Regency Wagers

by Diane Gaston

  His anger ebbed suddenly, but was replaced by a tide of remorse. If he had been thinking of anything but his crippling debts he might have recognised how out of character it had been for the colourless, all-too-proper Emily to agree to an elopement. The desperation to escape her parents must have been intense indeed for her to take a chance marrying him.

  What had he offered her in return? He was her husband, the man who ought to have cosseted her and protected her. What neglect of his caused her to risk everything at Madame Bisou’s?

  He passed her the cards.

  Emily reached for the deck, her hand brushing her husband’s. The touch jolted her as much as if a spark of static electricity had jumped between them. Her eyes flew to his, but she quickly looked back to the cards, getting ready to deal.

  She would rather have studied him, drinking in every feature, every nuance of feeling revealed in his face. She longed to see his lips widen into a smile, lighting up his eyes with happiness, but this was impossible. He was lost to her, as surely as this card game would ultimately be lost. Luck had long abandoned her.

  Blinking back tears she realised three good hands might give her an edge. The point spread after the first two parties was only slightly in Guy’s favour, but he was playing his cards with uncanny skill. The gamester in her marvelled at it.

  She tried to steel herself for the loss, though what could be worse than failing her sister and removing her mask in front of him? The thought of unlacing the silk covering her face, peeling it from her sweat-dampened brow, and seeing Guy’s shocked expression when she revealed herself, made her stomach roil with nausea.

  If luck returned, she might win, but that hope seemed suspended on a very thin thread. Even if she won, she must invent a reason for gambling on the fate of Lady Devlin Steele. How would she explain to Guy why Lady Widow would care about Emily’s sister? Or how Lady Widow had been informed of the threat to Lady Devlin’s reputation? No matter what happened, she would lose.

  The deepest ache, like heavy metal scraping her insides, was the knowledge that his regard truly belonged to Lady Widow. Why else be so furious at finding Lady Widow with another man?

  She glanced up while he pulled out cards to exchange. How foolish a woman’s heart could be! Once she’d been so eager to leave him. Now, even knowing he loved an illusion, she knew she would stay. She would run his house for him. She would economise when his gambling brought losses and debt. She would endure a thousand cuts to her heart if it meant being with him.

  He’d shown her he was the man she’d hoped he would be, a good man, a man she could depend upon, no matter his love of gambling. She remembered his arms around her earlier that day when she so desperately needed his strength. He might never love her like Lady Widow, but perhaps they could find their way to become friends. If she could just last through this one final card game.

  Her exchange was reasonably successful, adding a third ace to her hand. If she could just guess in what order he would throw his cards, she might have a chance to earn good points.

  In the previous rounds, he had worked out what cards she held and in what order she would play them. In this round, however, that talent appeared to fail him and she beat him by twenty points. Like withered flowers greeted by rain, her hopes revived. She forced herself to clear her mind of everything but the cards.

  Three more hands.

  She won again. And again! It was down to the last round. He dealt and they exchanged their cards. She declared her points and her score climbed. She won trick after trick, until her score reached thirty.

  ‘Pique,’ she said, the word catching in her throat. Her points doubled to sixty, and her heart pounded in her chest. She had won.

  They played out the rest of the cards, but she already knew she’d amassed the points she needed. Her whole body trembled with relief. Her sister was safe! And she would not have to remove her mask.

  ‘Congratulations, Lady Widow,’ he said as he lay down his last losing card. There was an odd, melancholy expression in his voice.

  It took her several seconds before she could breathe in enough air to speak. ‘You…you wished to be told the stakes.’ Like a good gamester, she would fulfil her part of the bargain, knowing it meant more explanation than she knew how to make.

  He stacked the cards neatly and stood. ‘Since I lost, it is not necessary. Unless something is required of me?’

  Another reprieve? She rose, too, but did not dare take a step towards him. ‘Nothing is required of you.’

  She could barely make her legs hold her upright. Having prepared herself for the worst, she could not conceive of escaping all of it. All she wanted now was to leave this place posthaste and never return.

  She looked at her husband, who seemed as immobilised as she. ‘Would you inform Sloane for me? Tell him that I won? It is he who must keep the bargain with me.’

  ‘You do not wish to tell him yourself?’ He returned her gaze with pain in his eyes.

  She felt the pain reflected in her own body. He would still be thinking Lady Widow wagered her body, that she had been willing to lie down with another man.

  A knife twisted inside her. In the morning she would wake up alone in her bed, knowing he lay in the room connected to hers wishing he could be with Lady Widow. He would not know Lady Widow was about to disappear forever. He would not even realise Lady Widow had been faithful to him.

  She raised her eyes to him one more time. ‘I have had enough of cards for one night.’

  He looked resigned. ‘I will inform Sloane of your win.’ He headed towards the door, placed his hand on the knob.

  She could at least spare him the pain of believing Lady Widow had betrayed him. ‘Lord Keating?’

  He stopped and turned back to her.

  ‘I would have removed my mask. If Sloane had won, that is what I offered him. That is all I offered him.’

  He stared at her a long time, his eyes unfathomable. Then he opened the door and walked out.

  Emily waited until he would have had time to reach the floor below. She hurried out of the room and down the stairs, hoping to avoid notice. From the stairway she heard the hum of voices. As she passed the door to the supper room, she spied her brother, seated with Madame Bisou, holding that woman’s hand, looking as relaxed and carefree as he’d been as a boy playing tricks on his sisters. She walked past the game room, where she glimpsed Guy leaning over Sloane, seated at a card table with Sir Reginald and two of the others. With the cards to distract them, she supposed that, in the space of a fortnight, none of the gentlemen would even recall Lady Widow.

  Except perhaps her husband. Would he pine for Lady Widow? When he regarded his colourless wife, would he wish for the charm of Lady Widow?

  She hurried down the stairs to the hall, retrieving her cloak from Cummings and fleeing out into the night to where her hack awaited her. As soon as she was inside, she pulled off her cap and mask.

  In no time she was home, let in the house by a waiting Hester, and soon back in her bedchamber.

  She could not wait to remove the green silk dress. Hester could pack the dress and cap away in the trunk, and Emily would never open it again. Perhaps she could ask Hester to sell the clothes on Petticoat Lane and keep the profits. As soon as the maid left the room, Emily would throw the mask into the fireplace and watch it burn to ashes.

  Emily took the pins from her hair, letting it tumble to her shoulders. She held her hair aside as Hester unbuttoned the dress. Hester pulled it over her head and she was free of it.

  As Hester held the gown in her arms, the door connecting her room to her husband’s opened.

  Her husband stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  ‘Hester,’ he said in a mild tone, ‘be so good as to leave. I wish to speak with Lady Keating alone.’

  Hester gave a quick curtsy, dropped the gown on the floor, and ran out of the room.

  Emily, dressed only in her corset and shift, stood awaiting him, sick at heart, but almost relieved at the same t
ime. She’d had enough of masks. When he asked her where she had been, she would tell him everything, no matter what.

  But he did not ask her where she had been. He walked up to her and handed her a paper. In the candlelight, she could barely make out that it was a banknote made out to her, allowing her to withdraw a huge sum from his accounts.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked.

  He looked so much like he had in that private room at Madame Bisou’s, but also so different. So sad, so determined.

  ‘Your freedom,’ he replied.

  She examined it again and glanced back at him. ‘I do not understand.’

  His eyes flicked over her undressed state, but she did not have the presence of mind to reach for her nearby shawl. He finally gazed directly into her face, but did not answer her. At last it dawned on her.

  ‘Do you wish me to leave?’ She could barely hear herself, her words came out so softly.

  ‘Is that not what you wish, Emily?’

  ‘No, I—’ Once she had wanted nothing more than to escape him, but everything had changed.

  With a grim expression he reached over and took the banknote from her hand, placing it on her dressing table. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let us talk.’

  He led her to the set of chairs her mother-in-law had used earlier in the day. It seemed a lifetime ago.

  Emily had draped her paisley shawl over one of them. She wrapped it around herself before she sat down.

  ‘First,’ he began, ‘I know everything. I’ve known most of it from the beginning, from the first time I walked in to Madame Bisou’s.’

  Her mind tried to take this in, while her heart thudded painfully in her chest. ‘You knew?’

  ‘I recognised you almost immediately—’

  ‘You knew!’ It was not possible. When he had gazed upon Lady Widow with such desire in his eyes, he knew she was Emily? When she peeled her clothes off for him, he knew? When he made love to her, he knew he made love to his wife?

  ‘Yes,’ he said quickly. ‘And I do not expect your forgiveness for not letting on until now.’

  Her forgiveness? Was it not the other way around?

  His words came out in a rush. ‘I did not know until tonight why you came to Madame Bisou’s. I thought it was for love of gambling. I feared it was…for other interests, as well. Tonight I discovered you were desirous of money—’

  ‘Robert.’ Robert must have spilled everything.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I saw Robert. I was rather harsh with him, I’m afraid, but he told me you masqueraded as Lady Widow to win enough money to…’ he paused and took a breath ‘…to leave me.’

  A dam of pain broke inside her.

  ‘I have the money to free you,’ he said.

  He wished her to go! Of course. She’d shamed him, seduced him at Madame Bisou’s as though she were as common as one of the girls employed there. If it ever became known that Lady Widow was in fact Lady Keating—

  ‘You need not return to Madame Bisou’s. In fact, I wish very much for you not to return to that establishment or any like it. It is too dangerous.’

  Would he believe she had already decided not to return? Never to be Lady Widow again? ‘I—’ she began.

  He held up his hand. ‘No, let me finish.’ He shook his head. ‘I wronged you from the start, Emily. I deceived you so often, but I have no wish for more secrets between us. Do not think I have not seen how good you have been to me and my family. I do not know what I would have done without you, if I’d had to concern myself with my mother, her aunts or the household. You were better to me than I deserved.’

  He had valued her all this time? Noticed her efforts to care for his family? Why did that not please her? She wanted more from him. She wanted what she’d had as Lady Widow.

  Heart bleeding, she touched his arm. ‘No, please, do not say—’

  His eyes flashed. ‘I am not finished.’ He glanced down to where her hand rested on his arm. His other hand reached over and grazed hers, but she was uncertain if he meant to remove her hand or hold it there in place.

  He looked back at her and continued, ‘I do not blame you for wanting to be rid of me and my family.’

  Be rid of him! She opened her mouth to protest.

  ‘We do not deserve you,’ he carried on, apparently willing to send her away with at least some pride salvaged. ‘But you must not take any risks. I can pay for your freedom now. I have enough money.’

  The money he won at gambling, no doubt, but she would never forgive herself if she accepted his money and later learned he was in terrible debt.

  ‘No, Guy, you must save the money,’ she spoke earnestly. ‘Do you not realise you will have a streak of losing some day? You must always keep money in reserve. If you wish, I will hold the money for you, so you cannot put your hands on it to gamble away.’

  He looked puzzled now. ‘Gamble it away? Do you think I would keep the money to gamble it?’

  She grasped his hand and held it tight. ‘Oh, you would not plan to, I am sure, but I know about this, Guy. From my father. When gaming takes hold, a gentleman will risk everything. Please let me stay with you. I can help you. I know I can.’

  He gave a dry laugh. ‘You would stay under such circumstances?’

  His laugh wounded her, but he must be made to see she could help him. ‘Yes. I know you are not like my father, but the gambling is so very hard to resist.’

  He gave her a cynical look. ‘Gambling is hard for you to resist as well, no doubt.’

  She felt her cheeks go hot. ‘I cannot deny I like a good card game, but I am content with private ones. I have no wish to enter another gaming hell in my life.’

  Guy peered into her eyes, looking so full of resolution. Her hand was warm, clutching his so tightly it was almost painful. She continued to believe him a gambler, but was willing to stay with him? She’d conceded he was not like her father, but believed him enough like that disreputable man to require her help? What a model for comparison. In his single-minded quest to save his family and Annerley—and her—he had never thought how his gambling might have appeared to her.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her, taking both her hands in his, making her look at him. ‘I am not like your father, Emily, and I am not like my father, or my brother. I…I do not claim to be immune to the lure of cards, but I swear to you, I only played to win enough money to keep us all from the poorhouse.’

  ‘The poorhouse?’ She blinked down at him.

  He blew out an embarrassed breath. ‘Another secret I kept from you. From everyone. When I inherited, there was nothing left but debt. Not a feather to fly with. The estate was in ruins, its people near starvation. My mother, my great-aunts, my sister—and, then, you—how was I to feed all of you?’

  She gave him an intent look. ‘That is why you married me, when you thought I had money?’

  ‘Yes. For the money, I admit.’ He squeezed her hands. ‘I panicked when you told me there was no money.’

  ‘So you gambled?’

  ‘I needed a great deal of money and I needed it as quickly as possible. I could think of nothing else to do.’

  He let go of her hands and stood, moving back to the chair and collapsing in it. ‘What a mess,’ he muttered. ‘What a mess I’ve created.’

  She sat very still. He shot a glance at her, wondering what thoughts ran through her mind. Forgiving him would not be among them. ‘I am sorry,’ he said in a tired, hopeless voice.

  ‘How much did you win?’ she asked.

  ‘Above one hundred and fifty thousand pounds,’ he said.

  She gasped. ‘Above one hundred…’ Her voice caught.

  ‘Take or leave a little. I’ve got an accounting. Much of it has been sent to Annerley, and all the debts I could discover have been paid. The bulk of the rest are in the funds.’

  ‘Above one hundred…’ she said again.

  He could not bear to look at her. Could bear even less that she deserved to walk out of his life. ‘So you see, I ca
n well afford for you to live handsomely. There is no reason to be trapped here with me.’

  Once more she fell silent. For so long, he started to squirm, feet and hands refusing to keep still.

  When she glanced up, she returned his gaze with the blank expression he’d seen so often. ‘I assure you, sir, I would be comfortable with half the sum on the paper. When do you require me to leave?’

  Guy shot to his feet. How had he caused her withdrawal? He wanted never again to see that retreat in her eyes. He leaned over her. ‘I do not require you to leave, Emily.’

  Before he walked in this room, he’d been intent on giving up the game, as he had given up winning Sloane’s game of piquet with her. He had decided to throw in his cards and let her go without taking any further risks, telling himself he was being honourable, not cowardly. But suddenly, he needed to play this game to the end. To give it his all. If he lost after doing so, the pain might be worse, but she was worth this one last wager. It was worth everything to bring her back to life.

  He kept his gaze steady. ‘I do not wish you to leave. I want you to stay, Emily. I want a chance to make something of our marriage, but I will not force you to stay. You must decide what you want. You. Not what you should or should not do. Not what is required of you. Not what I want.’ His voice cracked, but he forced himself to finish. ‘What you want.’

  She glanced away, but he took her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him again. ‘What you want, Emily.’

  He had not known he could risk more than Annerley. These stakes seemed higher than that for which he’d braved the gaming tables. He risked his heart. Their future.

  He let go of her and stepped away. ‘You do not need to decide now,’ he said. ‘You have the banknote if you choose to use it. I will leave you to your sleep and perhaps…perhaps we may talk more in the morning.’

  She remained in her chair. After a moment she nodded slightly. He walked to the door.

  ‘Guy?’ Her voice halted him. ‘You wagered on bedding me, did you not? They all did.’ Her voice trembled, but at least there was some emotion in it.