The Mistress Enchants Her Marquis

by Christina McKnight

  Her eyes narrowed behind her mask before she chuckled deeply. “Splendid. No one will suspect who I truly am.”

  Unease settled heavily upon his shoulders as the door opened to reveal a manservant, smartly dressed in green and black with his own mask in place. “Welcome,” he said in greeting. “My master is pleased you are here. Do remove your overgarments and come this way, the game is preparing to start.”

  Sam did as instructed and started after the man, but Eli held her back and whispered, “Where have you brought me? And what game does he speak of?”

  “Heavens, my lord, can you not tell a lark at play? I do not know who lives here. Nor will any of the other guests. I overheard Payton—“ her voice dropped with a hiss when she uttered her sister’s name—“speak of the thrill of a night such as this, and I simply had to know more, see more, experience more. And so, here we are!”

  The manservant pulled open a set of double doors and stood aside for Sam and Elijah to enter the room. “Enjoy your evening. Do let any servant know if you are in need of anything. You will not know my master from any other player.”

  “Are you ready, my lord?” she asked with a wink, and he knew her mask hid her smile.

  Elijah was in no way ready as his gaze set upon the room before them. At least five tables were spread around the large space, each filled with masked men and several women dressed as if they were attending a grand ball—a masquerade ball. Two servants were posted at every table; one handing out drinks perched on a silver platter held aloft, and another seated among the guests.

  “A card game?” he asked.

  “Not just any card game, a high-stakes card game where more is at stake than coin.” Sam moved from his side, and the sway of her hips as she entered the room held his attention. “Come, my lord,” she beckoned over her shoulder like the siren she was.

  It was then he noticed her gown plunged in the back, almost to her rounded derriere. Where had she gotten such a risqué dress? Certainly, her family could not know of its existence, or Sam’s nighttime outing wearing the alluring golden creation. He strode to her side, wondering if her neckline was as daring.

  Elijah had no need to see for himself. Every eye in the room had turned to watch them enter, and he was not foolish enough to think anyone noticed him at her side.

  He’d hailed her as enchanting.

  He could not have imagined how accurate that was. His only regret was that he had, as yet, failed to request her hand as his marchioness.

  From the lecherous stares hidden not at all behind the masks of many men…and the envious glares of the dozen women in attendance, he should not wait long to ask.

  Chapter 30

  Sam stilled her nerves, pressing them down as she moved through the room, hips swaying with each step. Not that she sought attention; however, she did hope her sensual appeal had players letting their guards down and loosening their purse strings enough to afford Sam a few large hands. Her coin purse dangled at her side, full of her monthly pin money—and the bit extra she’d taken from Marce’s emergency box in her office.

  Elijah’s presence at her side, one step behind her, was felt by all in the room.

  Her protector.

  Why did that fill her with a sense of rightness?

  Never had she needed another to look after her, care for her, or in any way feel responsible for her well-being.

  “My enchanting marchioness.” His voice caressed her neck. “I fear the game will not begin at all this night with your presence distracting so many.”

  It was true. Even the servants had stopped setting drinks before guests or shuffling cards and distributing chips.

  Sam found a table with two open seats and started toward them. If her confidence were going to last, she’d need Elijah close for the entirety of their evening. The players at the table were total strangers as each followed the house rules, their faces covered with disguises of every shape and color. Dominoes, fairies, butterflies, Grecian gods and goddesses, feathered and furred animals sat at each table.

  It was like stepping into a dreamland…the princess of all with her prince at her elbow.

  “Do sit,” a man called, motioning Sam to take the open seat next to him, the other vacant chair stood two players down.

  Something in the man’s tone had Sam moving past the chair he’d motioned to and sitting between a portly man and a rail-thin woman in modest garb, leaving Elijah to take the seat next to the offending man. She lowered herself into the plush, high-back chair as a servant set a flute of champagne at her elbow.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, unconsciously lightening her normally deep tone.

  She caught Eli’s eye across the table after he too had accepted a drink—and quickly drained it before nodding for another.

  Yes, the man was interesting. An entertaining distraction and an agreeable companion.

  She stopped short of adding his talents for pleasure as her face heated at the thought. Thankfully, her golden mask did its job and hid her discomfiture well.

  How had Payton known of such a gathering? Sam shuddered to think of her young sister attending without some sort of protection against the lascivious stares. She would think only of the game at hand, not about her safety.

  “I am Viggo, my lady,” the offensive man leaned slightly forward, blocking Elijah from her line of sight. “May I request what I am to call a woman as beautiful as you?”

  Viggo? Certainly not his true name.

  “How, may I inquire, do you know that beauty lies behind my guise?” She hadn’t meant the question to be flirtatious, but the sparkle she noted in the man’s eyes told her he’d taken it as permission to set his attentions on her. “I could be pockmarked from disease or lacking teeth.”

  Sam thought she heard Elijah chuckle at her outlandish words, though he was still blocked from view.

  “It is your soul which is beautiful, my lady.” His words flowed sweet and easy as honey.

  “And if I am not a lady?”

  “You can still be beautiful, even with lacking pedigree.”

  “She is my enchanting marchioness.” Elijah announced to the table at large.

  But Viggo didn’t move his stare from Sam. “Your coquettish wordplay wounds me, my lady.”

  It was hard to determine if the man’s words sounded more like a snake’s slither or a cat’s hiss. Either way, both were repulsive. And it stung to think a man thought her so easily claimed. Sam had come for a spot of fun, not to find herself on the receiving end of yet another scandalous proposition.

  “Do tell me your evening is not spoken for.”

  “Her evening is most certainly spoken for. And the one after that, and so on, Viggo.”

  Sam gasped at Elijah’s thunderously booming voice. He was angry, yet Viggo was harmless enough and was certainly no cause for drawing undue attention to them or reason to insult their host by disrupting his party. Her stern look did nothing to keep Elijah in his seat as he stood, tapping Viggo on his shoulder to gain his full attention.

  “My lord,” Sam purred. “Do sit. It is obvious to all who witnessed us enter I belong to you.” She put added emphasis on belong, suspecting Viggo did not seek a lady but more along the lines of a courtesan. “Let us enjoy a rousing game of cards.”

  Elijah regained his seat, and Viggo turned his attention to the servant announcing the card game to be played. Vingt-et-un was simple mathematics, and Sam was admirable at figuring numbers in her head. The table next to them was set up for Hazard, favoring dice instead of cards.

  She set her coin pouch on the table and withdrew a note to exchange for playing chips, several other players doing the same. The first hand was dealt, and both Sam and Elijah were forced to give up their ante for the round. The next several hands went in much the same way with Viggo winning far more than he lost. Blast it, Sam should have listened more when Payton instructed her in card play: what hands to discard, and which to stake a sizeable pot on. Before long, only a half-dozen chips were stacked b
efore her, and she was worried her evening would end far earlier than desired.

  A miserable failure.

  Not that Sam expected to win, but her first time gambling outside Craven House should last longer than a walk in Hyde Park, certainly.

  Elijah’s chips were at least triple hers.

  One more hand and she’d request Elijah escort her to another game table, one more to her liking.

  The servant dealt two cards to each player, and Sam quickly picked hers up, holding them close to keep the other guests from seeing her hand. Two tens.

  A total of twenty points…the optimal hand was twenty-one.

  Marvelous.

  Though no one could see behind her mask, she knew the importance of not giving away her hand, a tell as Payton would say. The upturned corner of the mouth, the nervous twitch of an eye, or even the fidgeting of cards were enough to signal your confidence in your cards. She would win her first hand.

  The guests either threw in their cards, added a wager, or passed to the next player. Elijah passed, not raising the chip count, and then it was Viggo’s turn. He threw added chips in just as often as he discarded his hand—however, this time, Sam was lucky. He pushed his entire stack into the center of the table.

  It was easily four times as much money as she’d brought with her—and ten times more than what was stacked in front of her.

  “It is your turn, my lady,” the portly gentleman on her right said.

  Sam bit her lip. She still had a few coins in her handbag, but even with that, it was not enough to match Viggo’s wager. Her hand went to the opal bob dangling from her ear. She’d brought nothing else of value with her.

  Twenty was a better hand than most that’d won the past dozen hands.

  “I am happy to lend you enough coin to match my wager,” Viggo said gallantly. “If you win, you can return my funds. If you lose…” He let his words trail off, but Sam was in no way disillusioned to the fact that the man would demand she pay her debt in less reputable ways.

  She took one last look at her hand before setting her cards face down and removing her opal earbobs and pushing them to the middle with the other chips. The woman next to her gasped, her hand pressing to her covered bosom as if to keep her erratic heart in her chest.

  Elijah cleared his throat in an attempt to gain her attention. Though it would anger him, she avoided his stare and smiled behind her mask.

  “I think my opals make the wager even,” she said. “Do you agree, Viggo?”

  The other players threw their cards down in defeat, Elijah with them.

  “Show your hands,” the servant called.

  Sam gulped when Viggo triumphantly showed his cards—an ace and a ten.

  Twenty-one.

  Sam slid her cards across the table, face-down.

  Viggo chuckled, knowing he’d bested her. “It is a shame you will lose such a precious keepsake,” he tsked as if remorseful for being the one to take her opal earbobs.

  “Do not fret. I was well aware of the risk involved when I placed them upon the table.

  “I wish all men played with as much grace in losing as you, my lady.”

  She stood and noticed Viggo’s eyes narrow behind his mask when Elijah also pushed back his chair to depart.

  “Do not go,” Viggo said. “Mayhap you can fulfill your debt and retrieve your jewels.”

  Sam didn’t like the insinuation in the man’s tone, and feared Elijah knew exactly where the man’s thoughts lay when he growled.

  “Come now, pretty lady,” Viggo coaxed. “I am certain you do not wish to return home without your treasure. I only ask for a private moment with you.”

  Elijah had had bloody well enough of the vile, despicable man and his inappropriate comments. “Viggo, you have overstepped the bounds of propriety. You will apologize at once for your audacious behavior and crude manners. No noble gentleman speaks to a proper lady in such a disrespectful tone.”

  His knuckles turned white from his clenched fists when Viggo only let out a loud cackle. Three men at the table stood, deciding another game would not be had at this table anytime soon, and moved off to find vacant seats at other games.

  “Proper lady?” Viggo continued to chuckle around his words. “Your enchanting marchioness has already admitted she is no proper lady. And if I am honest, it would not be hard to ensure she becomes my enchanting marchioness—at least for one evening. I will call her any title she desires as long as she fulfills my desires.”

  “I think it wise we depart, my lord.” It took Eli a moment to recognize the tug on his sleeve was Samantha. He shook off her hold and stood from his chair suddenly, it fell over backwards, knocking into a man at the next table. “El—my lord!”

  “We will not depart until this scoundrel apologizes to you,” Elijah bit the words out, each syllable harsher than the last. “Now, Viggo…do you have something to say?”

  The offending man had also stood. A single raven-black lock of hair falling forward to cover part of his mask, his body relaxed and unprepared for the fight that would ensue if he did not issue a request for forgiveness.

  Eli had sensed he knew the man when he’d first offered Sam a seat beside him, but the man’s voice had been unfamiliar. Now, the raven hair and beady eyes…

  Lord Proctor.

  The man’s name written in bold, self-assured script on the betting book page. Had he recognized Sam behind her mask and hair covering? Worse yet, had Sam known it was Proctor and openly toyed with him?

  Suddenly, remaining a moment longer in the vile man’s presence was more than Eli’s restraint could handle. His fists threatened to lash out at Proctor, no matter how much his good sense was saying to walk away before things got out of hand and Sam’s identity was exposed.

  “My lords,” a jovial man chuckled, stepping between the men. “Do resume play or depart. This is meant to be a friendly spot of fun at the gaming tables, not a competition of force.”

  Sam had retreated a few steps, leaving her lost earbobs on the table all but forgotten.

  Certainly, it would be wise to leave.

  Eli looked Proctor in the eye with his next words. “My apologies for disrupting your evening. I am man enough to admit and remedy a situation when I am at fault. Thank you for your kindness.” It was meant for their host, but his threat was evident. “Do enjoy your evening.”

  His hand flung out and snatched Sam’s forgotten opal jewels—unconcerned with Proctor demanding their return as their rightful owner—and slipped them into his pocket for safekeeping until he could return them to her.

  With a nod to their host, Eli pivoted and joined Sam as they made their way from the gaming room. It did not escape his notice that she kept a few feet separating them as they departed.

  Was she angry or embarrassed at the man’s lewd insinuations?

  If she wasn’t, Elijah was furious enough for both of them.

  The manservant quickly helped Sam into her cloak before assisting Eli with his.

  And as speedily as they’d entered the townhouse, they were once again standing outside—alone. His horse still remained tied to the post, and the Craven House carriage was nowhere in sight. The temperatures had plummeted further since their arrival, and a bone-chilling gust caught the edge of Sam’s cloak and whipped it around her legs.

  She ripped her mask from her face, not bothering to untie it, and swung around to face him.

  He expected to see tears, anguish etching her delicate face; instead, there was only fierce rage.

  She threw her mask to the ground and stepped toward him. “How dare you claim me like a piece of chattel. I am not something to be possessed, my lord.”

  She was furious with him? “I only meant to stop the man from casting doubt upon your character.”

  “This was to be an enjoyable evening, garbed in disguise, my identity protected. The man was harmless, his words held no insult to me. He did not know me…it was only meaningless fun. The night was to be a time for everyone present to
act out of character…”

  “He propositioned you before the entire table,” Elijah thundered, removing his own mask with a quick tug. He needed her to see his face, know he only meant to protect her. “Any gentleman would not stand by and allow such dishonor to be leveled upon a woman.”

  She crossed her arms. “His insinuation, his proposition as you call it, did not fall too far from our own agreement.”

  The accusation had him stumbling back, her words cutting deeper than any dagger.

  “Companionship and reward,” she continued, closing the distance between them and pressing her body to his. She lifted up on her tiptoes to kiss him but paused a mere inch from their lips connecting. “And speaking of rewards, I do believe I owe you for accompanying me this evening, though the night did not progress how I expected.”

  He turned his face away, her lips landing at his jawline. “No. My part in our agreement was not to—“

  “Your part of our bargain has been satisfied, Elijah,” she whispered. “Your company as a distraction from my mundane life is no longer needed. You may return to Liverpool—or wherever you call home—with a clean conscience, your side of our arrangement repaid in full.”

  “This has never been merely an arrangement to me—sordid or otherwise,” he confessed.

  “Unfortunately, I only sought a few days of dalliance.”

  She could not mean that; however when he searched her face, he saw only determination. “And I sought a courtship, Samantha.”

  She shook her head.

  “I care for you. Very deeply.” It was her turn to turn away from him. “Look at me, Sam.” He reached forward and set his fingers against her chin, pushing her to look at him, to truly see what his eyes held and believe every word he uttered. “I did not come to London merely to deliver my grandfather’s collection to the museum. If that were the goal, I would have sent the lot of it with trusted emissaries and remained at my home.”

  When she remained silent, he continued, “I agree, I may have reacted excessively to the situation tonight, but I only meant to protect you from harm.”