by C. J. Archer
She leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. She regarded me with a frown on her brow but a smile on her lips. "I hate men too."
"I don't hate men. Just Eddie. My attitude toward them is different now, though. I won't go throwing myself at the next man who shows some interest in me." Not that I expected any interest now.
"You don't know men like I do, Miss Steele."
"Call me India."
"You don't know men, India." Her smile vanished altogether and the frown took over her entire face, tugging at her mouth, shadowing her eyes. "I pray you never do."
I wanted to reach out and touch her hand in sympathy, but I suspected she wouldn't like me to, so I simply nodded.
"Excepting Matt, of course. He's a good man, despite…" She waved a hand, as if I should know what she meant.
I waited, but she didn't elaborate. "And Duke and Cyclops?"
She merely lifted one shoulder. "I don't know them like I know Matt."
It would have been the perfect time to ask her for information about him, but I was worried it might be too soon and she'd push me away again. I liked that she was no longer resentful of me.
"Come with me tonight, India," she said suddenly. "Let me show you what a woman can do when she has a mind to do it."
"Go where?"
"There's a gathering of card players above a shop in Jermyn Street."
"A gambling den?"
"I'll teach you to play like a man and how not to be one of them silly, simpering females."
"I don't think I'm either silly or simpering, thank you."
She rolled her eyes. "You'll see how men treat you different when they know you're not helpless. Come with me. I would like some company."
"Why not take Duke with you?"
She pulled a face. "Good company. Well? Are you brave enough?"
I laughed. "I won't fall for your baiting. Let me think about it. I'll give you my answer later."
She left and I finished putting the clock back together, my mind on Willie's offer. Going to a gambling den wasn't something I would ever have contemplated until now. But I could do it. What was to stop me? Surely she wouldn't go if there was a chance of encountering danger. It sounded like a thrilling idea and not at all something the old me would have done. I had always done the proper thing, but now I felt like I'd woken up from a fog. I wanted to try new things.
Yet years of cautious behavior and a gentle upbringing made me hesitate. I warred with myself for the rest of the afternoon. I was only distracted by the deep rumbling of Mr. Glass's voice as I checked the clock on the half table near the door to his rooms.
"According to Jem's letter," he said to someone with him, "Sheriff Payne knows we're here."
Duke and Willie both swore. "How did he find out?" Duke asked.
"If my little brother told him, I'll gut him," Willie snarled.
"Jem doesn't say how the sheriff found out," Mr. Glass said, "only that he came to the house and demanded to know when we'd left."
"It won't be Jem's fault," came Cyclops's resonant voice. "It's more likely someone who wants Matt out of the way."
"That narrows it down." Willie's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Someone who also knows the sheriff wants me, dead or alive," Matt said.
Wanted, dead or alive. Those were the words on the poster of the Dark Rider. I pressed a hand to my stomach and tried to catch my breath but my corset was too tight. I felt sick. A sheriff was after Matt. Then he must be the Dark Rider.
"He don't want you alive, Matt," Duke said heavily. "In a coffin is the only way Sheriff Payne will take you home."
They fell silent and I crept away from the door, abandoning the clock. I ran to my rooms and locked the door behind me.
Chapter 10
I didn't come out of my room until the dinner gong sounded. Not joining the others would have seemed suspicious, so I decided to act as normally as possible but I found it difficult to look anyone in the eye.
Fortunately Willie and Cyclops were distracted by Miss Glass's grand entrance alongside me. She'd decided to dress in a gown more suited to dinner with royalty. The silver thread through the dark gray silk shone in the candlelight, and the pearls at her throat and in her hair only drove home to me that I was in the presence of aristocracy. Me, a humble watchmaker's daughter.
"Miss Steele?" Mr. Glass's firm hand on my elbow caught me by surprise. "May I escort you to your seat?"
"Thank you."
He folded my fingers over his arm and trapped them there with his own hand. "Are you unwell?"
"No."
He bent his head toward mine. He smelled like spices and lavender, an intriguing combination that set my heart racing. "You look a little pale and you've been in your room most of the afternoon."
"Sometimes I like to be alone."
"So you weren't avoiding me?"
My heart rose to my throat. "Why would I avoid you?"
He pulled out the chair for me. "Because you believe me to be insincere. I would hazard a guess that you think me ungentlemanly too."
His hand felt heavy on mine but not unpleasantly so. "You are a gentleman, Mr. Glass. Your grandfather was a baron, no less."
"I hope I'm more gentlemanly than he was." One side of his mouth kicked up. "And please, don't hold my connections against me. I can't choose my family, but I do choose my friends very carefully." His breath ruffled my hair near my ear. "I hope you will be one of them."
Heat crept up my throat and touched my cheeks. His smile widened. He knew what affect his charm had on me, and that unsettled me more. "Mr. Glass, in all honesty, I don't know what to make of you. My thoughts swing from one direction to the other every hour of the day, even when you're not present."
He suddenly grinned. "I'm glad to know that you think of me that often."
I sucked in a steadying breath. Despite my determination to remain calm, it sounded ragged. "Mr. Glass, are you flirting with me?"
"Is that a crime?"
"Some would say it is, since you plan on leaving England in a few days’ time. Besides, haven't we already established that you're insincere?"
The muscles in his arm tightened. He let me go. "My apologies, Miss Steele. I don't know what I was thinking." He strode off to the other side of the table and didn't look at me again.
By the end of dinner I felt hot and my nerves frayed, and I didn't know why. He'd done exactly what I'd wanted and ended his flirtations, as a decent man—a gentleman—ought to have done. So why did part of me wish he hadn't?
I couldn't sit still afterward in the library as I tried to read by the lamplight, so when Willie found me and asked if I was going to join her for cards, I agreed without hesitation. I needed to do something. A small voice told me I was being reckless, but I ignored it. I wanted to be reckless tonight. Hopefully a little adventure would put an end to my restlessness.
"India is coming out with me," Willie announced to Mr. Glass after his aunt retired to her room.
He lowered his brandy glass very slowly and deliberately. "India? What happened to Miss Steele?"
"She said I could call her India, so I will." Willie crossed her arms over her chest.
"I did," I said, although they seemed to have forgotten I was there. We three were alone in the drawing room where Willie and I found Mr. Glass reading the newspaper. Duke and Cyclops were nowhere to be seen.
"Miss Steele, would you mind stepping outside for a moment? I need to speak with Willie alone."
I agreed, since I planned on listening in anyway. He shot me a hard smile then shut the door on me. I placed my ear to it and listened to Mr. Glass rant at his cousin.
"You are not taking her with you," he growled.
"She's quite capable of making up her own mind," Willie retorted. "We're both grown women."
"Grown women are as capable of getting themselves into trouble as girls."
"We're neither of us silly, Matt. If we sense danger, we'll leave."
A moment's silence
followed in which I thought she'd won the argument already. Then he said, "I forbid it. She's not like you. She's not…worldly."
"She damn well is, and if you can't see it then you're not looking hard enough."
"Worldly isn't the right word." A floorboard creaked and footsteps tapped before the floor creaked again. He paced across the room. "You're going into a room full of men. Men who will be drinking and flush with money."
"Not after I fleece them."
"Willie! Listen to me. Miss Steele is an innocent."
"No, Matt, she isn't."
"She is, damn it!" His vehemence surprised and confused me. Why was he being so fierce with Willie over this? "She presents herself as confident and resilient, but she's not. She's vulnerable and too trusting. You and I both know those are the qualities of an easy target."
I stumbled away from the door, tears stinging my eyes. I wasn't sure what hurt more, that he thought I was weak and pathetic or that he pitied me.
Perhaps he was right and I was the woman he described. I had trusted him in the beginning, after all. But I no longer wanted to be that person. I didn't want to be taken advantage of ever again. Eddie had taught me the error of blind trust. Nor would I be spoken about in such a manner. Mr. Glass didn't know me.
I burst through the doors and stormed up to him. "You are very much mistaken, Mr. Glass. I am not easy, nor am I a target, as you put it."
He caught my arm as I moved away, pinning me against him. We were so close he must be able to feel my heart beating through his body. His dark eyes swirled like thunderous skies as they held me as thoroughly as his grip. "You shouldn't listen at doors, Miss Steele. It's not polite."
"I think we are well past being polite to one another, don't you?"
"Yes," he murmured. He lowered his face until it was only inches above mine. My heart almost jumped out of my chest. "Politeness be damned."
Willie cleared her throat. Next thing I knew, she'd grasped my hand and I was being dragged out of the drawing room. "Don't wait up," she called out to her cousin. "You need your rest."
I glanced back at him. He stood as rigid as a statue, his severe gaze on me as if he could will me to remain behind with just his glare alone. I smiled and waved at him.
"Be home by one," he snapped.
"Two," Willie said, already halfway out.
"One."
"Yes, Pa," Willie mocked. To me, she said, "We'll stay out 'til three, eh?"
"Watch and listen, but don't talk," said Willie as we approached a boot maker's shop on Jermyn Street. "Don't utter a sound, frown, smile, or try to signal me in any way, even if you think I have the winning or losing hand."
"How do I know what a winning or losing hand is?"
"Don't roll your eyes, raise your brows, or chew your lip or the inside of your cheek."
"May I breathe?"
"If you must, but not huffily."
My gaze slid to her, but it was difficult to see if she was being serious in the glow cast by the streetlamps. While the lighting here was better than most streets, it still wasn't enough to cut through the thickening fog. I pulled my coat closed at my throat, but the chill settled into my bones anyway.
It hadn't been a long walk from Park Street and the area was the best in London, but I jumped at every sound. The rumble of passing carriages and tap tap of footsteps were eerily disembodied in the dense air, like ghostly beings passing by. Willie seemed perfectly composed as she led the way to the Jermyn Street shops.
"Do you need new boots?" I asked as she knocked on the door of the boot maker's shop.
"This is the place," she announced.
"It doesn't look like a gambling hell. It looks like an ordinary shop."
"That's because it is, during the day. At night, the proprietor operates tables upstairs."
A thick-necked man with a small mouth opened the door, nodded at Willie then stared at me. I smiled and bobbed a curtsy. He continued to stare.
With a click of her tongue, Willie said, "Anyone would think you ain't never seen a woman before, Pinch."
"Not here, I ain't," he said.
"Oi!"
"You don't count."
She wove around the displays of shoes and boots to a door at the rear of the shop where the scent of leather was stronger. She pulled on a shiny brass bell and a clang responded from somewhere upstairs before another fellow opened the door. I turned back to see the first porter still staring at us. I hazarded a smile and, to my surprise, he smiled back.
The second porter didn't acknowledge us in any way. He was even burlier than the previous man. His jacket stretched over shoulders as large as boulders, and even his eyelids were thick with muscle. He took my presence in his stride and stepped aside so we could pass and climb the staircase, at the top of which was another door, reinforced with iron panels. A small lamp hung from a hook beside it, barely illuminating the top step. I had to feel my way up and take care not to trip. Masculine voices filtered out to us from the room beyond, mostly quiet but twice cut through by a raucous laugh. I pressed my hand to my roiling stomach. It was too late to back down now. Willie was unlikely to walk home with me and the thought of traipsing through the dark streets alone made me feel even sicker.
"Where did you learn about this place?" I whispered as Willie knocked.
"If you splash your money around at the hotels near the railway stations, someone flash will approach and tell you about a nice, friendly place where you can drink with his friends and enjoy a quiet game of dice or cards."
"You mean they go looking for likely gamblers?"
"They do. I made sure to find the ones where poker is played. It weren't easy. Poker's not well known here in England."
"What's poker?"
"A card game."
"Are you good at it?"
Her white teeth flashed in the dimness.
A narrow rectangular panel in the door slid open and a pair of eyes peered at us. They widened ever so slightly upon seeing me, before the panel slammed shut. The door opened and a tall, slender fellow, dressed like a gentleman, greeted us. He nodded at Willie and she nodded back. We handed him our coats and hats.
"Will you introduce me to your friend, Miss Johnson?" he inquired.
"Miss Steele, this is Mr. Unger," she said as she looked past him.
He bowed to me. "Welcome, Miss Steele. Have you come to play?"
"Observe only," I said. "Are you the proprietor of this establishment?"
"No." He didn't elaborate and merely stepped aside so we could pass.
Smoke rose in slender columns from a dozen cigars. It clung to the beams, disturbed only by the occasional draft. Gentlemen sat at tables, their concentration on the rolling dice or cards in their hands. Chairs clustered around some of the tables in the windowless room, and a door on the far side led to a second room. The fireplace was unlit, but the air felt cloying. Men dressed in crimson waistcoats and crisp white shirts stood at each table and seemed to be in charge of the play. The one at the hazard table held a hooked stick.
Willie headed to a table of card players to the left and took a spare seat, but it was several seconds before the hum of voices quieted. One by one, all the men turned to me until eighteen pairs of eyes focused entirely on my person. Clearly women dressed as women were an oddity in their den. I bobbed an awkward curtsy and hurried after Willie. She chuckled and shook her head at me. The fellow in charge of her table found me a chair and the portly middle-aged gentleman next to her made space for me to squeeze in.
"Good evening, miss," he said with a gap-toothed smile. "It's not often we're graced with such gentle company."
Willie muttered something under her breath that I didn't quite catch.
"I'm here in an observational capacity only," I assured him.
"Like our other new friend tonight." He pointed his cigar at the gentleman sitting directly opposite me. "Seems poker is becoming all the rage in London now. I can see why. Jolly good game." His rolling laugh filled the room. It must ha
ve been his laughter that I'd heard from outside. No one else seemed in such a jovial mood, most likely because he had the largest stack of money in front of him.
The other observer nodded at me with a friendly smile and I nodded back, then we both concentrated on the game.
"Five card cowboy stud," said the dealer to Willie as he dealt.
The man next to me leaned closer. "What do you know about this great American game, Miss…?"
"Steele," I said. "I know nothing about it."
"Name's Travers." He placed a monocle into his eye socket and studied his cards then turned his scrutiny onto me. He scanned me from head to toe, then shifted his chair even closer. He smelled like cigars and brandy. "You don't sound American."
"I'm English."
"Aha. A pretty young English rose. Perfect."
Clearly the lighting wasn't very good if he thought me pretty and young. "Thank you," I said, nevertheless.
"Has your friend taught you to play?" he asked, nodding at Willie.
"No. We've only just met.”
He squinted at me through his monocle. "You're not a hustler, are you?"
"A what?"
"A confidence man, or woman, who pretends not to know the rules then fleeces everyone at the table."
"I assure you, I don't know how to play poker. Whist is more my game."
He chuckled and the monocle fell onto the table. He returned it and studied his cards again before plucking a single coin off his pile and placing it beside the others. "She fleeced me last night," he said with a nod at Willie, "but I think I know her ways now."
Willie smirked. "Then I wish you luck, my lord."
Lord? I stared at Travers, but he was engrossed in the game and paid me no mind. I caught the gaze of the newcomer opposite and he shrugged. His bright blue eyes sparkled with intelligence.
I watched several rounds and thought I'd worked out which combination of cards constituted a winning hand. Then everything I'd learned was thrown upside down when the lord beside me won with nothing more than a pair of eights. Willie watched him rake in his winnings with a scowl on her face.
