Dangerous Desires

by Louise Clark

  Stephanie curtsied politely. Her heart was beating rapidly, now that the moment had come for her to put her plan into action. "Thank you, Monsieur, but no."

  St. Luc touched Stephanie lightly on the shoulder. "I will leave you now, Mademoiselle. My desires tonight run to more dangerous entertainments. Madame de Trouville, shall we go?"

  "Of course," Regine said, smiling. "If you wish anything, Mademoiselle, pray do not hesitate to ask the servants."

  They turned away, leaving Stephanie on her own. She swallowed then, and said, "Shall we begin, Monsieur?"

  Louvois signaled his agreement with the flourish of a bow. At first, the play was fairly even. Stephanie lost a hand, then won one, then lost again. As the evening progressed, however, she began to win with more and more frequency until the little pile of gold in front of her grew to a substantial mound. The candles in the gleaming silver holders burned low and were replaced, once, twice, a third time. The crowded rooms gradually thinned of company and St. Luc reappeared from whatever place he had secreted himself for the evening. Patiently he settled in to watch the play between Stephanie and the Chevalier. When at last the guttering flame wavered once again, Louvois tossed down his cards.

  "Your pardon, Mademoiselle, but I fear I must leave you for the nonce." He smiled ruefully. "The cards have not been kind to me this evening, but I beg you, Mademoiselle, to allow me the opportunity to win back what I have lost tonight."

  Stephanie inclined her head graciously, the pleasure of success glittering in her eyes. "Of course, Monsieur."

  Behind her, St. Luc smiled with satisfaction. He, too, was flushed with the pleasure of victory, but his was enhanced by the sweet taste of revenge. The pigeon, he thought, was fairly caught.

  Chapter 7

  The library at Wroxton House was an intimidating room, Tony Baxter decided, as he was ushered inside by a very correct Baines. Odd, he had not noticed that particular atmosphere for many years.

  Not that the library was dimly lit or filled with dark, heavy furniture. On the contrary, natural light flowed in through the tall French windows that filled one wall of the almost square room. Moreover, the furniture, including the large graceful desk positioned in front of the windows to make use of the sunshine, was constructed of a light wood, maple or perhaps cherry, which further brightened the room. The bookcases which lined the wall opposite the fireplace were of the same wood, and the chairs and sofa near the hearth were upholstered in pale blue and white stripes to match the walls hung with silk. No, he could not blame the atmosphere on the room itself. It stemmed from his own guilty conscience.

  He remembered similar feelings during childhood visits with his mother. Thoroughly subdued by her whispered instructions on what he should say and how he should act, he had cowered as far away from the big desk as he could and hoped that his uncle would not notice he was there, not understanding why the old man would dislike him so intensely, but too overawed to attempt to find out.

  There were other, happier memories in this room, though. As he had grown older, Tony had discovered that the awesome uncle who had terrified him as a child was simply a man whom his mother felt obliged to impress and who was unable to deal with small children. He had been more at ease with a youth, and he had done his best to get to know his nephew. Tony had learned to love his awesome relative and was truly saddened when the Earl had died at an unexpectedly early age.

  The mood in this comfortable room had been somber on the day the family had gathered to hear the reading of the will. The library had been very much the Earl's room, and his absence was keenly felt. Tony could still hear the sobs that his mother had been at such pains to stifle for fear of further distressing Aunt Madeleine, and see the way that she had clutched his father's hand for support. That day, Nicholas sat awkwardly in the chair behind the long tawny desk while the will was read. Though Nicholas was older than Tony, he was still a young man, unsure of himself in his new position, but proudly trying not to let the family see his weakness.

  There was no weakness in the man sitting at the imposing desk now. Nicholas was bent over papers strewn across the surface, the expression on his hard features intent. He had doffed his coat and was comfortably attired only in his shirt and a silver-white waistcoat. The neckcloth at his throat was loosely knotted and his black hair was not tied at his nape as it usually was. It fell to his shoulders, thick and slightly waving. Somehow, the style made Nicholas look different—dangerous and untamed. Tony shook himself mentally. His conscience was investing his cousin with a menace that was not there. He would remember happier times, like his first Season, when Nick had taken him under his wing and introduced him to the pleasures of society.

  That had been a memorable time, full of laughter, admissions over brandy before the fire in the big room, plans and advice. He and Nick had been sought after by every hostess with a marriageable daughter that spring, and during those months, Tony saw that Nicholas had come to terms with his new position, learning how to use and control the power he had inherited. Tony had found a new layer being added to the affectionate friendship he felt for his cousin, and that was admiration.

  The one intense Season had been enough for Nick. He had hated the attention lavished on them by those seeking to find their own route to wealth and power through the new Earl of Wroxton and his equally wealthy cousin. While Tony had remained in London, enjoying the simpering attention paid him, Nick had retreated to the safety and comfort of his estates to immerse himself in the simple rewards of land management. Tony suspected that he would still be there if Mademoiselle de la Riviére had not arrived on their aunt's doorstep, creating yet another obligation for Nick to fulfill.

  With Nicholas was Gideon, Lord Broughton, seated on the other side of the handsome desk. Gideon had dragged one of the upholstered chairs by the fireplace over to the desk, so that he, too, could pore over the papers that Tony had noticed earlier. Gideon was dressed more formally than Nicholas, in a dark, chestnut brown frock coat that emphasized his stocky build and made him seem somehow more forceful than he did when Cousin Honoria was by his side. Gideon was a power to be reckoned with in the Foreign Office, of course, but Tony thought that, once again, guilt was rearing its ugly head. He had better confess, or he would be imagining his whole family was not what it seemed.

  As Baines quietly closed the door behind Tony, Nicholas stood. Tony forgot his conscience long enough to notice that Gideon quickly stacked the papers they had been scrutinizing and shoved them into a leather portfolio, but as Nick advanced toward him he stashed the little incident away to be mulled over at a more appropriate moment.

  "Tony, this is a pleasant surprise," Nicholas said, taking his cousin's hand and clapping him on the shoulder affectionately.

  Gloom overtook Tony. Not as much of a surprise as what I'm about to tell you, he thought ruefully. Stephanie's demand that he take her to a gambling den had haunted him for days. In his experience, well-bred young women did not actively seek to fulfill their desires if the men of their family—and Tony considered himself part of Stephanie's extended family due to her relationship with Nicholas—refused to provide them with a desired outing. But he had already had enough experience of Mademoiselle de la Riviére to realize that she was not one of the passive creatures he was used to. Her life had been one of dangerous crises, which she had survived through determination and courage. He feared that his refusal would be nothing more than a setback to Stephanie. Sooner or later she would find someone who would take her to a gaming house. And if she did not, she would most likely go by herself.

  He shook the Earl's hand, said hello to Gideon, then announced baldly, "Nick, we've got trouble." His cousin did not even blink. Admiration fought with annoyance in Tony. He decided that managing country yokels must more difficult than he had ever suspected.

  With the easy grace that made females of all ages eye him approvingly, Nicholas strolled over to the console table by the fireplace. He gestured to the cluster of crystal decanters that adorned th
e table's surface. "Wine, Tony?"

  Tony found the Earl's nonchalance disconcerting, but he followed his cousin's lead. "I think that would be in order." Out of the corner of his eye, as he watched Nicholas pour, he noticed Gideon quietly slip the leather case between his chair and the desk leg, then lean back in a relaxed position that was nothing more than a pose. The tension in the room, despite the surface calm, was palpable.

  Offering Tony a glass of wine with a hand as steady as a rock, Nicholas suggested that they retire to the thickly upholstered furniture by the fireplace. He smiled faintly at Tony. "I think," he said gently, "we would all prefer to be comfortable while we talk."

  "Amen," Tony said, this time missing the interesting look that passed between the Earl and his brother-in-law.

  When they were seated Nicholas took a sip of his own wine and said, "All right, Tony, pray be so kind as to define 'trouble'."

  Now that the moment had arrived, Baxter found himself without the words necessary to describe the situation. He stared at the rich crimson liquid in his glass and wondered where to start. Simplicity seemed best. "Mademoiselle de la Riviére," he said at last.

  Nicholas shot Gideon a glance so full of reluctant amusement that Baxter suspected the lady had been the subject of previous conversations between the two men. "So," Nick said to Tony. "Has the pupil thoroughly trounced her teacher?"

  Tony gasped. "How did you know I was instructing the lady in how to play cards?"

  "My dear Tony." Nicholas paused to drink wine, then continued with deliberate emphasis, '"While Mademoiselle de la Riviére is under my protection, I make a point of knowing whom she is with and what they are doing."

  "Then it will come as no surprise to you that the foolish creature is determined to visit a gaming hell—with whomever will take her, for I refused!" Tony noted with satisfaction that Nick's hand tightened around the stem of his wineglass. Pressing his advantage, he continued, "I saw her dancing with St. Luc the other evening, and today heard rumors that he had taken her to a house run by French émigrés. The fellow is low enough to stoop to such an act and then to boast of it. I hear he's connected to some people whose reputations do not bear scrutiny."

  "St. Luc," Nicholas muttered. He looked at Gideon. "So that's where the little viper disappeared to last night. A gambling den. With Stephanie in tow. Damnation!"

  With his news of ill-tidings delivered and his conscience clear, Tony was free to consider the interesting nuances flowing between Nicholas and Gideon. He cocked one eyebrow thoughtfully, a habit he had unconsciously picked up from Nicholas. "How fascinating. You have been watching the Vicomte de St. Luc, cousin mine. And you, Gideon, are somehow involved." He paused, waiting for either man to deny his remark. When neither did, his eyes gleamed with excitement. "I knew that Nick was interested in the fellow, of course, but I'd assumed it was because of his position in Mademoiselle de la Riviére's life. It seems I was wrong!"

  Nicholas tossed down the remaining wine in his glass, and ignored Tony's conjecture. "They'd make sure she won, of course," he said to Gideon.

  "Of course."

  Reduced to the role of spectator, Tony noted with fascinated interest that while Gideon's expression had hardened, Nick now exuded a force all the more dangerous because the fury behind it was contained and directed, not racing out of control. Without any effort, he now dominated the little group. His hard decisiveness demanded action, but that subtle restraint in his makeup promised that all the possible ramifications would be considered before any endeavor was begun.

  Power was something Nick had inherited along with his title and the Wroxton wealth, but this was something different. He possessed an inner strength that had been honed in dangerous circumstances. What the devil was Nick up to on those estates of his? And how did it connect with Gideon's work in the Foreign Office?

  "And they'll strip her of every penny when she goes again," Nick continued grimly.

  "Of course," Gideon agreed again, the mildness of the words belied by the hard anger in his eyes.

  "She needs someone to protect her."

  And you see yourself as the one to do it, cousin, Tony thought, now enjoying himself thoroughly. He sauntered over to the console table and picked up the decanter, which he considerately brought back with him so the others could also fill their glasses. "Another?" he asked, holding up the decanter.

  Nicholas frowned, his thoughts on the problem of Stephanie and the Vicomte. Absently he nodded. As Tony poured, Nicholas murmured, "He's more dangerous than we thought."

  Gideon shot a frowning glance at Tony, who smiled guilelessly and kindly refilled his glass. Gideon said to Nicholas, "So I am beginning to understand. But not, I think, in the manner we'd initially imagined."

  Lost in thoughts that had turned inward, Nicholas seemed to have forgotten that his cousin Tony was still in the room. He said softly, "Stephanie's father, the Marquis de Mont Royale, is an important factor in the politics of the new France, though he does not have the prominence of a Mirabeau. The King seeks his advice and, if the timing is right, will follow it. The Republicans would like to remove him, for he is known to be moderate in his stand and moderation is the only avenue that will save Louis's throne."

  Tony felt a chill. Nicholas was staring beyond them, deep into some distant place where they could not go. It would not be difficult to believe he was seeing Paris and the Tuileries Palace in his mind's eye. Bits and pieces of information began to fall into place in Tony's brain. All those months, he thought, all those months when Nick was supposed to be in the country, he had actually been in France. Was it possible?

  Whether Nick had been out of England or not, he was certainly au courant with happenings in France. As Tony considered his cousin's last statement, he was appalled by the conclusion he came to. "But St. Luc is an aristocrat! An émigré! He fled the revolution rather than stay and accept it."

  Gideon said heavily, "Men like St. Luc have no loyalty—to anything. They exist simply to save their own skins. If the revolutionaries flattered him and promised enough, the Vicomte de St. Luc would join them in a moment."

  A wholly unexpected shiver inched up Tony's spine. He said slowly, "Mademoiselle de la Riviére is too upright—too innocent—to see such evil in another."

  "She is too honorable," Nicholas said, the pride in his voice unmistakable. His mouth was set firmly into a grim line. His eyes were a cold pale blue. "You may rest assured that I will not let him sully her."

  Tony grinned, the sudden dangerous tension in the room pumping pleasurably through his veins. "My services are at your disposal, cousin. What can I do?"

  * * *

  Timing, in any delicate situation, was of paramount importance, and as Nicholas faced Stephanie over the dinner table, he knew he had made a serious miscalculation.

  "Mon Dieu! I think you must be jealous, milord Wroxton." She laughed, her dark eyes sparkling with engaging devilry. She was still flushed with the pride of her successful visit to the gaming club, and not prepared to accept his warning that she was being manipulated, no matter how carefully phrased or delicately issued.

  Nicholas clamped down on the angry reply hovering on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he raised one black brow. "Jealousy is not an emotion I am ever likely to feel for the Vicomte de St. Luc. Contempt, perhaps. Dislike, certainly. But to feel jealousy, I would have to compare myself to him, and that is impossible."

  Stephanie's eyes widened with delighted amusement and a further provocative sally hovered on her lips. Madeleine hastily intervened. "To my knowledge the Vicomte is an unremarkable gentleman, but lately..." She paused to sip the claret that accompanied the roast sirloin of beef that was their main course. "Lately, I have heard rumors about the man that disturb me."

  "Such as?" Nicholas said quickly.

  His aunt frowned at his vehemence. "St. Luc is reputed to be involved with some very unscrupulous people." She looked pointedly at Stephanie. "People who would not hesitate to harm an innocent young girl."

/>   Stephanie bridled. "I do not think—"

  "Such as people who run gaming hells which fleece the unwary?" Nicholas interjected ironically, abandoning care.

  "Exactly."

  Stephanie refused to be intimidated. "Bah! This is ridiculous! The Vicomte is perfectly respectable..."

  "Is he?"

  "He is not well respected by the senior members of the émigré community," Madeleine added pointedly. She placed her knife and fork on her plate and folded her hands thoughtfully together. "There is, of course, much jealousy in the ranks of those who have left their homeland. Bickering about precedence, which is based on when the person departed France, ostracizing those who stayed in an attempt to make the new system work. Pettiness abounds."

  "What you are suggesting is absurd!" Stephanie burst out. "The Vicomte was amongst the first to reach England. His position is in the forefront of the community!"

  "Exactly," the Dowager said again, deep concern in her voice. "His position should be beyond reproach, but it is not. I have to wonder if the rumors are true."

  "Rumors are the weapons of those who feed off the power of others," Stephanie said, repeating a statement she had heard her father issue time and again. "I will not be classed in their midst!" Though her words were bold, she was uneasily aware that she, too, had doubted the character of the Vicomte, more than once. But doubt the man or not, he was useful as long as she took precautions to ensure that she remained in control of every situation.

  Nicholas leaned back in his chair. "I take it we can rest assured that you will be accompanying the Vicomte to his gambling club again?"

  Stephanie lifted her chin, her expression haughty, but her eyes troubled. "You can."

  "Then permit me to join you there." Nicholas allowed a small, taunting smile to curl his lips. Lazily, he threw his napkin onto the gleaming surface of the table. It lay there, like a gauntlet thrown down in challenge. Metaphorically, Stephanie picked it up.

  "I have nothing to hide, milord. The house is quite unremarkable and I have seen some of the finest members of society there. Yes, pray do visit with me this evening. I promise you I shall not be taken advantage of." She shrugged. "If I lose, it will be because of my own lack of skill against others who are better players, not because the deck is marked, or some such thing."