She was livid—with herself for reacting so strongly to someone who was of no importance to her. And for not putting on a convincing enough performance last night. Though she didn’t think she’d failed miserably at behaving like a male, having this man see through her disguise clearly suggested otherwise.
The only thing that gave her any pleasure was that he was so far off course with his belief that she was the Marquis de Gaillard’s mistress.
He stepped close to her. She jumped back, something she hadn’t meant to do, a knee-jerk reaction on her part that made her want to kick herself. It showed weakness.
He advanced another step. She couldn’t back away this time, even if she wanted to. She’d backed up against the tall marble table in the room.
He slipped his fingers under her chin. “Do I want to fuck you? Yes. I won’t deny that. What man wouldn’t want you?” He leaned in, his solid body pressing against hers. She leaned back away from the lure of his mouth and gripped the edge of the table. “Can you feel how hard you make me? What you do to me?”
Her heart pounded. How could anyone possibly miss that? The stiff bulge inside his breeches pressed against her belly and made her sex throb harder.
“I see what I do to you, too, beautiful Snow Princess.”
At the word “princess,” she flinched.
He didn’t seem to notice and continued. “So very alluring, yet with a cold and haughty veneer. I see through that icy exterior of yours,” he said. “I see the way your body reacts to me. You know as well as I do any carnal encounter between us would be heated, intense, and delicious.”
Other men had made comments about her physical appeal. She’d always dismissed them as empty compliments, as the flattery was only offered in front of the King. She should have done the same with what he was saying, but instead, the look in his eyes, the low timbre of his voice, and his hot hard body pressed against hers made it impossible.
And thrilling.
She swallowed twice before she could say, “Please . . . st-step back.”
To her surprise, he complied. She suddenly found him a good two feet from her, his hands back on his hips.
For a man who was as sexually aggressive as he was, she hadn’t expected immediate compliance. Though she didn’t think he’d force himself on her, she thought she’d have to insist.
He was forever doing the unexpected.
To her chagrin, without the heat and press of his body against hers, she actually felt bereft.
“I believe some introductions are in order here,” he said. “My name is Mathias de Tesson, Marquis de Montfort. And you are?”
Well, at least he hadn’t been able to learn her name. But then again, who would, or could tell him? No one knew she was here, except her uncle, and he was presently a distance away. She was careful not to venture out into the city where she might be recognized, unless in disguise. And then there were the servants. Her uncle paid them well. They knew to hold their tongues or lose their employment.
Gabrielle decided to change tactics. Holding her silence was only fueling his curiosity about her. She’d toss him a bone.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Silvie,” slipped past her lips. It was the first name that entered her mind and the very last one she should have offered him. She mentally chastised herself for choosing that name. Of her many given names, that was the one her mother, Daniel, and at times even Bernadette and Caroline called her. Only those closest to her used it.
But never in the presence of the King. His Majesty didn’t care for it.
“Silvie?” He said her name with a weighty skepticism, as though he didn’t believe her. “Silvie what?”
Fool, now that you’ve offered the name, you can’t exactly change it, can you? “Just Silvie.”
“All right, just Silvie, what were you doing at the gaming den, dressed as a man?”
“I was doing what everyone else was doing at the gaming den. Playing Basset. I like the thrill of the game. It’s exciting. And I dressed the way I dressed because I didn’t want anyone to recognize me, obviously.” She sharpened her tone, hoping he’d tire of her coarseness and leave her be.
“I don’t believe you, Silvie. There is much more to all this than you are saying.” He stepped close and gently cupped her cheek. “There is more to you than you allow others to see. Behind the tall thick wall where you conceal yourself is the real woman. One I’d very much like to know.”
No one had ever dared touched her like this. Or spoken to her the way he did. Worse, she liked the way he was touching her. Too much.
“Heed my warning, beautiful Silvie. Don’t go to the Duc’s gaming den on Saturday. For if you do, there will be consequences you don’t wish to face.”
He stepped back, kissed her hand, bade her a good night, and walked out of the room, leaving her body heated, trembling from the inside out, and her mind spinning from his ominous parting words.
“Where have you been?” Valette rose from his chair in Mathias’s library. He’d just returned home, only to be informed by his majordomo that the sergeant was here and had insisted on waiting for his return.
The man irked him. There was nothing he liked about the single-minded civil servant.
“I don’t believe I owe you a moment-by-moment accounting of my time. Do remember your place.” He didn’t normally stand on ceremony, but this man of inferior birth had the most boorish manners.
Mathias’s senior by at least five or ten years, Valette had small dark eyes and a long nose that reminded him of a rodent.
“We are supposed to be working on the Duc’s private gambling den together,” Valette said.
“No, I’m supposed to be working on it. You’re supposed to be assisting.”
“Yes, well, there were twenty men there last night. You’ve only given me the names of seven. We’ll need the rest.”
There were nineteen men there last night—and one very beautiful, very sensuous, very obstinate woman.
“I’m to be reporting on the goings on,” Mathias corrected him. “I’ve already indicated how the Duc is advancing funds to those whose luck has turned, keeping them in the game, driving up their debt and taking land, horses, anything of value from them, assisting them all the way to their ruin.”
“Yes. True.” Valette scratched his head. “That has already been reported back to the Lieutenant General. However, as pleased as he is with the information you’ve provided thus far, he needs to know who attends the games.”
“Not everyone. Just the regulars. That is my objective.”
He wished he knew why Silvie, if that was even her real name, showed up at the Duc’s Basset table. The reason was much more involved than she wanted to admit.
She was being secretive. Merde. The more she withheld, the more she spiked his interest. He could tell there were many layers to this fascinating woman. He wanted to peel them all away. He was too intrigued by her, and he wanted her too damned much. The Marquis de Gaillard was a colossal fool not to enjoy his mistress more.
He didn’t deserve her.
Clearly, he didn’t favor her, and Mathias had no qualms poaching. But Silvie would require a slow seduction. Something he was not used to.
He wasn’t accustomed to having to work at landing a woman in his bed. Yet with this woman, every fiber of his being told him she’d be worth the effort and the wait.
In the meantime, Mathias prayed she’d heed his warning and remain home Saturday night.
The last thing he wanted was to have her become a regular at the Duc’s Basset tables.
4
Gabrielle strode into the Duc de Navers’s private gaming den, feeling confident. All day she’d sequestered herself in her private apartments away from Caroline and Bernadette, and worked on bolstering her confidence and courage.
She could do this. She could. She would win back the rest of Daniel’s debt.
And she’d be damned if she was going to let Montfort scare her away. No one rattled her. Not e
ven the King of the most powerful nation in all of Christendom.
No one was going to keep her from doing what she needed to do.
Montfort may be gorgeous, but he was also overbearing, pushy. And annoying beyond words.
It was bad enough he had followed her, showed up at her home, dictated to her, and aroused her body.
Now he’d even muscled his way into her dreams. She was having carnal dreams about the man that were becoming more and more heated. Erotic dreams, in which he was doing more than just caressing her hand or cheek. He’d stroked her body, in places no man had ever touched. Gabrielle woke up each morning exhausted, her sex achy and mortifyingly wet.
As if she didn’t have enough on her mind. Thanks to Montfort, her thoughts now wavered between the diamonds tucked under her mattress, and fantasizing about a certain Marquis on it.
She’d never had a lover. Never been with a man. Never found any at court particularly stirring. And yet, Montfort was beyond stirring. He was wreaking havoc on her mind and body.
There were fewer people in attendance in the Duc’s drawing room.
The same three tables were set. She strode to the same chair she’d used last time. It had been lucky. She’d use it again. The last few days she’d observed men in a way she’d never done before, the male servants, and from her window, the men on the street. Their walk. Their mannerisms. She’d practiced mimicking them.
She wanted no one else guessing her gender.
Ignoring how itchy her periwig was, she glanced about. No Montfort. Could it be that the obnoxious man wasn’t showing up tonight? Could she be that lucky?
The banker sat down, joining the other four players at the table. Gabrielle pulled out her pouch of louis d’or. She had two pouches on her. One with the diamonds and another with half the winnings from the previous night. Thankfully, she didn’t need to risk the diamonds tonight. She’d brought them strictly for luck. Tucked in her pocket, they’d brought her great fortune last time.
She needed more of the same tonight.
Half her winnings from the previous game was still a handsome sum and more than enough to win back the balance of her brother’s losings.
The banker began dealing out thirteen cards per player. It was then she heard the door open and close behind her. A figure approached the table and sat down in the vacant chair across from her.
She didn’t need to look up. Her nerve endings tingled, already keenly aware of the identity of the newly arrived player. Dragging her gaze up, praying her senses were wrong, she was immediately captured in a pair of light gray eyes.
Montfort.
He didn’t look as though he was happy to see her. Good. The feeling was mutual. Liar, her body screamed. It was atingle with glee. And a traitor. Gabrielle fought back the urge to gnash her teeth.
A strong hand gripped her shoulder, yanking her focus up. She found Navers smiling down at her. “Welcome back,” he said, seating himself beside the banker. It was obvious he intended to assist him by being the game’s croupière again.
She responded with a nod.
“Let us begin.” Navers’s comment was to the group. “Place your bets.”
Gabrielle turned up four cards and placed three louis d’or on each, trying to ignore Montfort and her racing heart. She hadn’t been this discomposed the last time.
Mathias was making her nervous—worse than before.
Forget him. Stay focused.
The banker dealt a ten and then a five.
She’d won her couch.
Joy and confidence shot through her system. Her nerves dissolved and she relaxed her shoulders. She couldn’t help but glance up at Montfort and had to fight back her smile. He’d won his couch as well. It delighted her. Not because she cared whether he won or not. What made her happy was that the very same thing happened the last time when she’d had such enormous luck.
They’d both won their couch on the first deal.
It was a good sign. One that suggested luck was on her side—that a repeat of what happened the other night was about to happen again. Substantial winnings awaited her this night.
Not wanting to do anything to disrupt something as fickle and fleeting as luck, she echoed her pattern of play, doing everything exactly the same as she’d done before. Crooking the corner of her card, she indicated she was going on for a higher payout. She was going for a sept-et-le-va—a chance at winning seven times her bet. It was a daring play that had paid off the last time.
The banker turned up his card. However, this time her winning card didn’t show up. She watched as he took her money.
Her gaze drifted to Montfort. His expression was unreadable but his winnings were clear. He’d played it safer and won another couch.
It’s all right. It’s a loss, but you’ll win it back. The night was young and she still had plenty of money left.
Less than an hour later, she was down to her last few louis d’or. Her palms were sweaty. Her heart galloped and her head was horribly itchy from the cursed periwig.
She’d lost almost every coin she’d brought with her.
Montfort, on the other hand, was untroubled. Why should he be? He had a good-sized stack of gold coins before him.
Her luck would turn for the better. Good fortune had been missing all night and was due to show up. She wasn’t going to panic. Nor dwell on how much she’d lost. Turning up two cards, she placed her final coins on them.
The banker dealt his cards. “King wins. Knave loses.”
To her horror, her money was swept up by the Duc. Oh God! She could barely breathe. She’d lost it all. Half of what she’d previously won for Daniel.
“Sir, are you listening?” The Duc’s voice jolted her out of her whirling thoughts. Quickly she realized he was speaking to her.
“Pardon?” she asked.
“I said, are you going to make another bet?”
All she had on her to bet with were her diamonds. She needed one good win to turn things around. Dare she try? One player at the table had already bet everything he owned and lost. She’d watched, sick to her stomach as he was forced to sign over his château and hôtel. The other players at the table rose and left, all considerably lighter in the purse, but at least they still owned their homes.
She and Montfort were the only players remaining at their table.
Knowing the odds were better with fewer players in the game, she made up her mind to play on.
Did she have a choice really?
Deciding she’d risk only one diamond, she reached inside her breast pocket and pulled out the pouch of diamonds, praying no one could see how her hands trembled. Somehow she got her fingers to work and not fumble while loosening the ties.
Gabrielle pulled out a diamond and set it down on her card.
“Not enough,” Navers said.
Gabrielle frowned. “What do you mean? The diamond is worth at least six hundred louis d’or.”
“The stakes are higher than that. You bet at least two or you don’t play.”
A small voice whispered, Walk away. But she quashed the voice. She couldn’t win if she didn’t play.
Gabrielle pulled out a second diamond and set it down on her card.
Montfort placed his bet on his own cards.
With trepidation in her heart and her stomach queasy, she turned and watched the banker’s hands as he flipped two cards over. “Ten wins. Eight loses.”
As fast as that, her diamonds were taken away.
She was shaking and pulled her gaze up from the empty spot that once had her precious gems to Montfort. He’d won a sept-et-le-va.
“I’ll take payment in diamonds as well as coin.” Montfort astonished her with his request. “It will save you the trouble of having to deal with the gems, Navers,” he added.
The Duc thought for a moment then waved someone over. A man about Navers’s age had been standing in the corner of the room the entire time observing the goings-on. He approached. Like the Duc, he wasn’t wearing a mask.
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“Check the diamonds,” the Duc ordered him. Pulling out an eyepiece from inside his justacorps, the man examined both gems.
“The bigger one is worth about six hundred louis d’or,” he advised Navers. “And the smaller of the two, about four hundred.”
With a nod from Navers to the banker, the banker pushed her diamonds and the balance of Montfort’s winnings toward him. Frozen in disbelief, she watched helplessly as Montfort scooped up his winnings, dropped them into a pouch, and quit the game.
In moments, he was out the door with the King’s precious gems.
On wobbly legs she rose, murmured she’d had enough, and walked across the drawing room, forcing herself to keep to a swift walk and not break into a full-out run after Montfort.
The instant she made it to the hallway, she tore after the man with her diamonds.
Mathias stopped short in front of his carriage and raked a hand through his hair. Merde. Merde. Merde! He hated seeing the Comte de Rochemore lose everything. This was the first time since Charles’s death he’d seen a loss of that magnitude. Jésus-Christ, the man had four daughters! He’d never come up with a dowry for them now. Tonight he’d sealed their fate. There would be no marriages. No children. For any of them. All four young women would have no choice but to enter a convent and live out the remainder of their days in the cloister.
Whether they wished it or not.
Curling his fingers, Mathias let loose a string of expletives. He was so overwrought, he wanted to slam his fist into something. Anything.
This game had to stop. He wanted it to stop. But he didn’t want to be the one to bring Basset to an end anymore. He thought when Sard had approached him, this would be easy.
It was gut-wrenching.
He’d started all this for Charles, thinking this was the least he could do for him. After watching Rochemore sink farther and farther into debt at the Basset table tonight, he decided he’d done enough for his friend.
The Princess in His Bed Page 23
