Gambler's Daughter

by Ruth Owen

  If Sabrina hoped the mention of Edward’s fiancee would discourage him, she was sorely mistaken. He lifted his brow in an expression that looked more like confusion than guilt. “Cassie isn’t here.” He moved closer until he stood beside her, never taking his gaze from hers. “And my guests are currently gorging themselves on pheasants and sweetmeats. They won’t notice we’re gone for another quarter hour. That will be long enough.”

  He lifted his hand, and for a panicked instant Sabrina thought he was going to pull her into an embrace. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, and set the contents on the back of the lion. The light was dim, but it was bright enough for Rina to make out the remains of one of the red cliff markers. She glanced up at the earl, her brow creased in puzzlement. “What are these?”

  “One of my men found these hidden behind some rocks on Wrecker’s Point. After you and the others left I searched further, and found the holes where these markers had originally been placed. They clearly marked off the ground at the head of the point, the ground where—”

  “Where Sarah fell,” Rina finished. She picked up one of the splinters of wood and turned it in her hand, feeling a little sick. “I think I saw another piece as I climbed down the cliff—at least, I saw a flash of red. Someone must have gone to considerable trouble to pull out the stakes and hide them. Who could do such a terrible thing?”

  Edward’s answer rang with barely harnessed rage. “Perhaps the same someone who cut your bridle ribbons.”

  Oh, God, someone meant to harm the children! Surely they could not be so vile. But as she remembered back to the conversation she’d overheard in the alley, she could easily imagine the two hired villains plotting against innocents. Anger and fear welled up inside her. She balled her hands into tight, fighting fists. “You must protect the children, Edward. Watch them every minute. Even send them away, if necessary. You cannot let anything happen to them.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to them…or to you.” Gently, he covered her fisted hand with his larger one. Even through their gloves Sabrina could feel his heat.

  “I should have believed you when you told me what you’d overheard in the village. My pride kept me from trusting you, and my stubborn conviction that you could not be who you claimed. But you were telling me the truth. You have been, from the beginning. And today, for the first time since Isabel deserted us, my daughter told me she loved me. That would not have been possible…but for you.”

  He leaned closer, his expression softening with a tenderness that was far more destructive than his blustery anger. “Once I told you that I did not believe in miracles. I was mistaken. I know because that is what you are, Miss Winthrope—a miracle.”

  He believed she was Prudence Winthrope! The knowledge that she’d succeeded in her charade should have given Rina immense pleasure. Instead, she felt vaguely ill. She dropped her gaze, unable to continue to meet his eyes. She drowned in his words, dying a little with each syllable. He was wrong, so very wrong about her. Yet she’d have given the rest of her life to hear him say the words again. A miracle.

  She closed her eyes, pressing the moment in her heart the way she’d press a rose in a book. Then, quietly and firmly, she withdrew her hand. “I really must go back inside.”

  “I know. ‘Tis not proper,“ he said, the smile in his words sending thrills down her spine. “But I wanted to explain…to make you understand about the thousand pounds. I did not intend it as a reward for saving my daughter. It is yours by right as a Trevelyan. It is my way—a poor one, I’ll grant you, but the best I could come up with—of putting all the doubts about you to rest. I wanted to show the whole countryside that you belong at Ravenshold, with your family.”

  Family. He couldn’t know what that word meant to a woman who had been lonely for so many years. Even the value of the Dutchman paled by comparison. To have so much wealth within reach…but it was Prudence’s wealth, not hers. Never hers. “I must—”

  “Go back. I know. There is just one more thing. I…well, I…Damn!” He stroked back his hair, looking so endearingly frustrated that it ached Rina’s heart. “It has been a long time since I have had dealings with…an honest woman. My behavior toward you has been unconscionable, and the fact that I was trying to protect my family does little to justify my actions. I cannot undo what I have done, but I can tell you that I regret it with all my heart. And I would be pleased…and honored…if you would accept my hand in friendship.”

  Sabrina stared at his offered hand, unable to move. His friendship. She could have accepted his smile, his belief, even his passion more easily. She blinked back tears, her young heart breaking for the life she wanted, but which she could never have. He’s an earl, rich as Midas, and pledged to another, better woman. There could never be anything between us. Never…

  “I see.”

  The two cold words sliced through her private sorrow. She looked up, and saw the bleak, hollow eyes of the man she’d met on her first day at Ravenshold. Too late she realized he’d taken her silence as a rejection. She shook her head. “No, you do not see. I—”

  His roar cut her off. “For God’s sake, don’t be kind. It was foolish to think you could forgive me, that you could care, after I’d—” He took a deep breath, his words bleeding with a pain even his stone-hard expression couldn’t hide. “Be assured I shall never foist my attentions on you again, Miss Winthrope. You may return to the ball. I will follow in a few minutes.”

  She knew this was the best way. She was a thief and an impostor. He was an aristocrat engaged to another aristocrat. She had nothing to give him, nothing at all. Mechanically, she forced her legs to move. He clasped his arms behind his back, standing still as the stone lion as she passed.

  Slowly, she started up the steps that led to the house. It was the best way, the only way that made sense. What did it matter if her heart was breaking? She’d get over it. She’d survive, just as she’d survived all those years in her stepmother’s house. And in the years to come, when she looked up at the moon, she would remember this night as a dim memory, without the aching sorrow, without the remembrance of the lost emptiness in his eyes, and without the knowledge that she’d walked away from the man she loved, letting him believe that she despised him. She’d—

  “Oh, hell!” she cried as she whirled around and threw herself into his arms.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Edward had experienced many surprises in his life, but the shock of the reserved Miss Winthrope catapulting herself against him and showering sweet, urgent kisses on his face beat them all. He staggered back against the stone lion, unbalanced by both her weight and her sudden, inexplicable passion. For a heartbeat he thought he’d accidentally stumbled into one of the fairy rings that had plagued his Celtic ancestors and been sucked down into the madness of the Otherworld. Then her lips found his, and he was consumed by another kind of madness.

  He was used to the practiced, calculating kisses of experienced courtesans, but her eager, untutored caresses drove him mindless. She was lush and wild and erotic in the way only a true innocent could be. He sank his fingers into the thick silk of her hair, guiding her head to a better angle. Then he fused his mouth with hers in a hard, desperate kiss.

  She smelled like the night, like the dark earth of the garden and the salt wind from the sea. He puller her hard against him, feeding on her sweetness, groaning as her lush, incredible mouth made silent promises. “Prudence,” he growled against her lips. “Sweet, unpredictable, wonderful Prudence.”

  Her soft cry of pleasure exploded through him.

  He was mad to touch her, to ravage her skin the way his tongue ravaged her mouth. He tore off his gloves and grasped her shoulders, caressing their silk softness with the rough pad of his thumbs. He whispered his touch along the elegant length of her neck, felt the hot pulse of desire throbbing at the base of her throat. His hands skimmed down her back, pressing her against him as he’d longed to do during their dance. Another tiny cry escaped her lips. He caught the so
und in his throat, savoring her pleasure, her surprise, her surrender.

  For years he’d lived without caring, seeing his life as something to be endured rather than lived. He’d accepted the fact that nothing would ever touch his heart again. But now the old parts of him creaked to rusty life, stoking a fire a hundred times hotter than the giant steam boiler at Wheal Grace. He bent back her head and slowly savaged her luxurious mouth. By the time he raised his head they were both trembling.

  He wrapped her in his arms, finding another kind of pleasure in the simple joy of holding her. Sighing, he rubbed his cheek in the heavenly softness of her hair. “I thought you hated me.”

  “I tried,” she murmured against his shirt front.

  Her unflattering honesty made him laugh out loud. Lord, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. He lifted his head and breathed in the scent of the cool night air, wondering how the world could seem so much sweeter and richer with her in his arms. The tight, torturous chains that bound his heart began to snap. He felt like a boy again, with all the wide world in front of him to discover.

  She’d given him this, his hope, his belief. Everything seemed new—the sights, the scents, the sounds of the night. He heard the call of a raven, the restless grumble of the sea…and the distant strains of a violin.

  The ball. Damn.

  Reluctantly, he pushed her out of his arms. “We must return to our guests. We’ve been gone longer than I intended. Your reputation—”

  “Hang my reputation!”

  She gripped the lapels of his coat, staring up at him with brilliant, desperate eyes. “Please, I cannot bear this to end. Not yet. I don’t care about the guests, or the ball. Lord help me, I don’t even care that you’re going to marry Lady Rumley—”

  “I’m what?”

  His roar brought her tumble of words to a standstill. She let go of his coat and backed away. “You’re to m-marry Lady Rumley. Amy told me so. And Cassie herself said that she and I were going to be related.”

  “And you will, when Paris marries my sister. Though it’s doubtful whether the minx will live that long.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I do love Cassie, but as a brother. Lord, I’ve known her since she was twelve. Our feelings for each other have never passed beyond mutual regard. Amy might have bothered to ask one of us before jumping to absurd conclusions.”

  Her words came out as a strangled whisper. “Then…you are not intending to marry her?”

  “No. I most assuredly am not.” He put his hand under her chin. Gently, he lifted her gaze to meet his—and was surprised to find them bright with tears. “Why are you crying? I thought you would be pleased that I am not engaged.”

  “I am. And I’m not crying,” she argued, though even as she said it she reached up to scrub away a tear. “I…caught a bit of dust in my eye. ‘Tis nothing.”

  Like hell. Her small, brave face was tight with misery. She was breaking apart inside, and Edward hadn’t the faintest idea why. Too late he remembered the high price of caring for someone, of feeling another’s unhappiness twice as keenly as his own. He cupper her cheek and used his thumb to smooth away a tear, feeling awkward and helpless. I failed so miserably before, so bloody miserably. “Prudence…darling…if you’re in some kind of trouble, let me help—”

  Another note of the violin shivered through the air.

  He cursed, dropping his hand. “We must go in. Even the kindest tongues turn cruel when it comes to gossip. But this conversation is far from over. We will continue this in the morning.”

  “In the morning,” she repeated dully.

  “Yes. A sunrise ride. We can watch the dawn break over the cliffs. Promise me you will not forget.”

  “Forget?” She lifted her hand, gazing at him with more tenderness than he’d thought could exist in this world. “I shall not forget a minute of this night, not a moment. But before I go—please, kiss me.”

  “That…would not be wise,” he managed, gripping his hands behind his back.

  “I know it would not be wise,” she agreed, her lips turning up into one of her rare, hesitant smiles. “Yet I ask it all the same. Please, kiss me once more. Kiss me…as if you were doing it for the last time.”

  Edward had always thought of himself as a strong man—driven and determined, ruthless when necessary. But against her smile he was defenseless. He didn’t understand her request any more than he understood her tears, but it didn’t matter. At that moment he’d have climbed the sky and given her the moon if she’d asked for it.

  He took her in his arms and held her against him, wondering how someone so fragile had managed to break down all the high walls he’d ringed around his heart. Probably her courage. Certainly her honesty. Not to mention her sweet body and her bloody marvelous mouth. Nobility warred with lust inside him, and lust won handily. Groaning, he lowered his lips toward hers. “To hell with the guests. I want—”

  The high-pitched scream split the night. She gasped and pulled out of his arms, looking toward the cliffs and the darkness beyond. “The ghost,” she whispered.

  “I wish to God it were,” the earl answered, his voice dry as dust. “It’s Wheal Grace’s siren. There’s been a cave-in at the mine.”

  It was like standing at the gates of hell.

  Sabrina leaned heavily against the door frame of the manager’s office and watched as a line of sooty smoke cut across the rose-colored sky. The smoke billowed out of the whim engine like devil’s breath, as it labored to bring the timbers, stones, and injured miners up from the collapsed passageways. So far two levels had been cleared, and though there were many injuries, no lives had been lost. Yet.

  “Water.”

  Shaking off her apprehension, Rina turned toward the faint plea. She and a half dozen other women were doing what they could to tend the wounded in the makeshift infirmary, to treat their injuries and ease their minds. The second task was by far the most difficult. Pasting an encouraging smile on her face, Sabrina poured a measure of water into a tin cup, then knelt down beside the young man who’d called out.

  Gently, Rina lifted his head to the cup, careful not to jar the splints that Dr. Williams had wrapped around his broken arm and leg. “Easy, Tom. The doctor said to take the water in slow gulps. There’s a good lad.”

  The boy took a final gulp, then lifted his gaze to Rina’s. “Please,” he whispered weakly. “Is there any word on my da?”

  Tom’s father had been on the lowest level when the cave-in occurred, along with a half dozen others. She stroked back the boy’s dust-coated hair, wishing she had a better answer. “There’s no word yet. But they’re loading the whim lift with equipment now, and should be starting down within the quarter hour. I will let you know as soon as I hear. Now you try and get some rest.”

  She started to get up, but the boy caught her hand, holding it tight. “Bless you, miss,” he breathed. Then, exhausted, he fell back to the pallet and into a fitful sleep.

  Rising, Sabrina set the cup back on the table, then wiped her palms on the skirt of the serviceable cotton dress she’d changed into after the ball. She looked around at the room of broken and battered men, her heart aching. A few hours ago these men had been having supper with their families, or joking with their mates in the local pub, before going to work on the night shift. Now they were fortunate to be alive. Rina rubbed her arms, thinking how life could turn on a whisker. A person’s whole world could be shattered by a bit of falling stone. Or a single midnight kiss.

  She hadn’t seen Edward since they’d left the garden, but she’d heard about him from the other men. Apparently he was coordinating the rescue effort, marshaling the men and machinery like a general. He’d put himself in the thick of danger, joining the rescue workers as they traveled time and time again down the mine shaft to free the trapped men.

  The miners spoke of his courage and resourcefulness. The Cousin Jacks had even begun to make up verses about the “Black Lord with the heart o’gold.” Rina tried to feel the same
appreciation for the earl’s courage, but all her emotions were blotted out by chilling fear. Not a second went by that her heart didn’t pound at the thought of Edward in such terrible jeopardy. And as she heard the grating grind of the whim as it prepared to make another trip down the shaft, she pressed her fist to her lips, and prayed that the shored-up tunnels below would hold up just one more time—

  A light hand on Rina’s shoulder distracted her from her thoughts. “Cousin, you’re looking pale again.”

  Sabrina turned, and gave Amy her best attempt at a smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Piffle. You are at the end of your tether, and the doctor says the same,” she added, nodding toward the corner where Dr. Williams was binding up an arm wound. “Go back to Ravenshold and get some rest.”

  “Perhaps I do need rest. But they need me more,” Rina replied, glancing around the crowded sickroom. “Be truthful—could you leave now, when so many people need your help?”

  Amy glared at her, looking so like her older brother. “Honestly, you are the most stubborn person I have ever met, with the exception of Dr. Williams. Will you at least step outside for a few minutes and take some fresh air?”