A Reputation for Notoriety

by Diane Gaston

  Her eyes widened, but she quickly recovered. ‘If your friend wishes to expose me, there is little I can do now, is there?’

  He tightened his grip on her. ‘He will not expose you, Celia. But if anyone else guesses who you are...it is already known we are lovers. A lady cannot take the owner of a gaming hell as a lover without tarnishing her reputation.’

  Her eyes gleamed like the coldest emeralds, but behind them he could see her pain. ‘My reputation? I assure you, no one cares enough about Lady Gale to even think she has a reputation.’ Beneath her bravado he could see her pain. ‘Except you, perhaps. You clearly would prefer not to be a lady’s lover.’

  ‘Of course I would not.’ Could she not see? ‘I would not put a respectable woman in such a position. And I certainly would never have offered you employment, had I known you were Lady Gale.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘You regret bedding me.’

  ‘Never.’ He released her. ‘You regret bedding me.’

  She turned away and walked towards the window. ‘Because of Westleigh. I cannot bear your connection to him and this change of heart towards him—’

  ‘There has been no change of heart,’ he broke in. ‘I detest Westleigh.’

  Now more than ever. Once again Westleigh stood in the way of something Rhys wanted. Needed. He could lose Celia.

  In this moment Rhys knew, as strongly as he had ever known anything, that he did not want his affair with Celia to end.

  She gave him a sceptical glance. ‘Do not take me for a fool, Rhys. You just attended a ball which, for all I could see, had the purpose of welcoming you into Westleigh’s family.’

  ‘It was not how it appeared.’ Rhys could almost hear Xavier’s voice: I warned you...

  ‘Then why did you do it?’ she asked.

  He averted his gaze. ‘For restitution.’

  ‘Restitution?’ She shook her head. ‘Your restitution was to join his family? I wish to escape him.’ She walked towards the door. ‘I need to return to the game room.’ She turned. ‘That is, if I am still in your employ.’

  He frowned. ‘Celia, it is not worth the risk.’

  She straightened her spine. ‘My situation is unchanged. I need the money. Does our bargain still hold?’

  * * *

  Celia kept her posture stiff as she waited for his answer. Inside she felt as bleak as she’d ever felt.

  Rhys looked ashen. ‘If you wish it, our bargain remains.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She donned her mask and walked out, deliberately not looking back at him.

  Nothing was settled between them. They’d said nothing to any purpose at all. And nothing made sense.

  Her emotions were raw, as raw as if she’d just heard that Westleigh had killed her father. As if she’d just witnessed her mother’s last laboured breath. As if she once again heard her own voice speak the marriage vows shackling her to Gale.

  She wanted to forget it all, to escape this new pain.

  Instead she adjusted her mask and descended the stairs to the game room.

  ‘There she is!’ cried one gentleman when she entered.

  ‘Come play hazard, Madame Fortune,’ said another. ‘We need your luck.’

  She straightened and made herself smile. If ever there was a night to lose herself in a game, this was it. ‘I hope to be lucky tonight.’

  She played hazard, losing more than she won, but still recklessly playing on. The men still cheered her on and bet with her, but one by one they left the table. When she realised they had stopped betting, she woke from the reverie and rid herself of the game quickly.

  ‘Enough,’ she said to the croupier.

  ‘Surely one more game will not hurt.’

  She looked to see who had spoken. It was Lord Westleigh. She felt a wave of nausea, but forced herself to greet him congenially. ‘You are later than usual, are you not?’

  He bowed. ‘I am flattered you noticed, madam.’ His words were slurred as if he’d imbibed too much wine. He picked up the dice. ‘One more roll?’

  She waved him away. ‘No more hazard.’

  He placed the dice back on the table. ‘How about vingt-et-un?’

  She glanced around the room, but did not see any likely partners for whist. At least at vingt-et-un she would not have to face him across a table. ‘Very well. Vingt-et-un.’

  She allowed him to escort her to the vingt-et-un table. He walked unsteadily. Another gentleman and a masked lady were playing against the dealer. Celia and Lord Westleigh joined them.

  Celia ignored Westleigh as best she could and concentrated on each turn of the cards, remembering which had been played and calculating the odds of her being dealt what she needed. It worked. She recouped some of her losses and almost forgot her pain.

  Then she would glance up and her eyes would inevitably turn to wherever Rhys stood. Her pain would return.

  At least she won as often as Westleigh lost. She suspected his vanity was wounded that a mere woman was more skilled than he.

  The dealer dealt them each one card down, one up. Westleigh peeked at his hidden card and tapped the table. The dealer placed another card on his pile and his face fell. Celia requested another card and won.

  Westleigh glanced around the room as if looking for someone. ‘I fear I must leave you, my dear. Unless you desire more of my company?’

  She did not look at him. ‘I’m winning. I want to play.’

  He grunted and staggered off, unsteady on his feet. She had no time to feel relief at his absence.

  Xavier joined the table.

  ‘It seems your luck holds here, as well, Madame Fortune,’ he remarked.

  ‘Indeed!’ she said with false cheer.

  He distrusted her, she knew. And now he was a threat.

  He was also as skilled as she at the game, and, ironically, she suspected it was her skill that made Xavier distrust her.

  Could he not accept that she was good at cards? And now, after nearly a month of playing several nights a week, she was even better than before. She made money nearly every night, and, so far, she’d been able to stay mostly in control.

  She suspected Xavier had noticed every single time the gaming fever overtook her. He watched her that closely.

  The dealer reshuffled for a new game and Xavier leaned towards her, speaking low. ‘So we meet twice in one night, do we not, my lady?’

  She nodded. ‘You recognised me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She glanced around. ‘Please say no more.’

  He merely smiled his charming smile at her.

  The dealer asked Celia to cut the cards and she tried to turn her attention to the game, but her concentration failed her.

  After losing three hands in a row, she gathered her smaller pile of counters and told the dealer, ‘That is all for me.’

  Xavier left the table at the same time. Without being too obvious she followed him to a corner of the room where a servant served wine and other spirits.

  When she was certain no one else could hear, she said to him, ‘I beg you, sir. Tell no one who I am.’

  He did not smile this time. ‘I will not.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  The scent of the wine made her stomach feel queasy and she was so exhausted she could not stand on her feet. She excused herself to Xavier and made her way to the supper room. Westleigh was there, sitting with a group of gentlemen. She stayed clear of him and made her way to the sideboard where she chose the blandest food she could find.

  She chose a table alone and one far from Westleigh, but, to her dismay, he left his table and joined her. ‘Would you like some company, madam?’

  She did not feel friendly. ‘No. I will not stay long. I just needed something in my stomach.’

  He lifted his wine glass. ‘As did I.’

  She glanced down at her plate, thinking he would leave, but he lowered himself into the chair adjacent to hers.

  He took a big gulp from the wine glass in his hand. ‘Perhaps you wonder why
I mostly play only the table games.’

  She bit into her biscuit and swallowed lest she retch in front of him. ‘I had not.’

  She had noticed that he played whist infrequently; thus she’d had few opportunities to revenge her father by winning Westleigh’s money.

  He leaned towards her. ‘It is a secret.’ His breath smelled of the wine.

  She waved her hand in front of her nose. ‘I see.’

  He wagged a finger at her. ‘You must tell no one.’

  She broke off another piece of biscuit. ‘Do not tell me.’ She did not want to share confidences with this man.

  ‘I am certain I can trust you,’ he slurred.

  He steadied himself by gripping the back of her chair. It was nearly an embrace. Or a trap within his arms.

  He again leaned towards her ear. ‘I mostly play games where the losses go directly to the house, not to the other players. Do you wonder why?’

  She shrank back, but could not escape him. ‘No, I do not.’

  He leaned away and gestured expansively. ‘I own this place. It is mine.’

  Ridiculous. ‘Rhysdale owns this place.’

  He lifted a finger. ‘Rhysdale is my natural son, you see. Everything is in his name, but only to protect my reputation. It was my money that bought this place.’

  She did not want to believe him. She did not want to believe that Rhys kept this information from her. She did not want to believe that Rhys was merely Westleigh’s figurehead.

  She swallowed her piece of biscuit.

  Westleigh went on. ‘So, you see, if I lose at the tables, the money goes right back into my pockets.’

  She pressed her fingers to her now-aching head. ‘How very clever of you, my lord.’

  He seized her hand. ‘I can be clever at other things, if you will allow me to show you. There are rooms upstairs, you know.’

  She gaped at him, horrified, and pulled her hand away. ‘How dare you speak to me in that manner! Surely you know, as well as everyone else here, my attachment is to your son.’

  He did not even have the grace to look contrite. ‘My dear, the son is nothing to the father.’

  A wave of nausea washed through her. She clamped her hand against her mouth.

  One of the gentlemen from the table where Westleigh had previously sat called to him. ‘Wes, we are leaving. Are you coming with us?’

  He looked at Celia with regret. ‘I might as well.’ He seized her hand again and kissed it. ‘I will say goodnight, madam. You must let me know if you change your mind. I can make it quite worth your while.’

  Worth her while? He would pay her as if she were a common prostitute?

  ‘Leave me, sir,’ she said in a clipped tone.

  As soon as the men left the supper room, Celia rose and went up another flight to Rhys’s private rooms. She glanced to the floor above. Were those rooms for Lord Westleigh’s use? The idea sickened her.

  * * *

  Rhys noticed when Celia left the game room, but could not follow her at that moment. It was late before he could get away, so late, in fact, the patrons were leaving. Even Xavier bid him goodnight.

  Cummings manned the door and would know if she had left.

  Rhys made his way to the hall. ‘Did Madame Fortune leave yet?’ Rhys asked.

  ‘I didn’t see her,’ Cummings said.

  She must be waiting upstairs. Rhys had not expected her to stay. His tension eased and he took the stairs two at a time. He checked the drawing room, but she was not there. He hurried to his bedchamber and opened the door.

  She was seated on a chair, resting her head against her hand, her eyes closed.

  He crossed the room to her. ‘What is it, Celia? Are you ill?’

  She raised her head and it seemed that all colour had left her face. ‘I waited for you.’

  ‘I am glad.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Do not mistake this. I waited to tell you what Lord Westleigh said.’

  His spirits fell. ‘What did he say?’

  She stiffened. ‘He said you are working for him. That this gaming house is his, not yours.’

  Rhys clenched his fist.

  Her voice turned raw. ‘I will not be back, Rhys. I will not work for Westleigh. I cannot. I detest him!’

  Rhys walked over to the side table and poured himself a brandy. ‘He lies, Celia. I own this place. It is mine.’ He gripped the brandy glass so hard he thought it might shatter. ‘And I detest him, as well. Even more for lying to you. For speaking to you!’

  ‘How do I know what is true, Rhys? I do not know who to believe.’ Her hand trembled.

  He sat across from her.

  ‘This is the truth, Celia.’ He ought to have told her this long ago. ‘Westleigh brought the family to near ruin with his gambling and excessive spending. Ned and Hugh came to me, needing a great deal of money quickly. They asked me to run a gaming hell for them. They scraped together the initial investment. In exchange, they receive half of the profits. The property is in my name. I paid back the original investment, but I paid it to Ned. None of it goes to Westleigh. I own the gaming house. I am fully in charge of it. Those were my conditions in agreeing to do this for them.’ He paused. ‘My other requirement was that Westleigh publicly acknowledge me as his son, something he should have done when I was a child.’ He glanced away. ‘Or when my mother died.’ He faced her again. ‘That was why I was introduced at the ball.’

  She shook her head. ‘It mattered that much to you? To be known as his son?’ She spat out the words.

  He did not answer right away. ‘There was more to it. There were many people who were kind to my mother when I was a boy. If the Westleigh estate failed, they would suffer. That was why I agreed to run the gaming house. No other reason.’ Except his own desire to make his father beholden to him for something.

  ‘But you wanted him to acknowledge you. You wanted to be known as his son.’ Her voice was scathing.

  He glanced away. ‘I thought it the one thing he would most object to.’

  She made a disparaging sound. ‘That was your restitution?’

  It was time he faced the truth. ‘The restitution was for my mother. My birth was the ruin of her life. She might have lived a respectable life if it had not been for me. She might have married, borne legitimate children. She might not have died so young.’ His throat tightened.

  She leaned towards him and placed her hand on his. ‘Oh, Rhys. I am so sorry.’

  He’d not told her how Westleigh had left him penniless and alone. He was not trying to win her sympathy. He merely wanted her to understand the truth.

  She stood and began to pace. ‘I cannot be connected to him. I cannot. If I am with you, I will be connected to him. And if Adele marries Ned, I will be connected to him.’ She turned back to him. ‘I will lose her like I lost...everyone else. Because of him.’

  He rose and walked over to her, putting his arms around her. ‘He can’t make you lose your stepdaughter.’

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘She will become a part of that family. I would not blame her for it—it is the natural course of things. But I want no part of that family. Or of him.’

  ‘Celia.’

  Eventually she melted against him. He wanted to kiss away her pain. He wanted to make love to her and show her that now she was not alone. He would not leave her.

  But he had connected himself to the one man she could not abide.

  Rhys wished he could open a vein and rid himself of any Westleigh blood flowing through him. ‘Do not let him come between us, Celia.’

  She held her head between her hands. ‘I cannot think any more. I am so weary. I just want to go home. This night has brought too much back.’

  ‘It is almost time for your carriage,’ he said, releasing her. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  Like so many nights before this, Rhys escorted her outside and waited with her until she was safely in her coach, although this time it felt as if everything had changed between them.

 
; Because of Westleigh.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day Adele insisted upon calling on Lady Westleigh, to pay her respects to the hostess of the ball and Ned’s mother. Celia’s mother-in-law refused to go with her to that house, so the task fell to Celia.

  She wanted to refuse. She did not want to be in surroundings that reminded her of Westleigh, where there was a chance she might see him and have to pretend to be cordial.

  She and Adele were announced to Lady Westleigh and entered the drawing room, which had been transformed into a ballroom only the night before.

  Immediately Celia noticed the portrait of Lord Westleigh that dominated the room. She had to see him after all.

  ‘How good of you to call.’ Lady Westleigh extended her hand to them and the ladies exchanged greetings.

  There were no other callers at the moment, although Lady Westleigh was with her daughter. Lady Phillipa wore her hair pulled back into a simple knot. It made her scar even more prominent.

  ‘Come sit with me, Miss Gale.’ Lady Westleigh patted the space next to her on the sofa for Adele. ‘Let me become better acquainted with you. Last night I did not have a chance to really converse with the young miss who has so captivated my son.’

  ‘Oh, my lady, I would be delighted.’ Adele was in raptures.

  ‘I will pour tea,’ Phillipa said. ‘How do you take it?’

  At first the conversation was general enough to include all of them. Compliments from Adele and Celia about the ball. Comments about the weather and the next society event, an opera that night.

  Lady Westleigh was a puzzle to Celia. Such a gracious lady to be married to a man who did not care about taking a life and leaving a family in tatters.

  The lady took Adele’s hand. ‘I should tell you, my dear Miss Gale, that I knew your mother.’

  ‘You knew my mother?’ Adele’s eyes grew wide with excitement. ‘Oh, please tell me something about her. I miss her so terribly!’

  Celia turned to Phillipa, allowing Adele to have her private conversation with Lady Westleigh. ‘Did you enjoy the ball, Lady Phillipa?’

  The young woman picked up a piece of needlework. ‘It went well, I suppose. I do not attend many balls, but my mother seemed satisfied.’