He’d once played a game with a couple of ladies where clothing had been wagered. He wouldn’t mind a hand or two with her. He’d play honestly—probably. “I’ll put up the blunt.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked. “In exchange for what?”
“You are a suspicious wench.” He wondered if she’d been so before her marriage. He rather doubted it. “I’ll fund you both so you enjoy the night. Say, a hundred pounds each.”
“That’s rather generous.”
“It’s more than rather. It’s incredibly generous,” Gina piped up. “It’ll be no hardship for us to pay our own way, however. I don’t mean to be vulgar but we both inherited a grand sum when Father passed.”
“Shh, Gina,” Lady Landsdowne said quietly. “You shouldn’t speak of your inheritance.”
“Why not?”
“Because it could influence a man into charming you when all he wants is your money.”
“My wife’s money will remain her own,” Rexton said, feeling a need to defend himself. “My father felt the same. My mother brought a fortune with her, and he never touched a penny.”
“Your mother was an heiress?” Gina asked.
Shaking his head, he laughed. “No, she was a bookkeeper.” He waved his hand in a gesture to encompass all that surrounded them. “And a partner in this establishment back when it was known as Dodger’s Drawing Room. Vice is a lucrative enterprise. Now, let’s go add to their coffers, shall we? As the odds of winning are against us.”
He shoved back his chair, stood, and assisted Gina while a footman stepped forward to help Lady Landsdowne. He wished he didn’t envy the servant his role.
Gina looked up at him. “I don’t know any wagering games, my lord.”
“We’ll give several things a try until we find something you enjoy.”
“I suppose you know every game there is,” Lady Landsdowne said.
“And then some.” Even though Gina clung to his arm as he led them into the gaming area he was far more aware of Lady Landsdowne walking on the other side of her sister. “Not to worry. You shouldn’t get much censure here. Although Drake is very particular about who is granted membership—and they are all upper class—they are a largely tolerant sort.”
“Then Downie’s membership has been terminated has it?” the countess asked.
Damnation. He’d forgotten about her idiot husband and his friends. “Once people realize you’re with me, they won’t give you any trouble, even if their allegiance rests with Landsdowne.”
Gina came to an abrupt halt. “Perhaps you should escort her in on your arm. I can walk beside her.”
That would undermine his plan. In order to spark others’ interest in Gina, he had to give the impression that she was his mark. “One on each arm,” he suggested. “As we did at the theater.”
“I’ll be fine,” Lady Landsdowne said.
“Must you be so stubborn?” he asked.
“The ladies are the worst and there aren’t going to be that many here, are there?”
“There will be some,” he assured her.
“Some I can handle perfectly fine.”
He knew that for the lie it was. She could handle them all perfectly fine. She’d been doing it at the theater before he’d come to her aid. He liked that she was strong and relied on herself. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have minded her relying on him just a tad. “Very well. Onward.”
As Lady Landsdowne charged ahead he could feel the hesitation in her sister. He leaned down. “Not to worry. I won’t allow anyone to disparage her.”
“Thank you, my lord. She puts on a brave front and would go through hell for me. I just wish I could make things easier for her.”
“We must all live with our decisions, Miss Hammersley.”
“Even when they’re forced on us, my lord?”
“Even then.”
Still he was left to wonder if Lady Landsdowne would have made different choices had she been his wife.
In the end, Rexton insisted that their first foray into gambling be on him. He made the offer at the roulette table in such a manner that it would have been ungracious for Tillie to argue against it, especially as several people were eyeing them with curiosity. It took her only a few minutes to determine there was no point to the game other than to hand over money. Whether she placed her chips on a number, a color, or a line, she always seemed to get it wrong.
Gina had a bit more luck, was very vocal with her wins, squealing her pleasure. When she lost, she simply said, “Next time.” And went about putting down more chips.
Naturally, Rexton was guiding her sister as though he knew a secret about the wheel, as though he could look at it and determine where the little ball would land long before the wheel was spun. He’d offered to assist her, but she’d pointedly declined. She didn’t want his gloved hand closing around hers and leading it to the numbers. She didn’t want him whispering his magic into her ear. She didn’t want him so near that his earthy fragrance drowned out all the other smells. She didn’t want him drawing her attentions when she was striving to get a better sense of the place.
He, however, seemed incapable of not leaning in and saying in a low voice, “If you believe you’ll lose, you’ll lose.”
“Are you insinuating my mind controls the ball?”
“I’m saying there is more to gambling than simply placing a bet.”
“I suspect everyone at this table believes they’ll win.”
“And they will.” He rocked his head from side to side. “Now and then.”
“Yet I’ve failed to even once.”
“Because you don’t believe at all, because you don’t want to be here.”
“This game requires no skill,” she said defensively, trying not to take it personally because she had yet to experience the thrill of a win.
“Perhaps you would prefer cards. There are several games. Some require more skill than others. We could start with one that requires only being able to count to twenty-one.”
She wished he wasn’t so close that looking into the blue of his eyes was like swimming in a vast ocean, one in which she could so easily drown and not care. He needed to return his attention to Gina. An insult should work. “I suspect you cheat at cards.”
His devil-may-care grin left her wanting to feel it pressed against the pulse at her throat. “Depends whom I’m playing.”
So much for causing him to lose his patience with her. He leaned in nearer, those luscious lips brushing against her ear, his voice a low intimate hum. “When I play against Landsdowne, I take him for every farthing he has.”
Pulling back quickly, she stared into his eyes, searching for the truth of his words. It was there, clear and concise, but somber as though he’d done it as a means of defending her honor, as though he were aware that her husband had brought her as much dishonor as she’d brought herself. Only he couldn’t know that. He couldn’t know the truth of her circumstances, the reality of the farce her marriage had been.
She wanted to look away; she needed to look away. Instead she wondered how he would react if she rose up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him. Would he be horrified, would he push her away, would he proclaim his undying devotion to Gina?
The truth was she wouldn’t be kissing him as a test of his loyalty to Gina. She would be kissing him because she selfishly wanted to experience passion, and she was rather certain that Rexton could deliver it in spades. Without guile, she licked her tingling lips. His eyes darkened. And she had the titillating notion that he might snatch her up and plant his mouth on hers. Gina would be mortified, her Season ruined. A woman publicly scorned.
It was hellish enough to be scorned in private, behind closed doors, but to be so in public would be a humiliation from which her sister might never recover. Not to mention that being kissed in a gaming hell beside a roulette wheel was not going to bring Tillie any closer to redemption. No matter that ladies were probably often kissed within this estab
lishment. Wickedness thrived here. It was the reason people came.
“Can you direct me to the necessary room?” she asked, her voice strangely steady as though she’d somehow managed to disconnect it from the remainder of her quivering body.
He blinked, seeming to emerge from some sort of spell. Was Gina correct? Could Tillie lure him away from her sister’s side? Did she want to? Turning slightly, he pointed. “That hallway leads to a host of rooms for ladies only. I suspect you’ll find it there.”
“Thank you.” She eased around him. “Gina, I’m going to the necessary room. Would you care to join me?”
Her sister didn’t take her gaze off the spinning wheel as she shook her head. “Not while I’m winning. I don’t want to change my luck.”
“I won’t be long.”
Without looking back, Gina lifted her hand, waved her fingers. “Take all the time you need.”
If she took all the time she needed, she’d be gone until dawn. As she walked away, she could feel his gaze on her, wondered why it was she seemed unable to escape her awareness of him. Just knowing he was in the same building as she was enough to have her nerve endings rioting. It was bothersome.
She forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings. The crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. The various gaming tables. She considered stopping to observe the play at each one as each game was unfamiliar to her. She was rather certain she could figure out the generalities but it would be so much more pleasant to have Rexton whispering the rules in her ear. The man’s deep, husky voice could make the most mundane tantalizing. And here she was thinking about him again. At least her nerves had settled a bit, so he’d no doubt taken his gaze off her.
She was surprised that few gave her a passing glance, and those who did proceeded to do little more than raise an eyebrow. Perhaps she should have considered that here where sin ruled, she’d be more welcomed. Seeing so many people smiling, laughing, enjoying each other’s company brought home exactly how lonely she’d been for so very long. Her friends had abandoned her. Her acquaintances had crucified her. She’d been the fodder for gossip and disdain. Only Gina had remained loyal. Her sister deserved a special sort of happiness, and Tillie suspected Rexton could provide it. She needed to be more open to the possibility of his becoming her brother by marriage. Needed to put her own biases aside. As well as her lust-filled musings. No doubt her interest in him was simply because he was the first man of any consequence to spend time in her company.
Perhaps she should consider visiting the notorious Nightingale Club where ladies of quality could find a well-heeled gentleman to keep them company for the night. It would be something to consider. It might do something to settle her body’s heightened sensitivity. Although she’d never found it particularly enjoyable to suffer through a man’s groping. Perhaps it was simply better to endure the shame and guilt of seeing to her own needs. A private affair with herself would certainly remain secret.
Shaking her head at so ludicrous a notion, she entered the corridor where the lighting was a bit dimmer. Never before had she spent so much time considering the various aspects of bedding. Oh, before she’d married, she’d certainly contemplated the act, speculated about everything that might be involved. Her wedding night had done little more than dull her enthusiasm for mating rituals. Making love was certainly an inappropriate description for what occurred in the marriage bed. Downie—
“Well, if it’s not the notorious heiress.”
Spinning around at the ominously delivered words, she found herself facing one of Downie’s most trusted friends, hatred and disgust burning in his eyes. “Lord Evanston, it was my understanding this area was reserved for ladies.”
“But then you’re not a lady, are you? You’re a whore. As such, you should be treated as one.” He took a menacing step forward.
She couldn’t rush past him, so she turned, hiked up her skirts, and ran.
Christ, he was failing his mission. Instead of implying with word and deed that he was infatuated with Gina, he was constantly giving attention to her sister. The temptation of her was something he’d never before experienced. He was drawn to women, but he’d never been obsessed with wondering how they might taste or feel or sound when passion took hold, rolled through them, conquered them. He was strung so tightly, was so distracted that if he sat down to play cards, he’d probably lose every hand. He’d not be able to count the cards, to determine what remained to be played. Fortunately, Gina was not becoming bored with roulette. Probably because she was having a string of wins. If he didn’t know it was impossible to influence the wheel, he’d think she’d figured out a way to cheat.
Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the hallway into which Lady Landsdowne had disappeared. He probably should have found a woman to accompany her, to assure she found her way. When Drake had opened the club up to women nearly a decade earlier, he’d introduced the renovated place to London with a night where the entire establishment could be viewed by either gender. Rexton had been curious about what the private areas for only the women offered. He recalled a room for cards, a library with spirits, a chamber mostly made up of fainting couches. But those rooms were accessed via a corridor that veered off from the main hallway. Might she get lost in the warren?
“Is something amiss, my lord?”
He looked back at Gina, her brow pleated with fine lines. He was no doubt worrying for naught, but he couldn’t seem to shake off the unsettling thought that she’d been absent too long. He’d seen the disgust at the opera. He’d noticed less of it here, but then those within these walls were often skilled at not showing what they felt—the ability to hide one’s feelings and thoughts came in handy when playing cards. “I’m going to go make sure your sister’s all right.”
Her brow furrowed more deeply. “She’s in an area where only ladies are allowed. Should I go?”
As though this slight girl could fend off someone if trouble were afoot. Although what sort of trouble could Lady Landsdowne get into? A lady pulling on her hair perhaps? On the other hand, he had run into some vicious women on occasion. And there had been the incident in the hallway at the theater. “No, I’ll see to it. Don’t leave this spot.”
“I won’t.”
With a nod, he turned on his heel and strode quickly and with purpose to the corridor. As he traversed it, he remember it was a jagged journey to a door that opened to the outside so women could come and go as they pleased if they wished to retain a bit of discretion when it came to vices they might enjoy. Men would never see them, learn of their visits. Not unless they ventured into the areas where both genders mingled.
He came to the split in the passageway and was about to turn down the one that led to the chambers when he heard a struggle coming from the opposite direction. His heart leaped in his chest. He took off at a dead run. Even if it wasn’t Lady Landsdowne, someone was in trouble. When he careened around a corner, he saw that it was indeed the lady for whom he was searching.
She was pressed against a wall, her arms behind her, no doubt shackled at the wrist by the tall, broad man’s powerful hand, his other large hand cupping her chin, holding her face tilted toward his mouth as he tried to connect it with hers while she moved her head as much as she was able to avoid him. She was attempting to kick him, to break free, but her heavy skirts were hampering her movements. Yet still she fought.
And Rexton saw red, crimson, scarlet.
Mine roared through his head or maybe it even roared out of his mouth because the man looked back over his shoulder. Evanston. Rexton grabbed a handful of clothing near the lord’s throat, tore him away from Lady Landsdowne, and directed three hard, quick jabs into Evanston’s face. He was aware of the popping and snapping of cartilage and bone, the spurting of blood before he threw the man, whimpering and groaning, to the floor.
“Get the bloody hell out of here before I kill you.” His voice was low, shimmering with restrained violence.
Evanston didn’t argue. He mere
ly scrambled to his feet and, holding both hands over his face, ran.
“Coward,” Rexton spat after him. He turned to Tillie. He couldn’t think of her as Lady Landsdowne at that moment because there was no sign of the haughty, prideful woman who had greeted him that first afternoon at Landsdowne Court. All he saw was her vulnerability, her wide frightened eyes, her chest heaving with her labored breathing. “Are you all right?” He shook his head before she could answer. “No, of course you’re not. Are you hurt?”
She blinked at him. He could see her trembling. “Are you hurt?” he repeated a bit more gently.
“You . . . you . . . hit him. Three times.”
“I’d have hit him more but touching him was beginning to make my skin crawl. Did he harm you?”
Tears began to well in her eyes. “You didn’t think I deserved it, for being an unfaithful wench?”
“A man pawing at you? No woman deserves that, regardless of her behavior.” He tore off his glove and tenderly cradled her cheek. “Do you have pain anywhere?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No. I just . . . I couldn’t push him away.”
“He’s a big lummox, but you shouldn’t have had to. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near you.”
The tears that had been hovering vanished. She took a deep breath, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t seem to help himself: he skimmed his thumb over her silky cheek, all the while watching the movement, mesmerized by it as though he’d never before touched a woman. What was it about her that made her so different?
“Why are you here?” she asked, bringing him back to the present, to the situation. He lowered his hand.
“I was concerned. You were gone too long.”
“So you left Gina alone?” Her obvious displeasure irked.
“I left her in the company of others. She’ll be fine.” He noticed the rip in her gown then, and the anger rose up anew. He should have hit Evanston at least three more times. “You not so much. Your gown is torn. You can’t return to the main area looking like that. I’ll see you to one of the ladies’ lounges, then fetch Gina. We’ll go out through this door.”
An Affair with a Notorious Heiress Page 12
