by Diane Gaston
‘You are maligning my dear Ned,’ wailed Adele.
‘She is not maligning Ned,’ Rhys broke in. ‘Stop acting like a child.’
‘See here, Rhys!’ Ned pressed his hands into fists and leapt from his chair.
Celia faced him. ‘Ned, if you had an ounce of sense in your head, you would marry Adele now. You’d get a special licence and marry without delay. I dare say even with your financial difficulties, you have more resources to care for her than I have. You do not even have the courage to officially declare yourselves betrothed. It is wrong to leave her in such a precarious position.’
Ned fumed. ‘I have good reasons! Besides, you cannot tell me when Adele and I should marry. That is for us to decide.’
Celia nodded. ‘And you cannot tell me what I should do. That is for me to decide.’
Lady Westleigh stood. ‘Your point is well taken, Lady Gale. We have been unforgivingly presumptive. Do forgive us.’ She turned to her son. ‘Ned, we should take our leave.’
He gave his mother a pleading look. ‘I would like some time to speak with Adele.’
Celia turned to Rhys. ‘Would you escort Lady Westleigh home?’
He gave her a questioning glance.
She spoke more quietly. ‘I will see you later. We can talk then.’
Celia needed time. Time to think of her child, time to think of what was best to do.
Rhys bowed to Lady Westleigh. ‘Ma’am, I would be honoured to escort you.’
Lady Westleigh nodded to Rhys. ‘I accept. That is very kind of you.’
‘I’ll walk you both out,’ Celia said.
As they stepped out of the room, Tucker approached with the tea tray.
Celia shook her head. ‘We do not need tea now, Tucker. Lady Westleigh and Mr Rhysdale are just leaving.’
He nodded and carried the tray back to the hall and placed it on a nearby table. He went to retrieve Lady Westleigh’s wrap and Rhys’s hat and gloves.
Rhys took Celia aside. ‘Come tonight, Celia. We must talk this out.’
She nodded, but did not know what she would say to him when the time came.
Chapter Sixteen
That night Rhys told Cummings to send Celia up to the drawing room as soon as she arrived and to summon him immediately.
She arrived at her usual time and Rhys left the game room to go to her.
When he entered the drawing room, she was standing in the centre of the room, waiting for him. In the candlelight her white shimmering gown made her look as if she were a vision created from his dreams.
She smiled tentatively. ‘Do you think we will be disturbed this time?’
He frowned. ‘Not for anything.’
He walked over to her as if under a spell, his body craving her almost as much as his soul. He did not wish to need her so much. He prided himself on not needing anyone. If one was alone, one had nothing to lose. Suddenly he risked losing this woman.
And their child.
He would never do what his father did. He would never abandon her or their child.
Rhys tried to pour all those emotions into an embrace.
She sighed and melted against him and, as their bodies entwined, the need to join with her grew to an even greater intensity.
He bent his head and placed his lips upon hers in a hunger that shocked him.
But her returning kiss felt like regret.
He broke away from the intense contact and held only her arms. ‘I have missed you, Celia.’
Her lips trembled. ‘I have missed you, too.’
So why had she left after he’d proposed marriage to her?
He released her and walked over to the decanter on the table. ‘Brandy or port?’
She pressed her stomach. ‘Neither. Just the thought of spirits makes me feel out of sorts.’
He turned back to her. ‘You are still ill?’
‘I am now thinking it might be because of a baby,’ she said. ‘My ills are expected, I am told.’
‘Do you now believe you are increasing?’ He poured himself some brandy.
‘Yes.’ She walked over to the table where his stood and fingered the wood. ‘Lady Westleigh made me dare hope.’
‘Hope?’ He was more confused than ever.
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It is a miracle for me.’
He gulped his brandy and stared directly into her eyes. ‘Then finish what we started this afternoon. Explain why things are not right between us.’
She turned away.
He drained the contents of his glass and pressed on. ‘Explain why you will not simply say you will marry me and give our baby my name. Is it because of my birth?’
She turned in surprise. ‘Not at all. I never even thought such a thing.’
‘Then why?’
She averted her gaze again. ‘I do not know how to say it.’
His insides twisted in pain, but he kept his expression blank. ‘Celia. Just say it.’
She took a breath. ‘I went down to the game room. And the men there—the ones you were sent to deal with—it was so much like what happened to my father and Westleigh.’
He could see that. ‘You must know, though, that what happened had nothing to do with you or me.’
She held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. ‘After you took the men out of the room, everyone went back to gambling as if nothing had happened. One man ruined. Another wanting a duel. And they all went back to the games. And then Westleigh came up to me and wanted to play hazard...’ She stopped.
Westleigh.
What was she not telling him? What had Westleigh done?
‘What did Westleigh do?’ His voice deepened to a growl.
She made a nervous gesture. ‘Nothing.’
He did not believe her.
She paced in front of him. ‘It is merely that—that this is your world. It connects you to Westleigh, but I cannot be connected to it.’
He burned inside. ‘You connected yourself to it.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘but before I knew of him. And out of necessity. I needed—still need—the money. I loathe this—him—I loathe all this represents.’
‘I am here out of necessity, as well.’ Did she think he was given a choice? It was gamble or starve. ‘But you are being less than truthful. You enjoy the play.’
‘That is it,’ she agreed. ‘That is the seduction. The fever. It robs everyone of their senses. It is what killed my father.’
‘I am not your father, Celia.’ Rhys never played cards with emotion. ‘Cards are nothing more than a tool to me. A means to an end.’ Survival once; now something more. ‘I know when to play on and I know when to cash out.’
She shook her head. ‘You cannot control luck, Rhys. No one can. All it takes is a turn of luck. I’ve lived this all during my childhood. I’ll not subject my child to such a life.’
‘And if I said I would give it all up?’ He’d always intended to give it up. He had figured three years would do the trick. By then the Westleighs’ fortunes would be solid and he would be wealthy enough to buy a factory or a ship or something.
She gave him a direct look. ‘Do you know how many times my father promised to give it up?’
He stepped towards her, seized her arms and held her gaze. ‘There is a difference between those men like your father and those like me. I am a gambler because when I had nothing, it was an honest way to get food to eat. When I won, I ate; when I lost, I didn’t. I learned how to win. I learned how to survive and eventually I learned how to thrive. I will not go backwards. So do not hold up my gambling as a reason not to give your child a father.’
She averted her face. ‘There is another reason.’
‘And that is?’
She met his eye again. ‘Westleigh. You are connected to Westleigh.’
He let go and swung away. ‘He should not be considered at all!’
She would refuse to marry him because he was fathered by Westleigh? How ironic. When a boy he’d hoped his father would once
call him son. Now that he accomplished it out of spite, doing so meant losing the woman he loved and a child he could call his own.
Rhys felt the pain of it as if a thousand sabres cut into his flesh. ‘Westleigh keeps you from me? Am I again to be punished because of my birth?’
She reached out to him with sympathy on her face. ‘Not because of your birth. Because you chose to entangle your life with his.’
He turned away, too angry at her—at himself—to trust what he would say or do next. ‘Then we are done here.’ He looked back with a sardonic smile. ‘I must return to my gaming hell.’
She picked up her mask. ‘Do you object to me playing tonight?’
That she would gamble after that speech of hers, after rejecting him for his gambling life, a life that was providing her needed funds, was a final sabre thrust.
‘You are still in my employ, Celia.’
He walked out.
* * *
She’d hurt him and it agonised her. Almost as much as having to turn away from him for the sake of her child.
Rhys was a good man, a man to love. She’d never know his like again and her heart shattered at the thought that she had rejected him when she wanted him more than she could bear.
It was the gambling she did not want, could not want around her child. She could not bring a child into the sort of childhood she’d endured.
Gambling, its seductions and its perils, was the real villain. Now it had dealt her another blow. It had robbed her of the man she loved.
Celia tied the mask to her face and peeked in the mirror above the mantel to see if it concealed her identity well enough. The bone-weariness she felt tonight had little to do with her condition. She was exhausted from the battle she’d waged inside herself, the battle her heart had lost.
She walked down to the cashier’s office and picked up her counters. She made her way to the game room, pausing in the doorway while its sounds and sights enveloped her. Lifting her chin, she walked through the room, looking around.
Looking for Rhys.
She found him conversing with a masked woman and her partner at whist. He lifted his gaze to her as she moved past him and her heart ached inside her chest.
‘Madame Fortune!’ a gentleman cried. ‘Come! Play some hazard. I’m in need of a little luck.’
Some others joined his plea.
A man came up to her from behind and leaned into her ear. ‘Do play hazard, my dear. See if your luck still holds.’
It was Lord Westleigh.
She straightened her spine and took another man’s arm. ‘If you insist. I will play hazard.’
Her first roll was a loss and the dice passed to another player. When it came around to her again and she reached down to scoop up the dice, Westleigh beat her to it.
He took the dice in one hand and grasped her hand in the other, dropping the dice into her palm.
‘Best of luck, Madame Fortune.’ He smirked.
She expected to lose again, but she won the toss.
A shout rang out from the crowd, ‘Madame Fortune has found her luck!’
The next bets placed were overwhelmingly with her next roll. Westleigh bet with her, as well.
With the crowd’s enthusiastic encouragement, she rolled again and again, not always winning, but more often than not. More often than seemed likely. In spite of herself, it roused her excitement and she was eager for the next roll. Even Xavier’s intent scrutiny did not deter her. The counters piled up and more and more players pushed their way to place their bets.
Rhys appeared next to Xavier, watching her play. She froze, dice in hand. She might be winning, but she was losing him a great deal of money. Bets were already placed and her next roll called. She had no choice but to roll, telling herself she’d stop after this.
She’d called seven and the dice fell into a three and a four. A cheer went up and the wagerers collected their counters.
Westleigh picked up the dice from the table and bounced them in his palm. ‘They are weighted!’ he said in a loud voice. ‘I declare. The dice are weighted.’
She stared at him.
‘Watch,’ he said pointedly to Rhys and Xavier.
He placed one die on its corner and tried to make it spin. It fell immediately to the number four. He tried to spin the other die. It, too, failed and fell to a two.
Loud rumblings went up from the crowd.
‘Weighted dice,’ Westleigh intoned.
The voices grew more outraged.
‘But, I never—’ Celia tried to protest.
Rhys broke in. ‘The hazard table is closed.’ He walked around the table and seized Celia’s arm. ‘Come with me, madam.’ He inclined his head to Westleigh. ‘You, too, sir.’ He turned to Belinda. ‘Pay the winners, then you and Xavier come find us.’
‘Rhys, I did not cheat,’ Celia tried to tell him. He nearly dragged her through the room. ‘I know nothing of fixing dice.’
But she did instantly understand her part in it. She’d chosen favourite numbers, not realising that the dice themselves were training her which numbers were more likely winners. She also knew that Westleigh had somehow planted the dice.
But why would he do such a thing? It lost money for the house and his family if he planted weighted dice.
Xavier had suspected her all along, though. He often watched her at hazard and she’d even admitted to him that she counted cards at vingt-et-un. Counting cards was not cheating, precisely, but it did put her in a class beyond the typical player.
As they reached the door, Ned and Hugh were walking in. ‘What is this?’ Hugh asked.
His father looked triumphant. ‘She was caught cheating.’
Ned gaped at her. ‘Cheating!’
Rhys led Celia to the hall. Westleigh and his sons followed.
Cummings became very alert when they all strode in.
Rhys said to him, ‘We will be in my private drawing room. Tell Xavier and Belinda to come to us there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cummings responded.
Rhys practically dragged her to the room where he had just embraced her and kissed her and where she had spurned him.
Once inside the drawing room with the door closed, Ned blurted out, ‘My lady, what more scandal are you going to bring to your family?’
His father’s brows rose. ‘My lady? Who is she?’
Celia did not want Westleigh, of all people, to know her identity, but, even more, she did not wish for someone other than herself to reveal it.
She pulled off her mask.
He looked at her blankly.
‘Do you not recognise her?’ Ned looked aghast. ‘She is Lady Gale.’
Westleigh still appeared mystified.
‘Miss Gale’s stepmother,’ Ned tried. ‘You met them both at the ball.’
‘He still doesn’t know!’ groaned Hugh.
Westleigh protested, ‘I cannot be expected to recall every person ever introduced to me.’
Celia broke in. ‘Perhaps he would know me better as Mr Cecil Allen’s daughter.’
Westleigh’s eyes flickered with comprehension.
‘Yes,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I hoped you would remember him.’
Xavier and Belinda walked in the room.
‘Sit, everyone,’ Rhys said.
Westleigh shot him a withering glance, but did as he was asked. He turned to Ned and Hugh. ‘She was using weighted dice at hazard. I dare say the house had some big losses.’
‘If the dice were weighted, I knew nothing of it,’ Celia retorted.
‘I didn’t know.’ Belinda turned to Rhys. ‘I put out new dice each night, as you ordered.’
Westleigh pointed to Xavier. ‘You suspected Madame-whoever-she-is, did you not? You’ve watched her play.’
Xavier nodded. ‘I did suspect her.’
Celia looked from him to Rhys. ‘I do not cheat. It was not me.’
Rhys and Xavier both remained standing and Rhys gave nothing away in his expression.
He
had every reason not to believe her. He knew she needed money, knew she was the daughter of a gamester, knew her father had been accused of cheating.
She also had hurt him.
‘Who, then?’ Hugh asked.
Rhys’s brows rose.
Celia turned to Belinda. ‘Have I always won at hazard?’ she asked.
Belinda’s forehead furrowed. ‘Mostly.’
‘But always?’ Celia persisted. ‘Was there not a time I did not win so much?’
The young woman seemed to be thinking hard. ‘Only for a little while once.’
‘What was different about that time?’ she asked.
Belinda shrugged. ‘I can’t think of anything.’
Celia leaned forwards. ‘Was Lord Westleigh with me that time?’
‘When you lost?’
Celia nodded. ‘When I lost.’
Belinda glanced away. When she turned back, she said, ‘I can’t remember him there that time.’
Rhys picked this up. ‘When Westleigh was there, did he touch the dice?’
‘What is this?’ Westleigh sounded outraged. ‘Do not accuse me. I am the one who showed you it was she who played the bad dice.’
Rhys turned to him. ‘Where would she procure the dice?’
Westleigh’s eyes shifted as if he was composing the answer. ‘Why, from her father, of course. He was a cheat.’
Xavier looked pensive. ‘Westleigh was always with her. He was always asking her to play hazard. And he always touched the dice.’
‘You cannot remember all that!’ Westleigh raised supplicating hands. ‘Besides, what reason would I have to cheat? The profits come to me anyway. I have no motive to steal from myself.’ He laughed, but his laugh rang false.
Belinda looked puzzled.
Hugh glared at his father. ‘Except that the profits are under Ned’s control, not yours. You have no money except what Ned gives you. You are cheating to have more money to gamble with!’
‘You cannot prove that.’ Westleigh pointed to Rhys. ‘You just want to blame me. You sleep with her. Everyone knows that. You are behind this. So you can keep her in your bed.’
Rhys appeared to ignore him. ‘It should be easy to discover proof,’ Rhys said to the others. ‘Whoever has the original set of dice is the culprit.’
