Dangerous Desires

by Louise Clark

  Looking at him sideways, Stephanie asked softly, "And did you decipher my code, Monsieur Baxter?"

  Tony's blue eyes danced with amusement. "I must confess, the answer was beyond me, Mademoiselle."

  There was a pause. As Tony waited for Stephanie's answer, he patted the neck of the raking chestnut he was riding. The horse was both showy and spirited, but sound in conformation. He was proud of the beast, and of his judgment in horseflesh. He just wished he was better able to read women.

  The horses walked lazily, swishing their tails and playing with the iron bits in their mouths. A carriage passed on the broad path, pausing for a moment to allow the ever-curious Duchesse d'Arden to greet Stephanie and take note of her golden-haired companion. Only after the Duchesse was safely on her way did Stephanie launch into her request. "Monsieur, perhaps you remember the evening at the Freelander mansion when you found me in the card room."

  "I do, Mademoiselle," Baxter replied, shooting her a speculative look.

  Stephanie stared between the ears of her horse, amazed to find that admitting her limitations was far more difficult than she had expected. "I was badly fleeced that evening, for the simple reason that I did not know the rules." She looked over at him, a half-smile on her fine lips. "I stood behind the players for a hand or two, watching the play, and I became fascinated. In my arrogance, I assumed I had mastered the game." She waved one hand in a very French gesture of disgust. "I was wrong."

  An amused respect twitched at the corners of Baxter's full mouth. "A handsome admission, Mademoiselle. One which several hardened gamblers of my acquaintance would do well to consider."

  Stephanie rewarded him with a gleaming smile. "And so, kind Monsieur Baxter, I believe I must correct this oversight in my education. You will teach me how to gamble, oui?"

  The simple enormity of her request took Baxter's breath away. "Mademoiselle—" he said weakly.

  Stephanie lifted her hand, halting his concerns before they were voiced. "You would be doing me a great favor, Monsieur. Consider. Should I find myself in a position where I am expected to join in the play; I would be shamed if I did not know the elements of the game. I would be as out of place as an unwed girl in a fashionable ballroom who could not dance. You must understand, Monsieur, had my Papa realized that women here in England gambled with as much joie de vivre as the gentlemen, he would have taught me what I needed to know." Her voice trembled and wavered at the outright lie made in her beloved father's name. She consoled herself with the rationalization that what she was doing was for him.

  Tony Baxter was staring at her with a mixture of compassion and curiosity in his eyes. Stephanie took a deep breath before pressing on "However, Papa is in France and I..." This time when her voice broke, she could not continue. Instead, she shrugged fatalistically.

  Tony found himself wanting to agree to her scheme, if for no other reason than to bring the flashing smile back to her suddenly shadowed features. But an innate caution, so at odds with the daring of a true gambler, made him compromise. "Surely, Mademoiselle, such tutoring is the job of a guardian, not a gentleman held in thrall by your exotic beauty."

  After a moment of sheer amazement, Stephanie laughed. "Pardon, Monsieur, but I cannot believe you are so besotted with my womanly charms that you would not be a fine teacher." She shot him a beseeching look. "S'il vous plait, Monsieur, help me."

  Her slanting eyes were dark and enormous, but it was not the vulnerability in her gaze, but the determination he saw beneath, that swayed Tony. Stephanie would find someone to teach her what she wanted to learn and if he read her aright, she would not necessarily be discriminating in her choice, should he refuse. He owed it to the family to see that Mademoiselle de la Riviére did not catapult herself into a social disaster that could not be rectified.

  Then, too, there were memories of his own experiences to contend with. Too many times, he had known himself to be an inferior player to others at his table, but he continued to play from sheer stubborn pride. He liked Stephanie too much to allow her to be humiliated because a too-nice sense of decorum made him refuse to instruct her in the rules of the game.

  "Mademoiselle," he said with aplomb, "I would be delighted."

  * * *

  "A gaming hell? A gambling den! Mademoiselle—Stephanie! Are you mad?"

  Tony had every right to be angry, Stephanie reflected, watching him turn a bright shade of red that clashed violently with his dark blue frock coat. She had convinced him that she wanted to learn how to play cards simply for her own protection. How was he to know that she had planned all along to play deep and win big?

  "You do not think I am ready?" she asked innocently, shuffling a pack of cards in idle practice.

  Tony's blue eyes hardened into icy points that made Stephanie uneasily aware that he was a Prescott in all but name. Despite his charming manners and heedless flouting of the conventions, he had an inner strength that could appear at the most inconvenient times.

  "Mademoiselle, had I known you wished to frequent such an establishment, I would not have entered into our agreement. I beg you not to assume that these houses are run honestly, simply because your countrymen are the proprietors."

  Stephanie's eyes sparkled with sudden anger. It was true that many of the gambling clubs which had sprung up all over London were run by émigrés from France, and in some, the unwary were soundly fleeced. But she resented his implication that the play was not fair in any of them. Or that she would not be able to beat the odds that said the house always won.

  Arguing with Tony would not sway him to her cause, however. Instead, she peeked at him flirtatiously as she fiddled with the medallion on a black velvet ribbon around her neck. "Monsieur Tony, pray understand! I have never been to such a place and I hear much talk of them. I am curious, that is all." She smiled and shrugged. Smoothing the full skirt of her sprigged muslin gown, she added guilelessly, "What is so dangerous that you cannot escort me? I know I would be quite safe in your protection."

  Tony began to pace the length of the small salon where he had been teaching Stephanie for the past weeks. Besides the square, walnut card table and the matching harp-backed chairs, the room was furnished with overstuffed wing chairs and a sofa that was big enough for only two. The walls were covered in the rich elegance of cream-colored damask, woven with a golden pattern that resembled the lotus flower. Despite the costly wall covering, the salon was meant to be used by the family, and comfort prevailed over formality.

  "Your safety is not the issue," he protested, pausing beside windows hung with green velvet draperies.

  Still seated at the walnut card table, Stephanie spread the full deck of cards in a fan, then artfully scooped them up again with a dexterous flick of one hand. "Pardon, Monsieur, if I disagree. What harm is there in showing me yet another facet of English society?"

  Tony lifted his hand to his fashionably cropped hair, but checked the impatient movement before his fingers could rake through the thick golden strands. Instead, he strode over to the table and firmly planted himself on the chair opposite her. With exaggerated patience he said, "The harm, Mademoiselle de la Riviére, is this—ladies of your age and station do not spend time in gaming halls." Her eyes sparkled and an emphatic denial hovered on her lips. Tony hurried on, deliberately ignoring her desire to speak. "And, Mademoiselle, anyone foolish enough to introduce such a young lady to one of these haunts of vice would be condemned by society."

  "Mon Dieu! I see it all now! You are afraid of what people will say!" The smoldering contempt in Stephanie's eyes made Tony shrug uncomfortably. Eyeing him narrowly, she said after a moment, "Mais non, I am wrong. It is not people you fear, but a person!"

  Tony colored painfully again. His jaw hardened and a small muscle jumped in his cheek. "If you were a man, Mademoiselle de la Riviére, I would call you out for what you just implied!"

  They glared at one another over the inlaid walnut surface of the card table. Stephanie realized that her temper had made her push Tony too far,
but to see her goal so close, only to have it snatched away, would even try a more patient nature than hers. "Vraiment, Monsieur, why did you agree to teach me to play cards? I would like to know."

  Tony's blue eyes searched Stephanie's angry brown ones, then fell. "Why, Mademoiselle? Perhaps because, despite the differences in our nationalities, I feel a kindred spirit in you. Or, it could be that I'd hoped to impress a beautiful, exotic lady with my mastery of an art she freely admitted she was ignorant of." He leaned back in the chair, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. A small smile curled his full lips. "But, most likely, it was my cousin Nick who was the greatest influence."

  Stephanie's heart began to beat quickly. "What has Milord Wroxton to do with us?"

  Tony's smile grew pensive. "Like you, Mademoiselle, I am an only child. Nick is the older brother I never had." He laughed suddenly. "It is in the nature of young men to tease their older, wiser brothers unmercifully. I knew that teaching you how to play pharo and piquet would undoubtedly irritate my formidable cousin Nicholas, and I could not resist the challenge."

  Leaning forward, Stephanie argued persuasively, "Then why not take me to a gambling establishment as I wish, Cousin Tony?"

  The smile on Tony's lips died. "To infuriate Nick is a harmless game. For me to take you to a gambling den would be a betrayal of trust. I could not do that. Nor," he added softly, watching her expressive face, "could I allow you to visit such a place with anyone else."

  Stephanie kept her back straight with an effort, but she had to turn away to hide the disappointment that was written plainly on her features. "Thank you for your honesty, Monsieur Baxter." Her voice shook with emotion. After a moment, she rose and walked to the window, where she pushed the green draperies aside as if she was anxious to see out.

  When she was once more in control of her feelings, she turned. The movement was slow and graceful, as evocative as the tentative smile on her lovely lips. "And thank you for the lessons. Perhaps one day I will be able to make use of them."

  The words, to say nothing of the polite, distant expression on her face, were a dismissal. There was nothing for Tony to do, but to bow and take his leave. Stephanie watched him go, motionless until he closed the door behind him. Then, she seemed to wilt.

  Dispiritedly, she stared out of the window. The English spring had arrived full-blown, the clear azure sky and unsullied weather mocking the ever more disturbing news from France. The King's position eroded daily, and with it the safety of his courtiers. Stephanie desperately wanted to act, but each time she conceived of a new way to finance her dearest Papa's escape from Paris, something kept her from carrying out her scheme.

  Something, or someone?

  Someone, such as the Earl of Wroxton.

  She considered this, as she stared unseeing at the nannies pushing baby carriages and the odd horse and rider passing in the street outside. Gradually, the despair in her heart lifted, for thoughts of Nicholas revived her usually buoyant spirits. Strength seemed to flow through her.

  She would not meekly give in to this latest block. She had yet another option. It was true, it was not necessarily an option she cared to pursue, but when the need was great and opportunities few, one had to make do with what one had.

  Her option, of course, was the Vicomte de St. Luc.

  * * *

  "But Mademoiselle, how charming of you to think of me when you need help. Of course, I should be delighted to be part of your little adventure."

  Music flowed around them. Impulsively, Stephanie had decided to approach St. Luc when she had noticed him at the ball she was attending that evening. She had chosen the public privacy of the dance floor to make her request, knowing that the Earl of Wroxton was present and would see her with the Vicomte. Perhaps he would wonder why she was smiling so brilliantly at the Frenchman. Perhaps he would be annoyed. She hoped so. She doubted, though, that he would guess what she and the Vicomte discussed as they followed the intricate steps of the dance.

  After voicing her request, however, she was having second thoughts. She told herself that she should have been grateful that the Vicomte had agreed so easily, but contrarily, she remembered Tony's comment about gambling dens and her previous doubts concerning the Vicomte's innate honesty. Her every instinct was concerned by his lack of resistance and those instincts were telling her that she had made a mistake. But it was too late to back out now. The words had been spoken, the request made, and the promise of help offered. So she smiled brilliantly. "I knew I could count on you, Monsieur."

  The movement of the dance separated them, allowing Stephanie's doubts full rein. What a fool she was to entrust herself to the Vicomte de St. Luc. Was he not the man she had twice held at gunpoint because she could not be sure he would act the gentleman? Was he not the man who had coaxed her out onto the terrace at Madame d'Arden's ball to issue a lewd offer that had outraged her? Idiot! When would she learn to think before she leapt impulsively into one plot or another?

  A moue of self-disgust marred the polite social mask she wore. Lord Mannerton, who was her partner at the moment, worriedly asked her if he had done something to distress her. Had he stepped on her toe, perhaps?

  As Stephanie reassured him that his misstep did not matter, she wondered if other watching eyes had noticed her rapid change of expression. She cast a surreptitious look around the crowded room. Her eyes unerringly met the Earl of Wroxton's perceptive gaze and skittered away. A thousand curses on the man! How dare he watch her so closely!

  The sight of the Earl reminded Stephanie that she would not be contemplating this mad scheme if he had not foiled her perfectly legitimate plan to sell her jewels. Once again, her eyes began to sparkle. She cast another quick glance in his direction. For the space of a heartbeat, until the movement of the dance broke the contact, their gazes met and held. In that fragment of time, Stephanie's expressive dark eyes silently dared him to thwart her again. With a raised brow and a smile that smoldered with reckless intent, Nicholas accepted the challenge.

  The dance flowed on and the Vicomte de St. Luc was once again her partner. The sound of his smooth, insincere voice shocked Stephanie back to reality. "We must make plans, Mademoiselle, for your adventure."

  Stephanie could feel Nicholas's eyes boring into her back. As much as she disliked St. Luc, the sensation reminded her of the wordless challenge she had just issued. Her teeth gleamed as she smiled at the Vicomte.

  "I am strictly chaperoned, Monsieur. It will be difficult."

  There was a feral edge to St. Luc's smile that was not reassuring. "Outwitting your tiresome guardian will be my pleasure, Mademoiselle. And outwit him I shall."

  * * *

  The gaming hell was discouragingly ordinary. Located in a house built thirty years previously, the rooms were beautifully proportioned, but the furniture was functional rather than elegant, and the walls were painted in rich jewel tones that implied wealth, but were meant to disguise the grime left by years of neglect. Insufficient candles lit the rooms, casting a yellow pall over the tables.

  Already nervous, Stephanie was not reassured by the house, but the woman who met them at the door and introduced herself as Regine de Trouville was dressed most respectably in a primrose silk gown that was both fashionable and expensive. Moreover, her greeting to St. Luc had a warm intimacy that implied a certain closeness in their relationship. Stephanie felt her tension ease. If Regine and St. Luc were lovers, he would not bother Stephanie this evening. She could concentrate on winning the funds she needed and be gone.

  Regine led Stephanie and St. Luc into a large room that ran the length of the house. The tables here were for playing pharo, the game of chance that Stephanie had lost at so badly at Lady Freelander's. She shook her head. "No, I'd rather play piquet. Do you have any tables, Madame?"

  "Of course," Regine said, smiling. "Come with me." She led Stephanie and St. Luc through the rooms, nodding here and there as they passed. Stephanie found that she recognized a face or two as well. Disquiet crept in
as she realized that the habitués of this establishment included some of the most hardened rakehells of fashionable society. She blushed as she inadvertently met the eyes of a society matron whose reputation did not bear heavy scrutiny. The woman's brows rose with disbelief and she smiled knowingly. A chill crept up Stephanie's spine.

  Resolutely, she ignored her nagging conscience. The Vicomte had convinced her that to wear a mask would make her a laughingstock. At first she had refused to be swayed, but when he mocked her and called her a timid little mouse, Stephanie's temper had leapt out of control. In the heat of imperious anger, she announced that she had changed her mind and would not wear a mask. St. Luc had earnestly told her that her decision was a wise one. Not until that moment did she realize how expertly she had been manipulated. Well warned, she decided that tonight she would be extra careful. Moreover, she would make this her one and only excursion with the Vicomte de St. Luc.

  Regine stopped at a table. Seated there was a well-dressed man, unknown to Stephanie. A half-filled glass of wine sat at his elbow and he was dolefully shuffling a pack of cards. Regine smiled seductively at him as he rose politely to his feet. "You are in luck, mon ami, for I have found the perfect partner for you. May I introduce you to Mademoiselle de la Riviére? She is the daughter of the Marquis de Mont Royale, and she desires to play piquet tonight. Mademoiselle, Monsieur le Chevalier de Louvois, a compatriot from our sadly beset France."

  Louvois smiled gently at Stephanie. "My pleasure, Mademoiselle. Would you like some refreshments before we begin?"