Instead of closing the safe, he examined the velvet case.
Lucien slid his fingers across its lid and then released the catch. The lid sprang open, revealing glittering jewelry. Things that had belonged to his mother. Even when Father had faced debtors' prison, he hadn't been willing to part with them. After paying back all of his debts, he'd kept the jewels as Lucien's inheritance.
The necklace, earrings, and rings sparkled in the overhead gaslight, reflecting a warm glow as though lit from within. He lifted out his mother's ring to examine it more closely. It had a round diamond with three smaller marquise-cut emeralds on each side, arranged so that they resembled leaves. Father had worked with a jeweler to design the ring, and then he had given it to Mother as her wedding gift. It had meant the world to her.
Lucien slid the ring onto the tip of his index finger. The band was tiny. He had such large hands that it barely slid past the base of his fingernail. Someday, he knew, he'd give this same ring to his own bride. Would it fit her?
He imagined Tempy's small hands and realized that yes, the ring would probably fit. He smiled, pleased at the thought. As he pushed the ring back into its cushioned slot in the case, he froze.
Why had his thoughts immediately flown to Tempy when he contemplated his future wife? That was absurd.
Or was it?
He felt a flash of annoyance with himself. Of course it was. She obviously wanted Ernest. She'd wanted him her entire adult life. Surely that alone should convince Lucien to keep his distance.
But why? Hadn't the man already cast Tempy aside for Clarisse? That voided any claim he might have had upon Tempy's affections.
But there was also the sad truth that Tempy still wanted Ernest, despite his defection. She wanted that stupid, arrogant man who preferred form over substance. Lucien shook his head in disbelief.
Ernest was an imbecile.
But Tempy still wanted him. She wanted everything he represented. His family, his ties to her past, and, yes, even him. What right did Lucien have to deny her that? She was right. She had nobody else left in her life. She'd lost her mother as an infant and her father only a year ago. Even her governess had died unexpectedly in a train wreck. That left her with no one else but the Lipscombs. How could he take that away from her?
Yes, Lucien now had a title, but obviously she cared nothing for that. He had money, but that, too, held no appeal for Tempy since she'd already inherited vast wealth from her father. And Lucien would never be able to compete with Ernest when it came to family or a shared history.
And those things meant everything to her.
Lucien snapped the case closed, cutting the glittering diamonds off from their source of light. While still holding the case, he closed the door of the safe, spinning the lock to scramble the tumblers. Then he placed the velvet box in his carpetbag along with a few other important personal items he'd already packed. He would take his mother's box home and place it in his personal safe. The jewels would remain locked away.
He wondered if they'd ever feel the warmth of a woman's skin in his lifetime.
There was a knock at the door. Boothby pushed it open a crack and stuck his head inside the room. "Mr. Snowden is here. Shall I send him in?"
Lucien nodded as he closed his carpetbag, then stood.
The door opened fully and Boothby ushered John inside. It was hard to resist the man's beaming smile, and Lucien felt the corners of his mouth tug upward despite his foul mood.
"I don't think I've often seen you looking so happy," Lucien said, offering his hand.
John gripped it briefly before releasing it, and then he lifted his walking stick. "I even bought a new cane for the occasion." He twirled the long black walking stick around his fingers.
"Elegant. I like the silver handle and tip."
"And it holds a secret." John stopped his twirling and twisted the knob on the top, unscrewing it. He then upended the cane, and a glass vial slid from within a hollow interior space. "It has a steel tube inside that holds four glass vials."
"Don't tell me you have whiskey in there." Lucien chuckled. "Is that to celebrate your purchase of my casino?"
"You can't call it 'your casino' for much longer. It will be mine after tonight."
"Most certainly," Lucien replied. He'd been both anticipating and dreading this moment all day. Of course, selling was what he'd wanted, but once he signed the papers, there would be no turning back. He'd be stepping off a precipice into a new life, with no real ties to the past. "Have you had your lawyer review everything? Are you ready to sign?"
John nodded. "And more importantly, I'm convinced that there's nothing to that newspaper's allegations about you and your relationship with Miss Bliss. I investigated the man who wrote that article, and I'm not even willing to call him a journalist. He styles himself 'Earl E. Byrd', but its obviously a pseudonym. He's been making a living spreading baseless rumors and gossip for years now. Miss Bliss has been the focus of his scrutiny many times in the past, and his stories seem only loosely based on fact."
Lucien raised his brows. "Really? Do you think there's anything personal behind it?"
"Perhaps. He worked for Bliss Railways for a couple of years, so perhaps he holds some sort of grudge." John's gaze traveled around the room as he spoke, examining everything. "If that's the case, he's kept it well hidden, because I could find no evidence of it. But that's my theory. And I think his grudge has transferred over to Miss Bliss."
Lucien didn't like the idea that someone was intentionally targeting Tempy this way. "When did she become the target of all these articles?"
"Shortly after her father died. That supports my theory that the journalist transferred his vendetta from her father to her."
"Perhaps," Lucien said. "Or perhaps she she's been the target all along. Could someone be trying to make her stop writing?"
John shook his head doubtfully. "None of the articles have mentioned it. Byrd seems to focus more on her status as the 'poor little rich girl'. I'd swear the man never met her. He makes her seem feckless and spoiled. You know Tempy. She's nothing like that."
Lucien scratched the back of his head, perplexed. "It's quite the mystery. You've given me some clues to ponder. I'll look into it further. Perhaps I'll be able to see some clue that's been overlooked."
"Does that mean you're planning to stay here longer?" John glanced around the office. "It doesn't look as though you're ready to vacate the premises. You haven't even packed away any of your personal items."
"There's very little I plan to take with me. Only what's inside that," Lucien said, gesturing toward the carpetbag. "As I said, I'm selling you everything."
John frowned at the bag. "That's not much for a lifetime's work."
Lucien shrugged. "I have a great deal of work waiting for me. I intend to make each of my estates completely self-sustaining. I also have some plans to help improve the surrounding regions. I can't cling to my past. If I do that, I'll never be able to embrace my future."
"You've always had a glib way of speaking, I'll grant you that. You go ahead and embrace your future. I suppose I'm doing the same thing, leaving my time in the military behind. It just sounds better the way you say it."
They sat at the desk, and Lucien claimed his customary chair. As he stared at his old friend, he was hit with the sudden realization that the next time they sat across from each other in this room, their positions would be reversed. He also realized that he didn't mind.
Not in the least.
Lucien smiled. "Let's start signing." Now that the moment was upon him, he was eager to conclude business. Once the papers were signed, he could focus on his role in tonight's...well, he could only think of it as a farce. But he had a role to play. He'd be Clarisse's suitor for the evening, leaving Tempy free to pursue Ernest.
And tomorrow, he'd be off to his estate in Somerset, and Tempy would be back in the arms of the man of her dreams.
Just the way she wanted it.
31 - Tempy Seduces Ernest.
..
The carriage was ready.
She was ready.
Now she just needed to leave.
Tempy adjusted the low-cut bodice on her ice-blue dress. The sparkling rhinestones sewn onto the fabric made her glitter like an ice princess. She rubbed her cold fingers together to try to generate some warmth, but it felt like a fruitless exercise. After all, weren't ice princesses supposed to be cold?
At least her wrap and mantle were warm. Her wrap was of the same ice-blue satin, with a heavy, clattering fringe of rhinestones that moved like an effervescent liquid. Her dark blue velvet mantle covered her from shoulder to toe and hid the glittering ice of her dress from view.
She glanced at herself in the mirror. Had the rhinestone pins she'd placed in her hair been too much? Mme Le Clair had been quite insistent about them, so she would bow to the woman's vast knowledge and experience in this area.
She had set herself on this track only a few short weeks ago, rushing headlong on a collision course toward tonight's encounter with Ernest. Millicent was right about her. Once she set her mind to a task, she was determined to complete it. Headstrong. That's what Father had called her. And stubborn to a fault.
Tempy hurried down the front steps of her home and climbed into her carriage. As she settled onto the cushions, she let out a frustrated sigh, irritated with herself for being so nervous. But everything depended on tonight. Her entire future would be determined based on how well she performed over the next few hours. On how well she'd learned to be a glittering, entrancing seductress.
Well, perhaps not her entire future. There was, of course, the newspaper article she'd completed and sent to Mr. Dickens that afternoon. No matter what happened tonight with Ernest, she could still be proud of the article published in Dickens's prestigious paper.
Her research had taken her in a different direction than she'd anticipated, but it was a direction that provided an even deeper insight into the problem of gambling than she'd first anticipated. She'd even been able to track down poor Mr. Mall's former fiancée. And, wonder of wonders, the woman had agreed to speak with her, as long as her name wasn't used, of course. No true lady would want her name mentioned in the newspaper.
Tempy smiled as she remembered her governess's admonition. "A gently bred woman should only have her name in the paper on three occasions: at her birth, upon her marriage, and at her death." Tempy had broken that old maxim so many times by using her real name in her newspaper byline that the warning had nearly faded away into dim memory. Mr. Mall's former fiancée's comment had brought the rule rushing back.
For some reason, tonight she wasn't in the mood to compose newspaper headlines, even though they normally helped calm her nerves. Why was that? Usually, creating headlines helped her relax, but tonight's endeavor seemed different.
Then she realized that this plan wasn't something she'd ever want printed below the banner of a newspaper.
Tempy pushed the worry from her mind and tried to focus on something that would help distract her. Her thoughts returned to her trip to Bath and Porlock.
And to Lucien.
She felt a twinge of excitement. He'd be there tonight. At the casino.
Distracting Clarisse.
Tempy frowned. She wished she hadn't needed to pull him into this. She knew he'd help, of course. After all, he'd promised. But even so, seducing a woman he hardly knew must be...be what? Distasteful? Difficult?
She tried to imagine him with Clarisse, but she simply couldn't. Her mind wouldn't allow her to picture them together. Her fists clenched, and she realized that her train of thought was making her feel worse.
The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the casino. Relieved at the chance to escape her musings, Tempy flung open the door before anyone could assist her and hurried inside the casino.
Although she was greeted warmly by the staff, she sensed an undercurrent of tension. Something was definitely wrong. At first, Boothby wouldn't meet her gaze as he escorted her to Lucien's office, and she could see the tension in his jawline as he clenched his teeth. He pushed open the office door and ushered her inside.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, turning to face him in the empty room.
"Did you know?" he murmured without looking at her.
"Know what?"
He turned his gaze to her now. "Did you know that Mr. Hamlin was selling Hamlin House? The new owner takes over tomorrow." When she didn't answer, he nodded and looked away. "You did. I can see that. Why didn't he tell any of us?"
"I'm sorry. My guess is that if he didn't tell you, it was because he didn't want to worry any of you in case nothing came of it."
"So, instead he catches all of us off guard? How is that supposed to be better? Everyone here feels betrayed by his announcement. This is just like what happened with Squire Formsworth. He kept information from me that I had a right to know."
Tempy touched his forearm. "I'm sorry to hear that. I suppose that means that he finalized the sale?"
Boothby gave a terse nod. "He announced it just an hour ago. After tonight, Mr. Snowden will be running the place. Does he even know the first thing about running a casino?"
"I've known Mr. Snowden for a number of years, and he's a good man. He was an army colonel, and from what I hear, his men had a great deal of respect for him."
"Well, that's something, I suppose," Boothby said, sounding slightly mollified. "But he'd better not come in here and order us about as though he's still in the army, that's all I can say."
Tempy felt a pang of sympathy. It must be terrible to be caught by surprise by such a fundamental change. After all, Lucien had been the heart and soul of Hamlin House since he'd founded it. "Mr. Snowden is a very nice man. It's hard for me to imagine that he would make this a difficult place to work." Tempy wondered briefly about Boothby's hopes of becoming a valet, but decided that this wasn't the moment to broach the subject. He was already so upset by what he saw as a breach of trust that she didn't want to raise such a sensitive subject. She hoped Lucien and Boothby could resolve the rift between them.
Boothby said nothing, but simply gave her a brief nod before he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Tempy glanced around Lucien's office, wondering if she'd notice any changes, but everything looked exactly the same. You'd never know that someone else would be using this office after tonight.
The door opened behind her, and as she turned at the sound, Lucien walked in. He must have already known she was there, because he didn't seem surprised by her presence, but he didn't really look at her either. He kept his gaze averted.
Tempy took a sharp breath at the sight of him in his crisp, black frock coat and gray trousers, and she felt her pulse quicken.
Nerves. She hadn't been alone with him since that day on the steps outside John Snowden's home.
She watched him as he crossed the room, noting his smooth and graceful stride and the glass of amber liquid in one hand. Whiskey, she assumed. Tonight his waistcoat was an elegant silvery gray. It was more subdued than usual, but it still had that personal flair that distinguished him. But there was something in his eyes that caught her attention. He seemed troubled. Could it be because of the casino? Was he regretting his decision?
"Is everything all right?" she asked, crossing the room to move closer to him.
He glanced at her, finally focusing his attention on her, and he took a sip of whiskey. His eyes seemed to light up at the sight of her, and his tension eased. "You look lovely tonight. A sophisticated, graceful lady. He won't know what hit him." The smile that followed seemed forced.
"You like it?" she asked.
He tilted his head to one side and examined her a little more closely. "You shine like an evening star. But something's missing."
"Missing? What's missing?"
Lucien moved around to the far side of his desk and set down his whiskey glass before he leaned over. When he stood back up, he was holding a carpetbag. After he set it on his desk and opened the catch, he d
ug through it, searching for something. He extracted a dark blue velvet box, and set it on his desk with a flourish.
Curious, Tempy moved closer. "What's that?"
"Just the thing." He released the catch, allowing the spring lid to pop open, and lifted a glittering object that moved like liquid ice in his hands. "It was my mother's," he said, "and I'd like you to wear it tonight. For luck."
Tempy's breath caught at the sight of the necklace and her hand flew to cover her throat. "I couldn't possibly. What if something were to happen to it? What if I lost it?"
"It's a necklace. It's meant to be worn. It deserves to have an evening out after being hidden away in this box for so many years."
Silly man. Tempy smiled at him. "It deserves a night out? Do you often believe that inanimate objects have rights and feelings?"
"I tend to reserve those for people, but it seems such a shame for you not to wear this." He moved around the desk to come closer. "Perhaps it isn't the necklace I'm speaking of, but you. Perhaps you are the one who deserves to wear this necklace."
There was an intensity in Lucien's gaze that made Tempy tremble. She had to look away.
Lucien stepped behind her and draped the diamond necklace around her neck. The metal of the setting was cool against her skin, but Lucien's hands were warm as he worked the catch. He seemed to be having trouble because she could feel his touch linger for a few seconds. The warmth he radiated swept through her. Just as her skin began to tingle from the prolonged contact with his hands, Lucien stepped away.
He spun her around to face him. "Perfect," he said.
Tempy's smile trembled on her lips. What was happening to her? A sudden and intense sense of doubt swept over her. How could she be feeling such strong emotions for Lucien while planning to seduce Ernest? What was she thinking?
Lucien stared at her mouth for a moment, but then he abruptly looked away. He took her by the hand and led her across the room toward the mirror by the door. "Look for yourself. You're beautiful."
Gambling on a Scoundrel Page 27
