Sara’s smiled deepened and Monteith and several of the men smiled in that knowing way.
Alice swallowed her discomfort and glanced away.
‘And what about you, Miss Sweetly?’ Monteith raised an eyebrow. ‘Which one of us lucky gentlemen will be fortunate enough to have you act as our charm this evening?’ There was speculation and interest in his eyes, in Frew’s, and too many of the other men’s. She knew what playing the part of any of their lucky charms in this place would entail and she would be damned if she would do that, no matter that she wanted to prove that Razeby meant nothing to her. Flirtation was one thing, an illusion of sparkling enticement, but an illusion just the same. She could not go so far as to let any of them actually touch her.
‘Oh, I’m my own lucky charm,’ she said smoothly. ‘I play tonight, Your Grace.’
She saw the stir of interest around the table, the way they liked that idea.
Monteith smiled, as if amused by both the double meaning of her words and her challenge. ‘Do you need anyone to...refresh your memory as to the rules?’ He put it so delicately, but she knew what he was thinking, that she had no idea how to play a serious game of cards.
‘No, thank you, Your Grace. I think I can remember them.’
They smiled at her indulgently.
As if she could ever forget. Razeby had taught her the trick behind stacking the odds in your favour of winning in vingt-et-un—the way to count and memorise the cards. It was a game that they had liked to play often. A game that they had played not for money, but for the removal of their clothes. Razeby always said that the excellence of her memory made her a natural at it—either that or a desire to have him stripped naked before her.
The last time they had played it had been only three weeks ago and they had ended up making love on the dining-room table on top of the forgotten scattered cards. The memory made her heart skip a beat and brought a slight blush both of anger and embarrassment to her cheeks. She thrust it away and took her seat beside Fallingham.
The vingt-et-un dealer, dressed in the smart black-and-gold livery of the gaming house, sat in the middle of the other side of the table. There were empty chairs on either side of him, one of which would not have been empty had Razeby been here. She felt a slight sense of pique at his absence, part of her wanting him to see this proof of how little he had affected her.
‘The house rules apply. Are you ready to begin, gentlemen...and Miss Sweetly?’ The dealer smiled politely at her.
There was common agreement.
‘Then we shall commence.’
Alice kept her eyes on his hands as he dealt a card to each of them and himself last of all, before dealing a second card in a repeat of the process.
‘Not too late, am I, gentlemen?’
The smooth velvet voice stroked all the way down her spine. A voice she knew too well, which the mere memory of could set her skin a-tingle and her heart racing. Alice froze in that moment, her heart skipping a beat before setting off at a thunderous tilt. She forced herself to breathe, to stay calm, to focus. And only then did she raise her eyes to look at Razeby, at the very same minute his eyes met hers.
There was the tiniest of moments—that catch of time, that ripple of tension. And then he bowed smoothly. ‘Miss Sweetly.’
‘Lord Razeby,’ she replied politely, as if all of the previous six months had never been. Round the table every pair of eyes looked not at the cards upon the table but at Alice and Razeby.
She had prepared herself for seeing him this time, she reminded herself. And she was a very good actress. She breathed, calmed herself, smiled.
‘Miss Sweetly decided to play tonight,’ Monteith said, the unnecessary explanation a subtle message to Razeby, as if Alice would not understand.
Her eyes met Razeby’s, a silent comment upon Monteith’s transparent and wasted subtlety passing between them. She remembered what she had come here to do and she smiled at him, a smile that only he would understand.
He knew her challenge. Accepted it by selecting the chair directly opposite her to take his seat.
‘I hope you have deep pockets tonight, Razeby,’ she said.
All the men laughed, not appreciating the full depth of her tease.
But Razeby did. ‘Perhaps not deep enough,’ he said. She could see it in his eyes as they met hers, knew it for certain with his next words. ‘Maybe we should lower the minimum stake on account of Miss Sweetly’s playing.’
There were murmurs of assent as the men around the table mistook his meaning. They all thought it was because, otherwise, she would be out after the first few hands.
‘Afraid, Razeby?’ She arched an eyebrow, and held his gaze boldly, all the while letting the small smile still play around her mouth.
‘My concern is all for you, Miss Sweetly.’
She smiled at that, a smile of genuine amusement, and only then released his gaze, so that she could place a counter onto the green baize.
Bullford looked at the size of her stake, then leaned to her, a look of concern on his face. ‘I say, Miss Sweetly, you have played before?’
‘Once or twice. But, I admit, not usually for money,’ she said carelessly, and could not resist flitting a glance at Razeby. His eyes were on hers, deep and intent. He was remembering all the times they had played when it had not been for money.
Bullford lowered his voice a little. ‘Razeby is considered something of a shark when it comes to vingt-et-un. Perhaps he did not tell you.’
She smiled at Bullford in a wickedly flirtatious way, knowing that Razeby was watching, then leaned in closer to him as if they were two conspirators. ‘I thank you for the warning, my lord.’ Then to Razeby, ‘I hear you have something of a reputation when it comes to vingt-et-un.’
‘I make no such claim.’ His voice was soft, his manner subdued, his eyes sharply watchful.
‘If you do not wish to play, Razeby...’ The same words with which she had teased him on a hundred nights before.
‘I do want to play, Miss Sweetly.’ His eyes darkened ever so slightly as he gave the same reply he always had done.
Like two players in a script full of secret meanings to which only Razeby and Alice held the key.
She felt the tension tighten between them.
His eyes flicked to the dealer. ‘Deal me in.’
Two cards came his way.
His eyes held Alice’s. ‘I hope you know what you are doing, Miss Sweetly.’
‘Oh, I know all right, Lord Razeby,’ she said softly. ‘You needn’t worry about that.’
‘In that case...let us play.’ He smiled.
And she returned the smile. A real smile. It was impossible not to. Despite everything.
* * *
After fifteen rounds, only four of them remained in the game—Monteith, Devlin, Razeby and herself. Monteith and Devlin were almost out of counters. The pile of counters in front of Alice was only marginally larger than that in front of Razeby. Men had wandered over from the other tables to watch the play so that a small crowd now surrounded them.
The sixteenth hand was dealt.
For all her laughter and sparkle and feigned joviality, all evening Alice had been watching the cards very carefully, memorising who held what, the cards that had gone from the pack and therefore, by default, those that remained. It was an easy enough task when she could hold the whereabouts of three packs in her head at any given time.
Razeby was rolling a counter within his hand. ‘Fifty pounds.’ He threw a pile of ten counters into the centre of the table.
She swallowed at the enormity of the bet.
Monteith glanced down at his three remaining counters and shook his head. ‘Too high. Out.’
All eyes moved to Alice. She stayed calm, relaxed, still. Leaned back in her chair and met Razeby’s warm brown eyes.
His gaze seemed to stroke against hers as he waited with everyone else for what she would do.
She smiled. ‘Fifty pounds.’ She matched the stake with ten
counters of her own.
Monteith gave a chuckle. ‘You do not frighten her, Razeby.’
She did not let herself think of the sums of money with which they were playing. Enough to last a poor man a lifetime. If her mother knew just how much money was on that table being gambled away...! Alice pushed the thought away, focused her mind. Money or clothes, in the end the game was just the same, if she kept her nerve.
Razeby did not so much as raise an eyebrow. He stayed cool, impassive. Just the hint of a smile upon his face.
Devlin met the stake. But when they turned over their cards Devlin lost his counters and was forced to bow out of the game, leaving only Alice, Razeby and the dealer to play the seventeenth hand.
The dealer dealt each of them their two cards.
It was Alice who was to set the stake this time. She met Razeby’s gaze. Their eyes held, each knowing the other’s strengths and weaknesses in this game. A test of nerve, a test of so much more.
Never let them see how much they’ve hurt you.
She smiled, hearing the words from so long ago in her head. Hurt just made you stronger. She did not let her gaze drop from his, held it as boldly as she had done that first night in the Green Room before he had been hers, and she, his. Held it and did not let it go.
‘All in, two hundred pounds,’ she said, and pushed all of her counters forwards.
The gasp rippled round the table.
‘Good Lord,’ she heard Fallingham mutter.
Beside her, Bullford produced a handkerchief and mopped at his brow.
The whole room was tense, poised for the next step. They stared at Razeby to see what he would do.
His eyes met hers again.
The attraction, the affinity that had always been between them was still there, stronger than ever. Powerful. Dangerous. Beguiling.
‘As you will, Miss Sweetly,’ he murmured, and pushed all of his counters in to match hers.
Not a single voice spoke, not a glass sounded. Even the serving maids stopped where they were and stared to see what would happen.
The dealer’s voice broke the silence. ‘Lord Razeby...’
Razeby looked his cards. ‘Stick.’ He smiled at her.
‘Miss Sweetly?’ the dealer prompted.
She lifted her own, glanced down at them. ‘Twist.’
The dealer dealt her a third card.
‘Twist again.’
A fourth card came her way.
‘And again if you’d be so kind, sir.’
There was a murmur of voices all around.
The dealer looked at Razeby. ‘Please show, Lord Razeby.’
There was a craning of necks to see as Razeby laid his cards down on the table.
‘Queen of hearts, king of hearts. Twenty,’ the dealer’s voice intoned.
There was an irony in both cards. She wondered if Razeby realised it, too. That deep dark look in his eyes was so full of meanings that she could not tell.
‘Please show, Miss Sweetly.’
Everyone looked at Alice as she laid the five cards down on the green baize: ace of hearts, two of hearts, three of spades, five of diamonds, queen of diamonds.
‘Five-card trick,’ said the dealer.
The buzz of excited voices spread throughout the room around them, followed by a silence as the dealer turned over his own cards. A ten and a seven. He added another from the pile—the six of clubs. ‘Bust.’ He cleared the cards with one smooth movement of his hand. ‘Miss Sweetly wins.’
‘Congratulations, Miss Sweetly.’ Razeby was magnanimous in defeat, his dark gaze lingering on hers.
‘Thank you, Lord Razeby,’ she said with an innocence that belied the look in her eye.
‘Alice, I cannot believe your luck tonight!’ Sara exclaimed and hugged her, and the gentlemen clamoured excitedly all around.
‘I say, Miss Sweetly!’ Bullford was beaming by her side.
‘Congratulations, Miss Sweetly.’ Devlin was shaking her hand.
‘Well done!’ Frew took her hand next. ‘You have a lucky streak to rival Razeby’s.’
She smiled. Both Alice and Razeby knew that when it came to winning vingt-et-un, there was a great deal more to it than luck.
‘I think you have played this more than a few times, Miss Sweetly.’ Hawick was by her shoulder.
‘Maybe,’ she conceded. Her eyes flickered to Razeby’s, resting there only for the briefest of moments. ‘But never before in public.’
‘We must have a game together some time,’ said Hawick.
She saw the tiny telltale narrowing of Razeby’s eyes, the slight flicker of tension in his jaw at Hawick’s words, and she smiled a mischievous smile.
‘Indeed, we must, Your Grace,’ she said, and wandered away from the table with Hawick.
Chapter Nine
The early morning was bright, the air in Hyde Park fresh and filled with spring and all the promise that came with it. Razeby could smell the scent of leather and of horse, mixed with the freshness of earth and dew-laden grass, and feel the warmth of the early morning sun on his face.
‘You seem in better temperament this morning, Razeby.’
Razeby smiled. ‘It is a fine morning and I am out riding with my friend.’
Linwood kept his gaze forward facing. ‘I heard that Alice was at Dryden’s last night.’
‘News travels fast.’
‘It is London, Razeby.’
Razeby gave a laugh.
‘Indeed, the news is that she was in your party and that she fleeced all of the table.’
‘She did,’ Razeby admitted.
‘With a skill that matched your own.’
Alice’s skill far exceeded his own. She had been a most ardent pupil. Razeby remembered how too many of those long dark winter nights had started between him and Alice, of him sharing his secrets, of her sharing hers....
‘Strange, that,’ commented Linwood.
‘Is it?’ said Razeby, all innocence.
‘Who would have known she was so skilled at vingt-et-un?’
‘Who indeed?’ Razeby answered, revealing nothing of it.
‘There is nothing of...awkwardness...between the two of you?’
‘Nothing.’ Awkwardness was not what lay between them. There was as much desire, tension and excitement as ever there had been. She had been flirting with him, flirting with the others. Light-hearted, teasing, mischievous. Just as she had done before. But there was a difference this time. There were other layers there that had not been present then and a subtle sense that she had removed herself from his reach—that he might look, but not touch. He could not get her out of his head.
‘It was an enjoyable evening.’ He told that part of the truth. Enjoyable, and exciting, in a way nothing had been since the last time he had glimpsed her in Hyde Park. He could still feel the thrill of it running through his blood. The thrill of her. Right up until Hawick and that naughty little jibe about playing cards with him. Razeby did not like the thought of that one little bit. That had not been enjoyable. That had been something else altogether.
‘I am glad that the separation seems to have been an amicable one.’
But what things seemed and what they were in truth were not always the same thing. Razeby gave no reply. He did not fully understand what was between him and Alice. But he knew that it was anything but amicable. It was raw and powerful and hungry. There were complexities to it that he did not understand, depths that were downright dangerous.
‘It makes no difference whether it is amicable or not.’ He needed to stay away from her and keep his mind focused on the marriage mart. But last night and this morning the marriage mart had never been further from his mind.
‘In that case, you will not have an interest in which of your events Miss Sweetly is booked to be present.’
‘I did not say that,’ said Razeby quietly and looked over at him.
Linwood glanced up, the look exchanged between them saying much their words could not. ‘She will be at White�
��s next week. For the awards.’
‘You are sure?’ Razeby felt his heart beat quicker at just the prospect of seeing her there.
‘My father is on the committee. Alice is the new darling of Covent Garden. The theatre has gone from barely making ends meet to being practically sold out every time she steps on stage. White’s know she will go down a storm with its members. They have offered Kemble, the theatre and Alice a substantial amount of money for her presence.’
Razeby gave a nod. ‘Thank you for the warning, my friend.’
* * *
Alice stood in the small anteroom that adjoined the main banqueting room in White’s Gentleman’s Club in St James’s Street.
A nervousness ran through her, making her palms clammy and her stomach turn a few cartwheels, and she knew it was not down to presenting a few awards to some stuffy, rich old gentlemen. She knew Razeby was in there. She knew, too, that he would be in receipt of one of the awards. Kemble had warned her. And the fact that Kemble had felt the need to do so was all the more reason that she could not refuse the invitation to be here tonight.
Had she and Razeby never been, she would have accepted this opportunity without hesitation. It promoted both herself and the theatre, and it paid well. So she accepted it just the same now. Not letting Razeby dictate her actions. She was getting on. Making a success of herself. Refusing to avoid him. And maybe there were a few other reasons, too.
It gave her another opportunity to show him how much she was over him. And maybe even to rub his nose in what he had given up just a little more. She smiled at that thought.
She was a successful actress. She earned her own money. And she really was over Razeby.
Alice took a deep breath and smiled.
* * *
The men were seated around the table in the banqueting room of White’s Gentlemen’s Club.
The dinner had been eaten. Their glasses were filled with port, cigarillos were being smoked, snuff boxes being opened and offered.
Mr Raggett, the proprietor of the club, had come in person to host the dinner and awards.
‘And now, gentlemen, we come to the purpose of this, our annual awards ceremony. The giving of awards for services we, within our little club, consider outstanding in the past year. Services to our gentlemen’s community, to the general well-being of the city of London, those in support of charities, and of the arts. And those a little less serious in nature...’ He smiled and everyone in the room smiled, too, at what was coming. ‘The member who has won the most entries in the betting book, and the least. The member who consumed the most bottles of port and still left standing, and he who holds the record for sleeping the longest in the drawing room.’ Everybody looked at old Lord Soames.
MISTRESS TO THE MARQUIS Page 7
