by Diane Gaston
Had not their parents generated scandal enough over the years? Why should Madeleine hide? Emily’s brows knitted together. Of course, she herself had dread of scandal. Why else had she gone into the gaming hell in disguise?
Madeleine went on, ‘We must continue the deception, Emily. Please.’
‘Very well,’ Emily said, depressed. It felt like losing her sister all over again.
Madeleine gave a tentative smile. ‘But may not you and I be friends? As Lady Devlin and Lady Keating? Now we are introduced, may we not see each other a little? Or write letters to each other?’
Emily stepped forward and enfolded Madeleine in her arms again. ‘Nothing would please me more,’ she whispered.
Chapter Eleven
That night Guy departed the townhouse as usual, but waited nearby to see who might pick up Emily and drive her to Madame Bisou’s. He waited near the end of the court for more than two hours, providing Emily with plenty of time to retire, dress and escape.
Through the night mist he heard the watchman’s call, ‘Eleven o’clock and all’s well.’ The damp chill seeped into his bones. Perhaps she would not appear.
He waited another half an hour. No carriage came. Either she was not attending the gaming parlour this night or her means of transport was more inventive than he’d supposed.
Guy shoved his hands into the folds of his caped topcoat and walked a few streets to where he could obtain a hack. If Lady Widow did not put in an appearance at Madame Bisou’s, at least he could try his luck at the tables. He still had a fortune to restore.
He found a hack and directed the coachman to Bennett Street. He’d seen some players who might give him the sort of sport he needed. He could attend to that matter, even if his wife remained at home.
His emotions were much altered when he now saw Emily at home. Speaking quietly to the servants. Seated at his dinner table. Playing cards with his great-aunts. All he could think of was her transformation into Lady Widow. Because Emily and Lady Widow were the same, his desire for her had more than doubled. He wanted this chameleon wife of his with all the bone and sinew of his body.
Guy went straight to the game room. It took him a mere glance to see her, seated at a card table. All the candlelight seemed to shine directly upon her. All sound became mere harmony to the melody of her laugh. He could feel the smooth blue silk of her dress beneath his fingers. Could imagine the scent of lavender lingering around her.
She looked up and his heart beat faster. She tossed him a welcoming smile and immediately turned back to her cards.
He felt like a green lad receiving his first smile from a lady. Before this night was over, Guy would indulge in his craving for her company, try to discover if the gambling was her passion, try to discover if other seductions were her aim.
Sloane was also present in the room, Guy noticed, his eyes narrowing. Sloane collected winnings from a table of gentlemen who were all rising to leave. He saw Guy and beckoned him over.
‘Do you fancy a game of whist, Keating?’ Sloane asked.
‘I came to play,’ Guy said with some hostility.
Sloane laughed. ‘Ah, cards or for the lady? I beg you, let us not be adversaries for the time being. Shall we find two well-breeched fellows and deprive them of their money?’
Guy shrugged his assent. He’d seen Sloane play. He could do worse in a whist partner.
Sloane called over to two gentlemen standing at the faro table. They came across and Sloane introduced them to Guy as two merchants trading in fine goods throughout the Continent, goods that had once been the stock of the smuggling trade during the war. Perhaps these well-breeched gentlemen of Sloane’s had been breeched on illegal trade. In any event, they looked wealthy, judging by the cut of their clothes and the heavy gold chains dangling from their pockets. What did the source of their money matter as long as they had plenty of it?
Both he and Sloane took seats that afforded them an opportunity to keep Lady Widow in sight. A sidelong glance was all it took to watch her charming the fortunate gentlemen at her table, the ones who gladly lost their money to her.
Once the game started, however, Guy’s attention was held prisoner by the cards. These gentlemen were serious players. It would be the best sort of contest, one of wits and luck. Guy hoped both were with him. That familiar pounding of excitement drummed through him, that sense of being at the edge of a precipice ready to leap to the other side. He would either fall or land on his feet.
Guy, Sloane and the two merchants were closely matched. Each game became a close-run thing. Guy’s euphoria increased when he won. His anxiety reined free when he lost. The stakes were driven higher and higher, none of the gentlemen flinching with each increase. It had become as much a contest of who would bet the most outrageous amount of money as who would win the game. Guy felt that same burst of energy he used to feel when charging into battle, that same driving hunger to come out alive.
He soon found himself at the brink, ready to wager all his cash. Do it. Do it. See how much you can win. The cards will come. Luck is with you.
He was about to push his whole stack of counters to the centre when he heard Lady Widow laugh. He glanced over at her, a vision in her blue dress, her face shadowed by the netting of her elegant hat. She returned his gaze, creating a different sort of heat from the card fever that had almost stolen his senses. At this distance, he could not see the expression on her face, but he could tell she did not smile.
This was his wife! This alluring vision. Would she wish her husband to bet the whole? Lady Widow might laugh off such a reckless act, but he was fairly certain Emily would not.
He took a few coins from his stack instead, throwing them in the centre of the table. At the end of the hand, his opponents were the richer.
Sloane signalled for drinks, and the pretty maid who set down the glasses gave him an inviting look. Guy studied the man while one of the merchants dealt the cards. Women were aware when Sloane entered a room. He’d noticed it in Bath when Sloane singled out Emily for attention. Emily had resisted his charms then, though Sloane had briefly been one of her suitors, but she’d had the constraint of public censure to impede her. With Lady Widow and her mask, there were no such constraints.
After the next game, Sloane signalled for more drinks. Guy drank as little as possible when playing cards and his glass had remained full. So had Sloane’s. The maid brought fresh drinks for their opponents. After the fellows’ third drink, the betting became even more reckless. Guy’s heart raced, and the blood rushed through his veins, as it had when he’d engaged England’s enemy, testing whose sword arm was the strongest, knowing either victory or death would result.
Guy and Sloane had handily won the third rubber when supper was called.
‘I’ve had enough,’ declared one of the merchants, standing on wobbly feet and rubbing his hands.
Guy had won more this night than in a week’s play at White’s. The two merchants merely shrugged off the enormous loss. ‘Good game,’ they bellowed, speech somewhat slurred. ‘Good sport.’
Guy’s emotions plummeted, as was always the case after a close game, no matter if he won or lost. If he’d lost this one, however, he would not be laughing it off like these gentlemen.
‘It was the whisky,’ Sloane said.
‘What?’ Guy looked up at him.
‘You kept your head, Keating. I much admire that.’ Sloane gathered up his counters to give to one of the girls to exchange for cash. ‘Our late opponents liked their whisky. Been drinking all night. I would not have bet on our chances if they’d been sober.’
Sloane addled them with drink? It was less than sporting, true, but a device that had given them an edge.
‘Remind me not to play against you,’ Sloane added.
Guy stood as the maid brought him his cash. ‘Thought we were in it deep already,’ he said. ‘For the lady.’
Sloane laughed. ‘Dear me, I’d forgotten her in the thrill of fleecing some very clever sheep. Shall we find our
selves cut out in the supper room, I wonder?’
Sir Reginald, who sat at Emily’s elbow in the supper room, mumbled something she did not hear. She’d just seen Guy and Sloane amble in together, looking very much like schoolboy mates. Her heart skipped a beat.
They looked well pleased with themselves, so perhaps they had won after all.
While her whist opponents had played their cards badly, she’d stolen glances at Guy and Sloane at their game. She’d been enough at Madame Bisou’s to recognise the two gamblers at the opposing chairs as the genuine article, the sort who would never bother with Lady Widow, preferring to engage in real play. She’d watched her husband’s stack of counters rise and fall and had held her breath for fear he would lose his last groat.
With cards in his hand, her husband had no time to spare for Lady Widow. That should have pleased Emily, but Emily could not abide him loving cards so well.
And whether she played Emily or Lady Widow, she resented him so easily dismissing her. Emily pressed her fingers to her temple, as if the gesture might keep the two sides of her together.
She managed to paste on a radiant smile as Sloane and Guy approached her table. The gentlemen seated around her grumbled and shifted positions. They were no match for these new rivals and they knew it.
Sloane flashed his perfect set of teeth at Lady Widow. ‘You are looking remarkably beautiful this evening, my lady.’ He took her hand and kissed it, as usual keeping hold a little too long.
Would her husband take her hand? Would his lips touch its bare skin? She scarcely attended to Sloane, glancing past him to where Guy stood. Guy’s face, for one second, looked grim, but when he caught her eye, he smiled. Not as widely as Sloane, but with much more appeal.
‘Pleasure to see you again so soon, ma’am.’ He bowed and the corner of his mouth took an ironic twist. He did not touch her, however. He also nodded to Sir Reginald. ‘Good evening, sir.’
Sloane, however, was heedless of Sir Reginald and Lady Widow’s other admirers. He picked up a chair from a nearby table and set it beside her. Guy remained standing.
Would he sit with her? Would he walk away? What should she say to him to entice him to stay?
Emily’s smile remained fixed on her face, hiding the muddle inside. It was not like Lady Widow to be at a loss for words. Once she’d launched this performance of hers, she’d never lacked for confidence. Each coquettish flutter of eyelashes, each pert comment, each trill of laughter had come naturally, almost as if she really were this mysterious creature who wore masks and flirted openly with gentlemen.
But in the presence of her husband, she suddenly felt she’d forgotten her lines. She became Emily again, who relied on silence when she did not know what to say.
Sloane, without realising it, came to her rescue. ‘How do you do this night, my lady?’ he murmured in his overly intimate fashion.
She shook herself back into her role as Lady Widow, who pretended petulance. ‘How might I be? You and your companion have had no use for me all the night.’
Sloane’s eyes flicked over her. ‘I assure you, Lady Widow, I shall always have some use for you. Any night.’
Sloane’s words were shockingly suggestive. Emily shot a glance at her husband, but he’d turned his back to speak to the maid and perhaps did not hear.
She could not allow it to pass. ‘Goodness! Did you hear him, Lord Keating? I have never been so shocked in my life.’
Her entourage of admirers chirped up like a Greek chorus, Sir Reginald barking louder than the rest. They all avowed they’d certainly heard the fellow. Shocking. Shocking.
Guy turned to her, the hint of strain peeping into the corners of his eyes. ‘Forgive me, my lady. I was not attending.’
Sloane looked amused.
Emily fussed with the sleeve of her dress. ‘Well, I suppose it was all flummery.’ She sighed.
Sloane’s smile fled.
Emily glanced back at her husband. His penetrating gaze had not left her, and she felt caught in it. Sloane might undress her with a glance, but a look such as Guy Keating gave could steal a woman’s soul.
She lowered her lashes and tried to slow the rapid beat of her heart. He’d been looking at Lady Widow, she must recall. Not his wife. Still, her breath had quite caught in her throat.
‘I thought to fix a plate, my lady,’ her husband said, his eyes unwavering. ‘May I bring you anything?’
Her flock of gentlemen all assured her they would be happy to bring her her heart’s desire—as if they could.
She gave Guy her most appealing smile. ‘More champagne, perhaps?’
The others were half out of their chairs, but sat back down when Guy bowed to her and left to do her bidding. She watched him walk away, and the gentlemen around her watched her watch him.
Sloane spoke, his voice low. ‘You seem much taken with Lord Keating, my lady.’
Emily blinked and turned her gaze upon him. ‘Do I?’ She glanced back at Keating, pretending to study him thoroughly. ‘He is a well-looking man, is he not?’
Jealousy flashed though Sloane’s eyes. ‘A paragon,’ he said.
At least she had the satisfaction of making Cyprian Sloane jealous. But what about her husband? Could she make him care? If not for Emily, could she make him care for Lady Widow?
She forced a laugh at Sloane. ‘Come now, Mr Sloane, you will convince me you have a tendre for me, which I know is a mere hum.’
‘Have I not been attempting to convince you of this these many nights?’ He glared at the men around her until they all shifted in their chairs again. ‘I wonder if you gentlemen might give me a private moment with the lady,’ he said in a deceptively smooth voice. ‘You have monopolised her company quite enough.’
Amazingly, the gentlemen at her table all rose and bid her pretty words of farewell.
Only Sir Reginald hung back. ‘Feel I ought not to leave you alone with this fellow,’ he said. ‘Say the word and I won’t leave your side.’
‘Don’t be silly, sir!’ she exclaimed. ‘This is hardly a private place, and your friend Lord Keating will be returning any moment. I shall be well chaperoned, I assure you.’ It was not that she wished to be alone with Sloane, but rather she wished to limit the distractions around her when her husband returned.
Sir Reginald clutched her hand, kissing it with much more feeling than was comfortable. ‘I am at your service, always, good lady.’
When he’d left, Sloane drawled, ‘Can’t see how you tolerate that encroaching prig.’
She affected a deep sigh. ‘He is my gallant.’
Sloane gave a snort. ‘Enough sauce from you, my dear…’
Lady Widow’s brows rose at that familiar endearment.
‘I wish to speak with you before your besotted Keating returns.’
She feigned mild interest.
‘I won a small fortune this evening. Was unusually lucky.’
As was her husband, then. What a relief.
He went on. ‘I’ll give all my winnings to you—’
‘To me?’ She toyed with a morsel of food left on her plate. ‘Do not be absurd.’
Sloane moved his chair closer. ‘I was never more serious. Come above stairs with me tonight and it is all yours. That and more delights than you can imagine.’
She gaped at him, her cheeks burning with deep shock. What he asked of her was no less than Madame Bisou’s gaily dressed girls were paid to do each night. Walk above stairs with the gentlemen and dispense favours for money.
What did she care that he was reputed to be an ideal lover, an experienced pleasurer of women? He had cast her in the role of harlot.
He did not know, of course, that she was the respectable wife of Lord Keating, his recent whist partner. She doubted he would have made such an offer to Lady Keating, in any event.
She glanced at her husband still at the sideboard. Would he care that his wife had been so propositioned by Mr Sloane?
Not his wife. She forgot. Lady Widow had been propositione
d.
Sloane said, ‘I await your answer, my lady.’
She swallowed and made herself give him a direct look. ‘You misjudge me, sir.’ She spoke in a serious voice, not like Lady Widow, but not like Emily either. ‘I come to this establishment to play cards. Nothing more.’
At that moment, her husband, his expression alert, walked up and handed her a glass of champagne.
How had this encounter with Sloane appeared to him? Emily’s stomach fluttered in anxiety.
She covered it with Lady Widow’s grateful smile. She accepted the glass. ‘I thank you, Lord Keating. I was quite pining for more champagne.’ She sipped, gazing at him over the rim of her glass.
Sloane slumped back in his chair.
‘My pleasure, ma’am,’ Keating said.
His eyes captured hers, with a questioning look at first, then darkening with all the carnal desire she’d perceived the previous night. If he’d considered Sloane a rival, with such a look he was certainly placing himself in the game. His way of informing her was vastly more subtle than Sloane’s, however. And much more powerful.
Emily rubbed the edge of her mask, where it almost moulded itself to her face.
Though Emily might resent his clear desire for Lady Widow, Lady Widow was thrilled more than she cared to admit. The mask concealed who she was, but it offered no protection against her emotions. Instead, sensations that had only twice known life again poured through her. The desire to have him once more unclothed in bed with her, joining himself to her body, creating a paroxysm of pleasure she’d never before dreamed could exist.
The blatant sexual invitation by Cyprian Sloane held no appeal, but this one look from her husband laid raw the aching wish to couple with him once more. She’d not known such sensuality existed within her, that a look from a man could elicit it, making her feel alive, giving her spirit a flight to the heavens.
From deep within her came another emotion as passionate, as consuming. The searing knowledge that the man she married would never give his wife such a look. He looked at Lady Widow, not Emily. She made a bold decision. If Emily could not have her husband in bed with her, Lady Widow would. She would do more than toy with his affections as first she’d planned. She would devastate them.
