Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  "Throw competition my way?" Dominic inquired dryly.

  A belligerent expression in the tawny eyes, Zachary muttered, "Why not? Lissa's my sister and I didn't want you to make her unhappy."

  Dominic's amusement fled and his voice thick with emotion, he said, "I have no intention of ever making Melissa unhappy again, and if she will let me, I have every intention of spending my life showing her precisely how much she means to me—how empty my life would be without her."

  Uncomfortable at the intensity of Dominic's tone, Zachary said with an attempt at lightness, "It's not me that you have to convince. I always knew you were a right one, but you have had me worried with your antics around that Bowden wench."

  A harsh expression on his face, Dominic replied, "I think you can safely forget about Lady Bowden. She has served her purpose."

  Zachary might have wanted to ask more questions about this intriguing subject, but something in Dominic's manner made him decide to let the matter drop. Before another topic of conversation could be introduced, the lights of the Norton place came into view, and the next several moments were taken up with dismounting and being greeted by their host.

  Tom Norton was a tall, blond stripling who had been blessed with both a generous nature and a substantial fortune with which to indulge his every whim. It was to his credit, being the only surviving son of a widowed mother, that he was neither spoiled nor extravagant in his tastes. He had, however, upon reaching his majority just a few months previously, decided it was time that he had his own home and had purchased the snug little house where tonight's entertainment was being held.

  Norton had invited approximately a dozen or so gentlemen to his home, most of them younger men like himself and Zachary, but there were four or five men in their early thirties also attending, so Dominic did not feel like a graybeard watching the antics of the young. And since it was at Royce's behest that he was attending this strictly masculine party, he wasn't surprised, when he was shown into a large, elegant room, to find Royce leaning against the mantel of a marble-fronted fireplace, a resigned expression glimmering in the topaz eyes. Nor did Latimer's presence at one of the many card tables which had been set up for gaming startle him in the least.

  After having been introduced to several young men whose faces he recognized from other social functions he had attended, and a snifter of brandy had been thrust into his hand, Dominic made his way to Royce's side. Sipping his brandy he murmured, "I see that our friend still prefers to practice his expertise on the downy ones."

  "Hmm, yes. That's the Franklyn cub, and Latimer has been cultivating him for several weeks now. He's lost an impressive sum to the young fool and I believe that he's decided it's time for his luck to change. I shouldn't be at all surprised if Franklyn leaves the table tonight a loser," Royce remarked, his eyes on the fresh-faced young man who was the object of Latimer's attentions.

  Latimer and Franklyn were playing cards at a table at the far side of the room, and as Latimer's back was to the two men near the fireplace, Royce and Dominic were able to watch the game without alerting Latimer to their interest in the proceedings. And both were aware the instant Latimer's luck changed, the moment the needed card was slipped from the sleeve of his coat.

  "Ah, he is very good at it, isn't he?" Dominic commented. "So good, in fact, that even watching for the move, I nearly missed it."

  Royce muttered something obscene under his breath. "And this," he added harshly, "is the fellow I have had to associate intimately with these past weeks. You have had the easier task, believe me."

  "Perhaps, but I'm beginning to believe, for all our efforts, that Latimer and his sister have been playing us for fools. I've been thinking about them and I've come to several conclusions." At Royce's cocked eyebrow, Dominic went on, "Latimer's no spy. A gambler and a cheat and a bully, yes, but not a spy—he hasn't the brains for it. I think what little information we've gleaned from Deborah is all the information there is to learn. She's not the most intelligent woman, but she never would have divulged Roxbury's connection, or Roxbury's request to contact certain former British citizens, if she had thought it would put her brother in danger."

  "What if she doesn't know the whole story? What if there is a great deal more that Latimer has not told her?"

  Dominic shook his dark head decisively. "Think, Royce! They work together. I realize now that they always have, and they are far too concerned with feathering their own nest and saving their own necks to be involved with something as dangerous as spying—we hang spies, or have you forgotten?"

  His eyes resting speculatively on Latimer's back, Royce drawled, "They also hang murderers... and we're damn sure that he killed old Bowden and with Deborah's connivance."

  "I know that. But there was little risk for them. An old man, alone at night, the servants gone... what chance would Bowden have had against them? They chose their target wisely. But a spy..." Dominic frowned. "A spy, especially one who intends to remain alive, cannot always choose the people who must be dealt with... and spying involves many people scattered throughout the countryside, not just one old man." When Royce remained silent, Dominic said impatiently, "My God! Look at the trail they've blazed from the east to here. They've made no attempt to cover their tracks; there are no plans to return to any of the places they have been, and whatever military information they may have learned along the way is months old by now. They have moved openly and leisurely across the country, stopping for an indefinite time whenever it strikes their fancy. They've not hidden the fact that they are British or that they are here in this country only for the duration of the war. Granted they may exclaim that it is their strong sympathy for our cause that made them take such a drastic step, but have they done anything to help our cause? I mean," Dominic went on, "have they joined any organizations for the war effort? Aligned themselves with any political figures? Has Latimer ever mentioned joining the army to fight?"

  "That doesn't prove anything," Royce returned sourly. "If he is a spy, he would not want to be hampered by military duties. And they couldn't very well hide the fact that they were British citizens."

  Dominic sighed. "No, they couldn't, but while I would enjoy watching Latimer swing for spying, I cannot believe that he is a spy." His expression thoughtful, he continued. "Now, an advance guard for a real spy, that I could believe."

  Royce looked startled. "Of course, that's it precisely!" His low voice did not hide his excitement.

  His thoughts running along the same path, Dominic muttered, "Why didn't we think of that before? He is not the spy, but merely a drudge to do some initial cultivating, someone to make social contact and to select those men who might be open to a treasonous offer. An offer the man who will come behind Latimer will make."

  Slowly Royce said, "It is the only solution that makes any sense. Especially knowing what we do about Latimer and what is likely or not likely to appeal to him."

  Dominic took another sip of his brandy, his eyes once more on Latimer, his thoughts leaving the puzzle of the Englishman's reasons for being in the United States and traveling along a far different path. A path that considered various methods of extracting a suitable revenge. Dominic's mouth twisted. Actually, Latimer had done him a favor... after a fashion, for if Latimer hadn't... then Melissa wouldn't have... A wave of rage swept through him when he speculated on what might have been her fate if she had not mistaken the rooms that night at the inn. His gray eyes narrowed. It was time, he thought coldly, for Latimer to learn a lesson. A costly lesson, he decided with a savage smile.

  Very deliberately, Dominic set down his snifter and drawled, "I think I shall go and pay my respects to friend Latimer. I might even give him a more worthy opponent than that young cub."

  Royce stiffened at Dominic's words, shooting him an uneasy glance. What he saw didn't quell the suspicion that his friend had a deeper motive for seeking out the Englishman. There was about Dominic the air of a predator having sighted prey. Royce grabbed his arm and said in a low, urgent und
ertone, "Don't be a fool! I'll not act your second and watch you risk your life needlessly."

  Dominic shook off his hand. "I have no intention of doing anything so foolhardy. Besides," he added softly, "killing the bastard isn't good enough. I wish to harm him where it will hurt him the most—his money bags."

  Royce watched as Dominic walked over to Latimer's table. Too well did Royce recognize the menacing set to that dark head and broad shoulders and he sighed, knowing that whatever course Dominic had chosen, he would be there at his back to watch and protect. Cursing under his breath, Royce pushed himself away from the mantel and made his way to Latimer's vicinity.

  As if sensing danger, Latimer glanced up from his cards, his expression of lazy confidence disappearing, replaced by a bland countenance. Betraying nothing but polite interest, he said, "Young Franklyn is having trouble finding his pace. He is not quite up to my mettle this evening... would you care to take his place at the table?"

  Dominic smiled wolfishly, a cold glitter in the hard gray eyes. His smile now holding a great deal of warmth and charm, he looked at the chagrined, young man who sat across the felt-covered table from Latimer. "Do you mind?" he asked. "Latimer and I are old... ah, adversaries, and since he appears to be having the devil's own luck at the moment, it seems an appropriate time to renew our... rivalry. That is, if you have no objections?"

  After Latimer's dismissal of his talents, Franklyn was flattered by Dominic's solicitous attitude. "Of course not, sir," he replied. A wry smile curved his mouth. "I have been playing rather badly this evening."

  Dominic sat down at the place Franklyn vacated and said, "Perhaps it is the cards and not your skill."

  Latimer froze, his eyes flat as he asked in a dangerous tone of voice, "And what do you mean by that?"

  "Why, nothing," Dominic replied, that wolf's smile once again appearing. "Shall we begin?"

  On the other side of the room where he had been talking with Daniel Manchester, Zachary had noticed Dominic's passage. It was only when he saw where Dominic had been headed that his interest quickened. He felt uneasy when George Franklyn rose from the table and Dominic took his place. His unease increased when he noticed that Royce was making his way to where Dominic sat, the expression on that handsome face not at all encouraging.

  He glanced again at his brother-in-law, and from what he saw, he was conscious of a shiver of apprehension. Dominic might be smiling, but Zachary was reminded vividly of that first night he had dined with Dominic and Latimer's name had been mentioned. Something about Dominic's smile and the waiting stillness of his body made Zachary nervous.

  Making no attempt at politeness, Zachary broke into Daniel's rhapsodies about a diamond-patterned entryway for his new home and said, "I want to watch the game between Dominic and Latimer. Come with me, if you like."

  Before Daniel's astonished gaze, he strode quickly away, making for Royce's side. Daniel, possessing a sharp intellect behind his genial manner, was instantly conscious that something was in the wind and wasted not a moment before following in Dominic's wake. And as was often the case, when one or two other young gentlemen noticed the cluster around the table where Latimer and Dominic were playing piquet, they wandered over to see what held everyone's rapt attention.

  If Latimer was dismayed at finding his table the focal point of so many interested pairs of eyes, he gave no sign of it, merely smiling and nodding at each new arrival. The presence of so many gentlemen did hamper him, though, and not daring to run the risk of exposure, he decided that he would have to play an honest game. With this many onlookers and this early in the evening, before the liquor had really begun to flow, it was far too dangerous to practice a little sleight of hand.

  Dominic was aware of his adversary's predicament, and cold amusement flickered in the depths of his eyes as he said softly, "Since we seem to have gathered an audience, we should make it worth their while. What were you and Franklyn paying a point?"

  Latimer hesitated and then replied, "It was a friendly game—merely ten dollars."

  Dominic's eyebrow cocked. "A thousand dollars a game is rather a high price to pay for friendship, I think, but since you and I are such old friends, let us make it more interesting... say fifty dollars a point?"

  It was not an outrageously high amount, but it was steep, especially since over the weeks Latimer had lost more than he had intended in order to woo George Franklyn into complacency, and he was bitterly aware of Dominic's skill and expertise in all games of chance. Not happy with the circumstances, Latimer paused, seeking a way to turn events to his advantage. Speculatively, he considered the dark face across the table from him. To his experienced eye, it was apparent that Slade was spoiling for a fight, and Latimer almost smirked with satisfaction. A man letting temper ride him was always an easy mark.

  Thinking that he might come away the winner and recoup some of the losses he had allowed Franklyn to inflict, he drawled, "Fifty? I thought you stated we would make it interesting. Now, a hundred dollars a point I find far more interesting than a paltry fifty."

  Dominic smiled and Latimer had the queasy sensation that he had fallen into a trap. Before he could think more about it, Dominic said cheerfully, "Excellent! Would you care to deal or shall I?"

  Latimer shrugged, his blue eyes watchful. "Please, go ahead."

  Adroitly Dominic shuffled the deck of thirty-two cards and with a skill that bespoke long practice, dealt out twelve cards to each of them. Both men were exceptional players and the game moved swiftly, neither one seeming to hesitate as discards were made and points called. The play progressed to the taking of tricks, and it soon became apparent that the two men were well matched, the scores remaining nearly even as the hands continued.

  In the end Latimer won the game and he did nothing to hide his satisfaction as he said, "I believe that you owe me ten thousand dollars, Slade."

  "But surely you are going to give me a chance to gain revenge, aren't you?" Dominic asked, a quizzical smile curving his handsome mouth.

  There were murmurs of assent from all around the table, and although Latimer would have enjoyed nothing better than strolling away with Dominic's money resting snugly in his purse, he was mindful that not to give Dominic a rematch would be a black mark against him and might hamper his chances to pluck the Franklyn boy. Beating Dominic had given him a great deal of pleasure; it had also increased his arrogance, and the lure of winning more money was simply too powerful for someone like Latimer to resist.

  The next game was very close, but Dominic won it, his expression enigmatic at the outcome of the final tally. Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip from the snifter of brandy that had been brought to him during the game. His eyes on Latimer, he drawled, "Well, now we are even... how boring. Shall we play another?"

  Annoyed at the loss but convinced that it had been a fluke, certain that his own skill at the cards far outweighed his opponent's, Latimer consented and they began to play again. And in the hours that followed, Latimer's self-confidence grew, even though the wins and losses between them remained relatively even.

  As the evening slid by, the group of men around the table ebbed and flowed, some gentlemen wandering off to seek new amusements or to join other friends, new onlookers taking their places. Royce and Zachary remained, neither one of them moving as much as a foot away from the table. Aware that something was going on, yet not certain what, Daniel chose to stay most of the time, but he was guilty of straying from time to time, although he kept a watchful eye on what was transpiring.

  Midnight came and went. One o'clock, two o'clock passed. The candles sank lower in their sockets and some of the gentlemen began to bid their host adieu, but still Dominic and Latimer continued to play. Somewhere around half-past three, just as the last game ended and the two men were once again even, no clear-cut winner having emerged from the many hands they had played, Dominic said, "It seems we are very well matched. Shall we call it a night?"

  Dominic shuffled the cards he held in his lean hands, but
there was a stillness about him that made Royce, who now sprawled nearby in a chair to Dominic's left, instantly alert. Dominic's actions had puzzled him all evening, not only his choosing to gamble with Latimer but also the way he had played his cards, and it suddenly, blindingly, dawned on Royce that Dominic had been deliberately misplaying his cards, that he had allowed Latimer to win and then only when he chose. Sitting up straighter in his chair, Royce looked across at Dominic, the suspicion that he had engineered this precise sequence of events taking strong hold of him. While Dominic feigned indifference, he really wanted to play one more game with Latimer. And if Royce read the clues right, that game would be for very high stakes indeed! Everything else that had transpired so far had been mere dust thrown in Latimer's eyes to conceal the trap which Dominic was now ready to spring.

  Latimer appraised Dominic's offer, the desire to win against a man he considered an enemy warring with a premonition of danger. And yet, on the surface, all seemed well. He felt confident that it had been mere chance that they had arrived at this present state of affairs, simply bad luck that he had not been able to keep or even increase his winnings. Besides, it was important that he win; he had been conscious of George Franklyn watching from the sidelines and he did not want that young man to think he was not a worthy opponent—that kind of opinion would be fatal to his plans. Speculatively, he eyed the man across the table from him, noting the heavy-lidded eyes and the empty brandy snifter at Dominic's elbow. He lifted his own brandy snifter and took a sip. "Do you not wish to continue?" Latimer finally asked as he set down the snifter.

  As if to confirm that the lateness of the hour was telling on him, Dominic stifled a small yawn. "That all depends upon you," he returned politely, and indicated to a hovering servant that he wished his snifter refilled.

  Encouraged by these signs, Latimer said, "Why not? This will not be the first time that I have gambled until dawn."

  Dominic's lids lowered and, his eyes on the cards in his hands, he murmured, "Whatever you like... but since the hour grows late and we have had time to take each other's measure, why don't we increase the stakes a trifle?"