by Diane Gaston
Celia stood up and stretched her hands out to her sides. ‘Search me.’
* * *
Rhys walked over to her, and, as he did so, she removed her gloves and handed them to him. There were no dice in her gloves. She had no sleeves in which to hide the dice.
Westleigh harrumphed. ‘She would not put dice in her gloves. She dropped them down her dress.’
Rhys signalled to Belinda. ‘Would you step out of the room and check her dress?’
When the two women walked out, Westleigh continued his barrage. ‘Who is to say she did not drop the dice on the floor or conceal them in the table? You want to refute what I say, but I saw her rolling the weighted dice. I called your attention to it. Why would I do so for any other reason than an abhorrence of cheating? She is cheating our gaming house, after all.’
Rhys let him go on, but only with difficulty.
Celia would not cheat. It went against everything he knew of her, everything he’d countered when Xavier suggested she was not to be trusted. She was being set up and he knew precisely who was behind it.
He caught Xavier’s eye. Xavier was perhaps the only one who could tell how near Rhys was to murderous rage. He would control it. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting control of his emotions.
He’d settle his accounts with this man once and for all. This man had made a fatal mistake. He’d involved Celia in his dealings, and in the most hurtful way possible.
Hugh looked over at his father. ‘Would you stubble it, Father? Your accusation of this woman does you no credit at all. What do you have against her?’
‘She prefers the son over the father,’ Xavier said.
That was it, Rhys thought. Westleigh had decided to make Madame Fortune a conquest, because Rhys had warned him off. Westleigh had moved from complete indifference towards his bastard son to resentment and rivalry.
The two women returned.
‘I could not find anything,’ Belinda said.
Celia did not appear steady on her feet. Rhys crossed the room to her and gave her his arm for support.
‘This is too taxing for you,’ he murmured.
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘I am managing.’
He helped her back to her chair.
‘Touching display,’ Westleigh said sarcastically.
Rhys swung around to him, losing his composure momentarily.
Ned spoke first. ‘This is enough, Father.’
‘Stand up, Father,’ Hugh ordered. ‘It is time to search you.’
Westleigh’s eyes bugged out in alarm. ‘Me? Why me? This is an outrage. I will tolerate no such thing. You forget who I am.’
Hugh released an exasperated breath. ‘We know precisely who you are. Stand up.’
‘I will not!’ Westleigh gripped the arms of his chair.
Hugh commenced to search his father’s sleeves while the man sat in the chair and tried to wave him away. Westleigh gave up the fight as Hugh searched though the pockets in his father’s coat and waistcoat and patted him to see if he could feel the dice underneath his clothing.
He moved away, his hands empty.
Celia spoke in a weary voice, ‘Check around his chair.’
Ned crouched down and felt the carpet under Westleigh’s chair. He looked up and shook his head. Hugh reached behind his father, who tried to prevent access. ‘This is a humiliation!’ Westleigh cried.
But Hugh pulled his arm out from behind his father and lifted the dice in the air for all to see.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Belinda. ‘The dice.’
‘You are an abomination,’ Ned said to his father.
‘Which is worse?’ Rhys asked Ned. ‘What you lately accused this lady of, or your father cheating his own sons and attempting to put the blame on an innocent person?’
Ned glanced away, chastened.
Xavier inclined his head towards Westleigh. ‘What will you do with him?’
‘I am not certain.’ Rhys knew what he would like to do with him, but that punishment belonged to the Middle Ages. ‘Would you and Belinda return to the game room? You can reopen the hazard table with new dice.’
‘What shall we say to the patrons?’ Xavier asked.
‘Say only that we do not tolerate cheating and that we have stopped it.’ He was not certain what other action he wished to take.
After Xavier and Belinda left the room, Rhys turned to Ned and Hugh. ‘Are you able to keep your father in your custody and return him here tomorrow?’
‘You are not going to accuse me of cheating! I will be ruined,’ Westleigh ranted. ‘I will ruin you first. I will take this gaming hell to the devil and all of you with it. I have powerful friends.’
Rhys had no doubt that Earl Westleigh did indeed have powerful friends, but the code of honour for gambling was sacred among the highest reaches of the ton. Would they tolerate even a friend who cheated his own sons at hazard and tried to place the blame on a woman?
‘You have contrived to make me look guilty,’ Westleigh went on, ‘because of her. You do not want it known that you were duped by a common cheat.’
Rhys leaned into the man’s face and his rage turned his voice low and treacherous. ‘Do not say another word about her.’
Westleigh flinched, but quickly recovered. He waved a finger at his two legitimate sons. ‘Do not believe this man! You traitorous pups. I am your father. You owe your allegiance to me!’
Hugh wheeled on him. ‘You were cheating us, Father. You knew the profits went to us.’
‘And to him!’ Westleigh pointed to Rhys. ‘Besides, I needed more money than you provided me.’ He glared at Ned, but quickly caught himself. ‘But I did not cheat. The weighted dice are not mine.’
‘Rise, Father,’ Hugh ordered. ‘We are taking you home.’
Westleigh’s two sons pulled him out of his chair and each held one of his arms.
Rhys turned to Celia. ‘I will see them out.’
But he would return to her afterwards to assure himself that these stressful events had not done an injury to her health.
As he followed the three Westleighs down the stairs, he had to admit that Celia had the right of it. Gaming houses were ugly places where greed and desperation drove men to unseemly acts. Rhys might be able to control himself and his emotions around gaming and gamblers, but he could not control others. The veneer might be pretty, but a gaming house was not so different than the desperate streets he’d been thrown into at age fourteen.
When they reached the hall, Westleigh demanded, ‘I want to cash out. I need to cash out.’
‘Let us just give the cashier the whole lot,’ Hugh said to his brother.
On their way to the cashier’s office, the game-room door opened. Westleigh seized that moment to break free.
He ran into the game room and shouted, ‘Rhysdale is making an unjust accusation. He says he will accuse me of cheating. But you all saw it! It was Madame Fortune!’
Rhys dashed into the room after him.
Westleigh swung around to him. ‘I will not be unjustly accused! I demand satisfaction!’
‘Here! Here!’ some of his cronies shouted. ‘Cannot have this!’
One gentleman stepped forwards and said, ‘I will be your second, if you wish, Westleigh. It is an outrage. We saw her cheating with our own eyes. Now we know why she always won. How many other cheats are here, I wonder?’
The patrons started to glance at each other in sudden suspicion.
‘Lord Westleigh planted the weighted dice on Madame Fortune,’ Rhys shouted above the din. ‘There is no false accusation here.’
Westleigh smiled a malevolent smile. ‘Let us settle this with a duel.’
‘A duel! A duel!’ others shouted.
‘What say you?’ Westleigh challenged Rhys. ‘We can settle this like gentlemen—’
Chapter Seventeen
Celia heard the shouting from below and feared something had gone wrong. She hurried out of the drawing room and down the stairs, tying her mask to her fa
ce as she went.
She reached the doorway of the game room in time to hear Westleigh say, ‘Pistols at dawn, Rhysdale?’
‘No!’ Her voice pierced through the room.
She ran to Rhys’s side and grasped his arm. ‘No, Rhys! You mustn’t do this.’
He pulled her fingers away. ‘I will manage it. Trust me.’
Westleigh laughed. ‘Madame Fortune, have you come to admit to cheating at hazard?’
Celia’s heart pounded. She could stop this! All she had to do was admit to cheating.
She stepped forwards, but Rhys held her back.
‘You, Westleigh, are still trying to blame her,’ Rhys said. ‘Even your sons saw proof of your lies.’
‘You set me up!’ Westleigh cried. ‘You and—and your lover here.’
‘Nonsense,’ Rhys countered. ‘What gaming-house proprietor conspires to lose money?’
Several men nodded their heads.
‘You have not answered my challenge, sir.’ Westleigh returned to that horrible question. Would Rhys accept a duel?
Because of her.
Rhys glanced around. ‘Forgive me, gentlemen. You may know this better than I, but is a gentleman allowed to issue a challenge to one such as me? I am certainly his social inferior.’
‘You are his natural son,’ one man blurted out.
The murmurs of the crowd grew louder.
‘And I am older than you,’ Westleigh said. ‘That more than cancels out the inferior blood of your mother.’
Celia’s gaze darted to Rhys. Surely he would react to such an insult.
But if he felt the blow, as she had, he did not show it. His face was as composed as if he were strolling through the room watching the gamblers.
‘What say you, gentlemen?’ Westleigh asked the crowd.
‘I say pistols at dawn,’ one man shouted.
Others cheered.
Ned walked up to his father and seized his arm. Hugh hurried over and grabbed the other one.
‘We are leaving now!’ Ned said.
As they pulled him past where Celia and Rhys stood, she heard Ned say, ‘Are you mad? We could have kept this quiet and now all London will know of it. A duel, Father? With your son?’
‘He’s naught but a bastard, Ned,’ Westleigh said.
She knew Rhys heard, as well.
Xavier walked up to him. ‘That was unfortunate. What will you do?’
‘Meet him,’ Rhys said.
She grasped his arm. ‘No, Rhys! I will not let you!’
He took her chin in his fingers and lifted her face to his. ‘I must, Celia. But trust me in this. I know what I am about.’
It was akin to what her father had said to her mother— It is something I must do.
‘Please, Rhys!’ she begged.
He walked her into the hall. ‘Celia, you were barely able to stand on your feet a while ago. You must be exhausted. When does your coachman come?’
‘Not for an hour.’
He touched her cheek. ‘Go upstairs. Lie down. Rest. I need to be visible in the game room. I cannot be seen as hiding from what just occurred.’
She nodded. ‘But promise me you will not fight a duel.’
‘I cannot promise that.’
Celia was too tired to argue. She walked up to his bedchamber and took off her mask and let down her hair. She kicked off her slippers, climbed onto his bed and fell asleep immediately.
She woke to his arms around her and rolled over to face him. All the candles had been extinguished and the only light came from the glow of the coals in the fireplace. He was shirtless and his face was shadowed with beard. He was warm and comfortable.
And comforting.
His eyes opened for a moment and he gathered her closer, so that her head rested against his heart, lulling her with its rhythmic beat. She wanted to stay in his arms for ever.
But she pulled away. ‘What time is it? My carriage.’
He gathered her close again. ‘I sent your coachman away. I told him to leave word you were staying here tonight.’
She ought to protest. Her mother-in-law and Adele would have fits of apoplexy.
But she could not care. Not when he held her, when the scent of his skin filled her nostrils, and the even sound of his breathing lulled her into an illusion that everything was as it should be. Everything was wonderful.
She fancied she could feel his baby inside her and she thrilled anew with the wonder of it. She imagined them as a family, saw herself rocking their baby to sleep while she and Rhys quietly conversed about the day.
But it would never be that way. Because she refused to listen to tales of men and women winning and losing, elated and despairing. She could not live in fear of bad luck or challenges to duels.
She did not want him to face Westleigh with pistols. Rhys could die as her father died. It was the greatest cruelty that he would not refuse for her sake, if for no other reason.
And even if he did not die, what would happen to him? An earl might escape arrest, but the proprietor of a gaming hell would certainly be hanged.
He purported to know how to play the odds, but in this case the odds were stacked solidly against him.
She clung to him tighter as tears rolled down her cheeks.
She must discover where the duel was to be held. She would stop it. Somehow, she would stop it.
She might not be able to live with Rhys and his gambling ways, but life would be unbearable if he did not live at all.
* * *
If it was wonderful to fall asleep in Rhys’s arms it was glorious to waken in them. When Celia opened her eyes he was already gazing at her. They each lay drinking in the sight of the other for several long moments before he closed the space between them and kissed her.
Silently, he helped her out of her clothing and made love to her. Quietly. Gently. So gently that she thought she would shatter under the sheer beauty of it. He stroked her body as if worshipping it, and every sensation inside her lit up like the illuminations at Vauxhall Gardens. She’d missed him so terribly that her desire burned white-hot for him.
She would have taken him fast and hard. Her body urged her to do that very thing, but his pace remained lazy and leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world.
As if this would not be their last time.
As if he were not intending to engage in a duel at the next sunrise.
When he entered her, she moaned in relief. He’d already driven her to a fevered state with his hands and lips. Now her body could take over, meet his thrusts and urge him to go faster.
But, still, he built the passion slowly and she finally surrendered to his pace, savouring every moment, every sensation.
Even her climax built slowly, like a stack of wood meant to last most of the day instead of the flash of brush she’d initially craved. Once released, it seemed as if the culmination of their lovemaking would have no end. Inside her she felt him spill his seed while she still convulsed with unbelievable pleasure.
An act like this had resulted in a new life, a baby for Celia to love. She said a prayer of thanks that her child had been created out of love. That in itself was a miracle.
He collapsed beside her, holding her as if she would disappear if he let go.
That was not too distant from the truth.
‘How are you this morning, my love?’ he asked.
He’d never before used such an endearment. ‘I feel very well,’ she responded. ‘I think you have found a cure for the morning sickness.’
He stared into her eyes. ‘Then let me treat you every morning.’
He kissed her again.
* * *
Later they sat across from each other at the small table in his bedchamber. She was wrapped in a banyan he’d lent her to wear. He was in shirtsleeves and trousers.
Over a cup of hot tea, he continued what he’d begun after lovemaking. ‘We could make a marriage work for us, Celia,’ he insisted. ‘The gaming house is temporary. No more than three years
or so and I’ll be done with it.’
He thought he was telling the truth, she knew, but she’d heard her father promise to quit gambling over and over. Tomorrow I’ll quit. Just one more game. A chance to recoup. If he won he could not interrupt his winning streak. If he lost, he still needed one more game. Then it would start all over again.
But even that would be preferable to his death.
She lifted her chin. ‘Give up the duel with Westleigh and I will marry you, Rhys.’
He frowned at her. ‘I cannot.’
‘You could! You could admit to him and the world that Madame Fortune was cheating. She could vanish, then. All who know I am Madame Fortune would have good reason not to tell anyone.’ She gave him a pleading look. ‘I do not mind giving up being Madame Fortune. It could work.’
He shook his head. ‘I am going to stop Westleigh once and for all. He has had this coming for a very long time.’
Did he mean to kill Westleigh? She shuddered. ‘I burn to have my father’s death avenged, but not at the risk to your life.’
He did not waver. ‘I said before, you must trust me on this matter.’ He rose. ‘And do not use marriage as a bargaining chip. Either you wish to marry me or you don’t. But you know marriage would be best for the child.’
‘I am not so certain.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘I lived that life, Rhys.’
He reached across the table and took her hands. ‘You need to trust me, Celia. If I tell you I will give up the gaming house in three years, I will.’
It was not that simple, Celia thought.
He went on. ‘If I say I will come out of the duel without a scratch, I will.’
Celia pulled her hands away. ‘How can you promise that? You cannot.’ Her voice broke. ‘My father promised the same thing.’
‘Trust me.’
‘Tell me how you will do it,’ she countered.
He shrugged. ‘My plan is not yet in place, but it will be. This duel will solve everything.’
Celia wanted to believe him. She supposed her mother wanted to believe her father, too.
‘No. I will not listen.’ She waved his words away. ‘A duel is too big a risk.’
‘Everything in life involves risk, Celia.’ He spoke in a low, firm voice. ‘The best we can ever do is stack the odds in our favour. Trust me to do that.’ His gaze was intense. ‘I am not your father. I’ve never trusted my life to fate. I’ve made my own luck against all the odds. That is what I will do and can do again.’
