by Lauren Smith
“Spoiled is what. Last week she told me that a genteel lady ought to own at least a dozen pairs of gloves. I dared to ask what was the use of so many gloves in the spring and she fairly bit my head off. She used some French words I’ve never even heard of…” James remarked with pensive amusement.
Cedric chuckled. “The fascination with fashion I once believed to be restricted to the fairer sex, but unfortunately I’ve seen far too many dandies prowling the streets who were arrested by the splendid sight of themselves reflected in a shop’s window glass. A bunch of popinjays, the lot of them.” Cedric sipped his port as he eyed one such colorfully dressed dandy who was chatting with a foreign-looking gentleman who had just entered the room.
“I say, Pembroke, do you know that man there?” Cedric gestured to the foreigner.
“Freddy Poncenby?” James asked, shooting a scathing glance over his shoulder at the dandy who was waving his arms excitedly as he spoke. Poncenby was not a favorite of any gentleman at their table. He was a tad too cowardly, and there was a touch of weasel in him that Cedric didn’t trust.
“No, the other gentleman.”
“Oh! Why that’s Samir Al Zahrani. He’s from Nejd in Arabia.”
“Al Zahrani?” Cedric eyed the man curiously. He was tall with deeply olive skin and a harsh but handsome face and form. Dark brows swept over a pair of black eyes that scanned the room with a militaristic precision that stirred Cedric’s curiosity.
“I heard he is a wealthy merchant, which given the power struggles and political upheavals in that part of the world is quite a feat.”
“A merchant of what?”
James, a seasoned rake who had little occasion to act self-conscious of delicate matters, actually looked flustered.
“That depends on who you ask. Most people will tell you he deals in textiles, but I’ve heard that he runs another far more lucrative business on the side. Slave based.” James uttered this last in a soft tone. Ashton and Cedric exchanged surprised looks.
“Slaves?” Ashton’s tone was heavy with disapproval. Parliament had outlawed the slave trade over a decade before, though slavery was sadly still legal abroad, though not on English soil. As William Cowper had once said, “Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs receive our air, that moment they are free. They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That’s noble, and bespeaks a nation proud.”
Sadly, not all within the nation held such nobility.
“Yes. I heard he has recently begun to offer his ‘wares’ at various brothels in London. But that isn’t nearly as frightening as the rumors that he’s come here to take our own English roses back to Nejd with him to fill his markets there. Rumor has it such a prize would be worth ten times what he makes elsewhere.”
“What?” Cedric sat up straight in his chair. “That’s nonsense, Pembroke. Someone would know if our ladies started vanishing, and that would raise an alarm.” He slapped his cards down, momentarily losing interest in the game.
“It would be an act of war,” Ashton agreed.
“It is the truth, I tell you. I heard several members of the House speaking about it last week. Out of session, of course. His father is a foreign emissary and a powerful merchant in his own right. If he did try such a bold move, he might even get away. It might take too long to rally the navy to chase him down. I’ve been keeping Letty on a short leash ever since that man made his presence known in London.” James looked entirely too serious, as though he’d been giving the matter a great deal of thought.
Ashton leaned back in his chair and placed his cards face down on the table. “Be at ease, Pembroke. No doubt if such things were on his mind, he’s been warned off by those very men you spoke of. Nothing like shining a light to chase away the shadows. And should Letty go missing and you need a fleet of ships, you’ll have mine to hunt the man down.”
“Thank you, Lennox,” James replied.
“I think I should like to meet this man.”
“Cedric…” Ashton warned. “We have enough enemies at the moment.”
Cedric grinned. “Who said anything of enemies? Let’s invite him to play whist.” Cedric did love to play with fire, even at the risk of being burned. Cedric called out to Freddy and the foreigner. “Freddy, won’t you and your friend join us for cards? We’re about to indulge in a high-stakes game.”
The foppish Freddy Poncenby, a man of only twenty-two, fairly ran to their table in excitement, the mysterious Samir Al Zahrani on his heels. A pair of tall, dark-haired men flanked the trader on either side. Guards, Cedric assumed.
“I say, gents, what a top-notch idea! Have you met Mr. Samir Al Zahrani? Mr. Al Zahrani, this is Cedric Sheridan, Viscount Sheridan, James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke and Ashton Lennox, Baron Lennox.”
“It is a pleasure, gentlemen.” Al Zahrani’s voice was a rich baritone, heavily accented, but his English was beyond reproach.
Cedric and the others rose from their card table and greeted him. Then with a little jerk of his head, Cedric indicated a door behind them.
“What do you say we move to a private room?”
With murmurs of agreement, the group moved to an enclosed chamber and closed the door. There would be no way they could be watched or overheard.
“Have a seat,” Cedric offered with a devilish grin. When Ashton met his gaze he rolled his eyes, no doubt realizing the night was not going to end as peaceably as it had begun.
“Do you ever play whist, Mr. Al Zahrani?” Cedric eyed his target with a knowing smile. The idea of cleaning out a slave trader’s pockets made his body tense with anticipation. He detested slavery, and if robbing this fellow blind put a dent his pockets, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
“I have played a few times,” Al Zahrani answered as he took his seat next to Freddy. Ashton quickly collected the cards and reshuffled them before dealing them out.
The five men played three hands. Cedric played carelessly at first, losing two hands early on. As the game progressed, port was consumed liberally by all except Al Zahrani, who did not wish to indulge.
“I say, Al Zahrani, you wouldn’t happen to have heard of a horse called Firestorm? I believe that’s his English name,” Cedric asked, his voice smooth and relaxed thanks to the port. Firestorm was a purebred Arabian stallion who was worth a fortune and rumored never to have left Arabia. Nor was the horse permitted to be bred with any foreign breed. No Englishman had been able to get his hands on any of his offspring.
“Firestorm? Indeed I have, Lord Sheridan. That horse belongs to my father. I have two mares that are one and three years old that were sired by him.”
“Do you really?” Cedric sighed wistfully. “I would kill to see such a fine bit of horseflesh.”
“I have them here in England, should you care to see them. It would be an honor.” Al Zahrani offered this with an air of smug pride in his dark eyes. It was obvious he was the sort who loved to flaunt his possession of something others coveted.
“I just might,” Cedric mused and resumed playing his hand.
After six more hands, James and Freddy declined to continue but remained to watch Ashton, Cedric and Al Zahrani play for increasingly higher stakes. Cedric was flushed with the alcohol of the port and the excitement of the plan he was about to set in motion.
“I wager eight hundred pounds I can win this hand. No man ever beats me when I’m on a streak.” Cedric slurred a little as he downed the last of his port and grinned at Al Zahrani. The Arab watched him speculatively, then gave a dark smile that Cedric ignored entirely.
“The thing about a streak is that it must inevitably end, my friend. Let us make a wager on something more valuable. How would my pair of mares suit you?” Al Zahrani tossed out casually.
Cedric pretended to consider the offer. “And my forfeit? Perhaps I send you my mistress for the duration of your stay in London? Lovely little bit of flesh she
is. Knows her place, too. She’ll treat you well on her back, like any woman should.” He waited, seeing if Al Zahrani would take the bait.
“One of your women?” Al Zahrani, brooding, stroked the back of his cards, which lay on the table. He studied Cedric, as if realizing what was truly being insinuated by his offer. “While that intrigues me, I sense it would be no great loss to you.”
With a huff Cedric reached for his drink again. “Two women then? I suppose I could find another quickly enough.”
“Alas, no. If anything you are only proving my point. Clearly my horses are worth more than a dozen of your English women.”
“Well then, what would satisfy you?”
“I engage in a special sort of trade…and I would have great use of you as a servant in my house, to guard my precious wares.”
“A viscount as a servant? Good God, man, you are bold! Just what is it that I would be guarding and for how long?” As he spoke, Al Zahrani’s guards shifted on their feet by the door, making sure no one could enter or leave.
“You would be positioned as a guard for my female wares. Of course, you would need to be rendered harmless in order to ensure the females go untouched.”
Cedric smirked. “Some sort of chastity belt, I take it?”
“I am afraid we are a little more…permanent with our solution to the problem.”
Cedric heard a round of gulps from the other men at the table.
“You’d make me a eunuch, is that what you’re saying? I mean, I do understand, women aren’t nearly as valuable as a good horse, but still, a man’s parts are his parts.”
It was a bluff. Al Zahrani had to be counting on him backing down from such a wild proposition. Cedric felt a flash of panic at the thought of castration, for a number of reasons. As the last male heir to the title in his family, he had a duty to bear a son. And the thought of never again being able to bed a woman was a bleak notion. Despite his bluster aimed at luring Al Zahrani into this bet, he valued the company of a good woman more than a hundred of the finest horses.
“Do not tell me that you are afraid to lose? I thought Englishmen were fearless.” Al Zahrani was still smiling, but darkness reflected in his eyes.
“Me, afraid? Why, that’s absurd. I merely hesitate, as any decent man would when threatened with slavery and the removal of his manhood,” Cedric retorted. There was a murmur of agreement from his friends. Poncenby noticeably cupped his hands over his groin.
“You do realize there is no slavery on English soil?” Ashton interjected. Cedric shot him a look. Damn it, man, don’t interfere.
“It would not be slavery, and you would not be on English soil. As a matter of honor, you would willingly leave with me to my home country, and once there remain under my employ indefinitely.”
Which was just a fancy way of saying the same thing.
“Well? Shall we agree to the terms and finish the hand?” Al Zahrani asked.
Cedric slanted his cards up from the table, eyeing his hand. “I’m not entirely sure my freedom is worth a pair of horses…” Cedric said.
“I can promise you, Lord Sheridan, the horses are worth the freedom of a hundred men, and even one viscount.” Still, the man had that inherent smugness.
“Cedric, be wise about this,” Ashton said softly.
Cedric met the gaze of his close friend and for a moment he was fully sober, fully in command of himself.
“I’m as wise as the day I met you,” Cedric replied, to which his friend almost burst out laughing. Ashton really should have learned by now to trust him on matters of risk.
The night Cedric and Ashton had first met was the night they had saved Charles from being drowned by Hugo Waverly. They’d been aided by Lucien and Godric, and that night the League had been formed. Cedric had been the calmest during that harrowing rescue, which no doubt had helped save Charles’s life.
They had only failed in one thing that night. Another man had been the first to try and save Charles from Hugo, and he’d paid the price for his bravery. His death haunted the League still, and it was the reason Hugo had damned them all that night.
“Very well.” Ashton laid his cards down, signaling his withdrawal.
“Then we have a wager, my lord?” Al Zahrani asked.
Cedric flashed him a mad grin. “We do.”
Both men revealed their hands, and Cedric snickered in triumph. Everyone but Ashton exclaimed in wonder at Cedric’s winning hand.
“When shall I come by and collect my mares?” Cedric asked with a satisfied smile, like a cat fattened on a canary.
Al Zahrani spat, throwing his cards down and leaping to his feet. “You cheated! There was no way I could have lost. It was a mathematical impossibility!”
Cedric scoffed. “Me a cheat? Nonsense. I played a decent hand of whist. Any Englishman could have done that.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, not at all perturbed by the fury of the Arabian merchant.
“I will not give you my horses! I refuse!” Al Zahrani shouted with such loathing that poor Freddy Poncenby dove under the nearest card table for cover.
Ashton sighed at the sight of Freddy’s green and white striped trousered bottom peeping out from under the table’s edge.
“I played fair with you, Al Zahrani. Every man here saw the game. I won and you owe me your forfeit, lest your business associates in England learn of your unwillingness to honor a debt. Don’t tell me you are the one who’s afraid?” Cedric finally stood, but the action was a leisurely uncoiling of his strong, athletic frame. The others stepped back, giving Cedric and Al Zahrani plenty of room to handle themselves should they come to blows.
After an intense duel of stares, the merchant backed down. “So be it! I will have them sent to your residence in the morning. Enjoy them while you can. Justice ultimately arrives to men such as you. When that day comes, I will walk over your grave, have my horses back and laugh last,” Al Zahrani declared.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve never expected to live long or peacefully. If you want revenge for an honest game of cards then you best get in line, because I’ve done much worse to much better men, and they have more of a right to kill me than you.”
“This is not the end between us, Lord Sheridan.”
“Yes it is. Either call me out or walk away with your heart still beating.”
Al Zahrani glared at Cedric before leaving with his guards.
Once he was gone, Ashton and Cedric resumed their seats along with James.
“You chaps really play for keeps,” the Earl of Pembroke muttered with a strained smile.
“Of course we do.” Cedric shot him a devil-may-care grin.
“Er, Poncenby, you can come out now.” Ashton nudged the tip of his Hessian boot against the striped rump of the cowering dandy. Freddy emerged, looking embarrassed, his face scarlet to the roots of his fashionably cut brown hair.
“Well if you will excuse me, I’ve had enough excitement for one night.” Freddy bid the others adieu and practically sprinted for the door. There was a loud crash and shriek as a servant boy was run over by Freddy making his exit from Berkeley’s.
Cedric smothered a laugh. What good luck to finally have two purebred Arabian mares with pedigrees worth a fortune! Now only if he could find a decent stallion to breed them with…
* * * * *
Anne focused on Cedric’s face, secretly enjoying the wealth of emotions that flitted across his features as he told her the story. “You don’t think the Arab will return for you, do you?”
Cedric smiled. “He left London shortly after he delivered the mares to me. He simply had to make a show of pride before he left, and I had to respond in kind. It is the way of things when the stakes are so high.”
He showed more animation than she’d seen from him since he’d gone blind. For a brief few minutes he’d been the old C
edric again, the one who…
Anne shook her head, dispelling thoughts of the past, thoughts that stung too deeply.
“You men and your pride. Is there nothing else that matters to you?”
Cedric’s deep laugh poured over her. “Oh, my dear, you bait me with your innocence by asking that.”
“What do you mean?”
Cedric cupped her chin and tilted his head down in reply, finding her lips with ease. Anne stiffened as his tongue traced the seam of her lips. Her hands fisted against his chest, as she went rigid in his lap.
Cedric pulled his mouth away to whisper, “Don’t forget what you promised, Anne. Don’t turn to ice in my arms, love.” He brushed his nose against her cheek. “Please, my heart, don’t shut me out.”
His coaxing words tugged her down the slope of desire. It was more than lust, more than carnal craving. She might have been able to stop herself, to keep herself from surrendering, if he hadn’t dipped his mouth to her neck and nipped her skin, following it with a slow, teasing lick. The sharp but light sting of his teeth sent a wave of pleasure through her. Anne lost control and melted in his lap.
Cedric growled low as she let herself go limp in his arms and trembled at his kisses. He reached out to the side of the settee, gauging the distance to the other side before he slowly tilted Anne back to lie beneath him. He slid her skirts upward, pushing them into a pool around her hips. Then he palmed her knees, before gently nudging them apart. She should have clamped her thighs together, but instead she threw her head back and let her knees fall apart.
Cedric stroked his hand along her inner thigh, then bent her leg up. She moved with him, understanding that she needed to offer a cradle for his trim hips. She dropped her other leg off the edge of the settee, giving him ample room to lower himself down between her thighs.
The intimacy of their position was unbearable. Her breasts rose and fell with her soft, rapid panting. Trapped beneath him, she was at his mercy and did not mind as much as she should have. It seemed only natural that her hands would fall on his shoulders and glide under the tight-fitting jacket, peeling it off his body. He shrugged the coat loose and it dropped to the floor. She couldn’t find it in herself to care that they might actually… She blushed a little, unable to even think the words.
