He had spotted one in the corner and was heading toward it when he noticed a gentleman passing by the door of the room. It was not his friend. Indeed, it was not even a friend. But Colin knew the man by reputation, and something about him caught and held his attention now.
Colin stood still and considered. Robin Bellingham was a spunky lad, he told himself. There was no question about that. And Emma was worried about him. He didn’t want to get publicly embroiled in the lad’s affairs. Robin wouldn’t thank him for such interference. The impulse to help and protect Emma surged in Colin. It couldn’t hurt to gather information, he concluded. Good intelligence was the key to any campaign, and to neglect the opportunity to learn something when it was practically thrust upon him seemed silly.
Colin returned the newspaper to its place and made his way to the gaming rooms at the back of the club. Even at this early hour, there were a few men at the tables, desultorily throwing the dice or looking over a hand of cards. The man he wanted had not yet joined the play. He was standing at the side observing, rather like a gourmand surveying the various delicacies spread at a buffet before filling his plate.
“Hello, Whitman,” said Colin when he came up beside him.
The man turned, and looked surprised when he saw who had greeted him. “St. Mawr,” he acknowledged.
“I wondered if I might speak to you for a moment?”
Whitman shrugged, as if it were a matter of indifference to him. He was a tall, slender man with dark hair worn rather longer than was the fashion and hooded eyes that were both black and unnervingly cold.
Here was the sort of individual that Emma most hated, Colin thought—the sort she had taken him for at first. Whitman was a notorious gamester, wholly a creature of smoky gaming hells and high-stakes tables. He lived for it. And somehow he also managed to make his living at it, a rare skill, and one that most often left him teetering on the knife edge of survival. Probably because of that, Colin thought, he was not averse to introducing wealthy young men to the pastime that obsessed him and to relieving them of some part of their wealth in exchange for the introduction.
“Have you noticed a young man called Bellingham around town?” Colin asked him. He did not need to specify where. If Whitman had seen Robin, it would have been at the deepest tables. The man went nowhere else.
“Bellingham.” Whitman’s voice was deep and resonant, but completely lacking in emotion.
“Young,” prompted Colin. “Light hair, bit dandyish.”
“I’ve seen him,” the other replied, as if he hadn’t needed the elaboration. “Rotten player. No sense of strategy, poor concentration. Always looking about to see who’s in the room instead of keeping his mind on the game.”
“Has he been losing heavily?”
Whitman examined him. “Must be. He never wins.” A distant gleam appeared in the man’s dark eyes. “Connection of yours, ain’t he? You paying off his debts?”
“No,” answered Colin forcefully. “He has a small allowance from his father.”
“Ah.” Whitman’s interest waned. These pickings weren’t large enough to tempt him. “No wonder he’s into the cent-per-cents.”
“He’s been to moneylenders?”
Whitman gave him a look of great weariness, even perhaps contempt. “Haven’t we all?” he asked.
Colin ignored this. The situation was more serious than he’d realized. How could the young idiot have been so stupid as to borrow from moneylenders? His chances of paying off such a loan were meager, since the interest in these transactions practically equaled the entire amount. “I don’t suppose you know which?” he asked.
Whitman indicated his ignorance, and massive lack of interest in this topic. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, signaling that he was going to join the card players. “Unless you’d care to try a hand?” he added, suddenly more alert.
“I fear not. I have a luncheon engagement,” said Colin.
The other turned away at once, all of his attention focusing on the cards that were about to be dealt at the table nearby.
Colin stood alone, frowning. If he gave Emma this news, she would be beside herself with worry. She would insist on taking action. And he was not going to allow her to deal with moneylenders. His frown deepened. He could communicate the facts to Robin’s father, but that seemed distastefully like talebearing. He could simply forget he had ever heard it, of course. But that would leave catastrophe looming on the horizon, waiting to descend on them at some later time with even greater force.
He would have to find out which moneylender it was, he supposed. That would be simple enough. He could discharge the loan anonymously. There need be no emotional scenes, no painful confessions or furious tirades. Colin’s frown lifted completely. He’d found the perfect solution, he thought.
Complacently, he set off to find James and sit down to a good luncheon. Afterward, he would see about tracking down this moneylender.
***
Colin had no trouble finding the man. Scarcely two hours later, he stood in his place of business handing over a large roll of banknotes. “Thank you, my lord,” said the moneylender, not taking his eyes from the bills. “Pleasure doing business with you, my lord. Be assured that you may call on me at any time should you need assistance.”
“I hope to avoid that eventuality,” replied Colin calmly.
The other man laughed as if he had made a joke. “Well, in your case, I’d say that’s likely, my lord St. Mawr. Still, you never know.”
“Indeed. May I have Bellingham’s note?”
“Of course, of course. I have it right here. Everything in order.” He handed over a document over which had been scrawled “paid” and his signature.
“Thank you.” Colin folded the page and put it in his pocket. “You understand that you are not to reveal my part in this transaction to anyone?”
“You may rely on my discretion, my lord.”
“I do. And if I should hear that you…”
The man held up his hand. “Many rely on my silence, my lord. It is a necessity of my business.”
Colin turned to go.
“Tell Mr. Bellingham I am at his service in future,” said the moneylender. “Always happy to help.”
“At twenty per cent a month,” added Colin dryly.
“As you say, my lord,” was the undaunted reply. “’Tis a valuable service I offer, and worth a good price.”
Biting back a sharp reply, Colin left him.
Eleven
Reddings waited respectfully while the baron arranged the intricate folds of his neckcloth, then held his dark evening coat for him to slip on and smoothed it over his master’s broad shoulders. It was a pleasure to serve a gentleman who set off his clothes to such advantage, the valet thought complacently. There wouldn’t be another man at the ball tonight who had a finer leg or a better way of carrying himself. As Colin brushed his dark hair, Reddings stole glances at his face in the mirror. The bleakness that had so worried the serving man on their trip back to England was gone, but lately it had been replaced by an intense, concerned expression that rarely seemed to lift. It didn’t really worry Reddings, as long as it was not directed at him. But someone was going to catch it, he thought.
It was an odd old world, Reddings told himself. The household wasn’t at all what he had expected coming home from the war. They had an unusual sort of mistress, and of course her own servant—the Turk or whatever he was—was so far from usual that Reddings couldn’t even think of a word for it. But her ladyship was a real gem, he thought, using an expression in the privacy of his thoughts that would never pass his lips. It was his personal opinion that she’d saved the master from falling into despair.
“Reddings,” said Colin. “Where have you gone, man?”
The valet came to himself with a start. “Yes, my lord? Sorry, my lord.”
“What were you t
hinking of?” wondered Colin with a smile. “It seemed to please you.”
“Woolgathering, my lord,” replied the valet. “I beg your pardon.”
Colin waved the apology aside. “What have you done with my cloak?”
Reddings fetched it from the wardrobe and held it up.
“No, I’ll carry it. I’m going to see if her ladyship is ready.”
Draping the garment over his arm, Reddings cleared his throat.
“What?”
“Nothing, my lord. It is just that I have noticed that ladies sometimes prefer to, er, make an entrance on such occasions. And I did happen to notice…”
“Yes. Out with it, man. I can see you mean to tell me.”
“A new gown arrived today from Madame Sophie,” Reddings confided.
“Did it?” Colin considered. The unspoken tension between him and Emma, and the secrets that lurked beneath it, ate away at him as he kept waiting for her to turn to him for help. Her failure to do so weighed heavily. “You think she wants to dazzle me with the effect?” Colin asked.
“Yes, my lord,” was the poker-faced reply.
“Oh, very well. I will await her ladyship in the drawing room,” he said.
“Very good, my lord,” replied Reddings, looking pleased with himself.
It was not a long wait. Colin had been downstairs only a few minutes when he heard footsteps in the hall. He turned and drew in an admiring breath when his wife appeared in the doorway.
Emma’s gown was made of layers of tissue in varying shades of sea green. Below its snug bodice and tiny puffed sleeves, the skirt moved and rippled like water down to the tips of her matching slippers. Her gleaming hair had been drawn up on her head and then loosed in a cascade of curls in the back. She wore the St. Mawr emeralds in her ears and around her neck.
“Breathtaking,” said Colin.
“Isn’t it a beautiful dress?” Emma turned, making the tiers of color flow around her. “Sophie is a genius.”
“From what you say, she is also well on her way to becoming a wealthy woman.”
“Oh, yes.” Emma smiled. “She is not in the least surprised about it, however.”
“You will outshine every other woman at the ball.”
Emma caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror above the mantel. Colin was terribly handsome in his dark evening clothes. His chiseled face rose from the snowy neckcloth like a head on a coin, and his mysterious violet eyes glowed with the power of his personality.
“In fact, Tom’s wife will be sorry she invited you,” he added. “She insists upon being the most sought-after woman at any event.”
“Colin! That isn’t true.”
“No?”
“Not at all. Diana has been very kind to me.”
“Yes, I have seen her,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with humor. “She is always sending you off into another room, where she is sure you will find something ‘vastly amusing’ to do or some ‘terribly charming’ people to talk to. People who are not members of her group of admirers, of course.”
“That’s silly,” said Emma. But as she thought about it, she realized that he was right. She began to laugh.
“Diana keeps her former beaux dangling as if she’d never married. Thank God you don’t have a pack of admirers lingering from the past,” he teased.
Emma froze in the act of putting on her evening cloak. It was only for a moment, but Colin noticed the flash of fear that crossed her face. It was unbearable, this wall that she had erected between them. What was it that she could not tell him?
“We should go,” said Emma. “I promised Caroline we would be early for dinner, to help her manage Aunt Celia. She is afraid of her.”
“What nonsense.” But Colin could see no option but to offer her his arm.
***
Caroline met them in a flutter at her front door. “Aunt Celia is in one of her moods,” she exclaimed distractedly. “She has already made me send Nicky upstairs, and he was only trying the piano for a few minutes. Emma, come and help.” She thrust Emma’s cloak at a footman and urged her up the stairs to the drawing room.
Silently thanking Aunt Celia for freeing them from Nicky’s boisterous presence, Emma followed her sister-in-law’s rapid steps. She didn’t understand why everyone in the family was so wary of Aunt Celia. She liked the old woman very much, and felt she understood things better than almost anyone else.
Colin strolled up more slowly. Emma was already seated at Aunt Celia’s side by the time he reached the drawing room, and he stood for a moment in the doorway surveying the crowd of family and friends that Caroline had gathered this evening. There was nothing surprising in the collection. Most of them he had met a thousand times before, and he had said everything he had to say to them years ago. Thank God he had not been saddled with a wife as conventional as his sister, Colin thought. He loved Caroline, but he could not have borne to spend his life in a series of parties like this.
“Beg pardon,” said a voice at his elbow.
Colin turned to find Robin Bellingham standing there, resplendent in evening dress of the most extreme fashion and a waistcoat that glittered with gold thread and brocade.
Robin noticed him looking at the bright garment. “Latest thing,” he said a bit defensively.
“I’m sure you’re right,” replied Colin solemnly.
Robin eyed him, as if trying to make out whether he was being mocked. Then he shrugged and abandoned the question. “Wanted to speak to you,” he confided.
“You are doing so,” the older man pointed out.
“Er, yes. About something particular, I mean.”
Colin inclined his head to indicate his willingness to hear.
Robin moved uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Oddest thing has happened,” he went on finally. Having said this, he fell silent again, looking around the room to be certain no one else was near enough to hear.
“Yes,” prompted Colin after a moment.
“Don’t like to mention it to you,” blurted Robin. “Thing is, don’t want to say anything to Emma. But I can’t figure out what the devil’s going on.”
Growing suddenly wary, Colin said, “You may trust me.”
“Umm,” responded Robin, looking uneasy at the prospect.
“Shall I give my word that anything you say to me will be kept confidential?” the baron asked.
“No, no. I know you don’t blab.” Robin flushed. “That is…”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
The young man gathered himself visibly. “Thing of it is, I had a pretty large loss at the tables a month or so back.” He eyed Colin to see if this admission was going to provoke a lecture; Colin merely gazed at him. “And I hadn’t the ready to pay it off,” Robin added, and paused again. Once more, Colin offered him no reaction whatever. Robin took a deep breath; the rest of his confession came out in a rush. “Well, I was in the suds, you see. I had to raise the wind somehow. So I went to a moneylender and borrowed it.” He swallowed convulsively.
Colin waited for the rest of it. It was quite a time coming.
“Now the man tells me that the debt is paid off,” Robin said at last. “Every penny—interest and principal. And the thing is, I didn’t pay it! The fellow won’t tell me who did, either.”
Colin maintained his look of polite interest.
“Says the person ‘wishes to remain anonymous,’” continued Robin. “Have you ever heard anything like it?”
Colin indicated that he hadn’t.
“Know my father had nothing to do with it,” said Robin. “Though I must say, he’s been mum on the subject of gaming lately.” He frowned. “That’s odd, as well. Wonder if he’s ill, or some such thing?” He brushed this digression aside. “What I wanted to ask…” He seemed to find speech difficult once more. “You didn’t have anything to do w
ith it, did you?” he managed finally.
“I?” Colin met his nervous gaze with bland inquiry.
“You gave me those notes back,” stammered Robin. “And I know how Emma feels about gambling. Well, and she has reason, I suppose. But I just wondered whether you might have…”
If he said nothing, Colin thought, he would not have to lie.
Robin examined his face. The silence grew awkward.
There was a change in Robin’s expression. It grew less anxious, harder and more resolute. “Well, if you did happen to know anything about it, I just wanted to tell the person responsible that I’m grateful, of course. And I should very much prefer to pay the money back, over time.”
The lad was by no means stupid, Colin thought.
“And if you… if you should happen to… to discover the person, I’d like him to know that I’ve concluded the gaming tables are not… not…” He trailed off helplessly.
“The best way for you to make your mark in society?” suggested Colin.
“That’s it,” he responded, greatly relieved. “I don’t play all that well,” he confided.
“You surprise me.”
“I don’t,” added Robin airily, his spirits rising now that he had gotten through the difficult part of the conversation. “I find most of the games damned dull,” he said, as if revealing a guilty secret, “and I’m in a constant worry over the money I’m losing.”
Colin waited in sympathetic silence.
“So I just wanted to… to pass along that I mean to stay away from the tables from now on. Except for an occasional low-stakes game, among friends,” he added hurriedly, as if afraid he would be forbidden even that.
“I think you’re wise,” said the baron.
Robin nodded sagely. “Because, you know, I believe my talents lie in quite another direction,” he said. “A number of people have remarked favorably on my style of dress.”
“Have they?”
“Even Farrell,” he said, naming one of the leading pinks of the ton.
The Marriage Wager Page 31
