Closing a deal with Mr. Snowden?"
She was a perceptive thing, wasn't she? "Yes. That's the gist of it." He paused. Did he really want to tell her this? But if she were helping him... "I'm hoping to sell Hamlin House to him."
Her face went slack for a moment, and he could have sworn his announcement surprised her, but she hid her reaction so quickly that he wasn't quite certain he'd seen it. "Tit for tat," she said. "I'll make you an offer. We'll trade something for something. I'll help you woo Mr. Snowden so that you can sell him your casino if you'll agree to help me."
Could she? But what did he have to lose? If she really knew Snowden, as she claimed, then she'd be unlikely to destroy the man's dream of owning a casino. And perhaps she might be of some benefit.
"Deal," Lucien said. He hurried for the door and opened it, finding Boothby standing outside. "Please ask Mr. Snowden to join me, and apologize for keeping him waiting."
10 - Goals Align
Tempy's entire body relaxed, and until that moment she hadn't realized how tense she'd been. Not only had Hamlin allowed her to stay, but he seemed to have revealed his reason for not wanting her here. Could this be the secret Mr. Hamlin had been keeping from her? That he was selling Hamlin House?
When John Snowden's broad-shouldered form stepped through the door, the warm smile of greeting she sent him was sincere. After all, without his arrival, Hamlin may well have ejected her from the building for good.
Mr. Snowden's face registered astonishment at seeing her. "Miss Bliss? Good heavens, girl. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. I haven't seen you in over a year."
"Not since Father's funeral."
Mr. Snowden leaned on his cane as he crossed the room, and the pressure of his weight on it left little divots on the oriental rug as he approached her. She'd forgotten how tall he was.
She gazed up at him as he took her hand in greeting, holding it gently in his massive one. His smile was warm and genuine. There was more gray hair sprouting along his temples than she remembered from a year ago. "I always enjoyed seeing you when you visited Father. How are things going with your railroad?"
She noticed a frown that crossed his face before he disguised it with an unreadable expression. "Well enough," he said with a shrug. "A bit dry. I
miss your father's advice. He had a keen insight into that business."
"Can I offer you something to drink?" Lucien asked. "Do you still favor cognac?"
"I can always rely upon you to have a stock of the good French stuff," Snowden said with a nod.
That word again, Tempy thought. French. Just as she'd begun to relax long enough to forget about her problems with Ernest and that French tart, that word had jumped up and startled her like a child's jack-in-the-box toy.
She watched as the two gentlemen examined the label on the cognac bottle. They had a similar bearing about them, with their straight backs and broad shoulders. Their elegant evening clothes fit them both perfectly, and they were both relaxed and at ease in Mr. Hamlin's sumptuous office space.
The tall bookcases and large wooden desk were of the same mahogany as the paneled walls. And the red velvet curtains with their gold tasseled trim almost made her feel as though she were performing on stage in one of London's many theaters.
Tempy was pulled from her reverie when Mr. Hamlin halted next to her with a snifter of cognac in his hand. He didn't hold it the same way she'd seen her father hold a glass of wine. Instead, he cradled the bowl of the snifter in the palm of his hand, allowing the stem of the glass to protrude from between his fingers. He swirled the bowl, apparently warming the brownish liquid with the heat of his hand as Father always had. His pale blue eyes were fixed on hers and he wore an expectant expression. Had he spoken to her? "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"
"I was telling Mr. Snowden that this is your first time here at Hamlin House."
"Yes," she said, turning her attention to Mr. Snowden. "And I had excellent luck. I won on my first bet at the roulette table."
"You don't say. Black or red?"
"Eight."
Mr. Snowden's eyebrows arched as he pulled his head back in surprise. "Are you telling me you bet on a single number and won? That's astonishing." He took a half-step closer to her. "Perhaps I should join you for the rest of the evening to see if some of that luck rubs off."
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