Paine’s eye brows perked at the mention of a new deal brewing between the uncle and Oswalt, his brain working quickly to assimilate the new details. ‘Is there a chance the uncle can pay?’ He didn’t believe there would be, but he had to be certain.
‘I don’t think so.’ Flaherty rummaged through a battered black bag at his side and pulled out a sheaf of papers. ‘Here’s what I managed to get from the uncle’s solicitor.’
Paine took the sheaf and whistled. ‘Your skills never cease to amaze, Flaherty. I don’t want to know how you managed this.’ He quickly scanned the documents, records of the uncle’s latest finances.
The outlook was dismal, but not unexpected. Viscount Lockhart’s pockets were to let except for the ship that Julia had mentioned. If Julia didn’t return, the family’s collapse would be immediate. The ship’s cargo, should it return, would be used to pay back what the family owed Oswalt. There would be nothing left over. If Julia returned, there was no telling how far the reduced sum would go in alleviating the family’s financial concerns. Paine wagered it wouldn’t go far enough. Oswalt wanted something that the viscount’s financial viability blocked.
‘Help me think, Flaherty.’ Paine drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Why would Oswalt go to all this trouble to ruin a man who is already on the brink of it? He’s deliberately pushing Lockhart over the edge. He’s singled Lockhart out for a reason.’ Paine rubbed at his brow, gathering his thoughts. ‘Flaherty, look into Oswalt’s business dealings and, while you’re at it, find out what cargo Lockhart’s ship is carrying. There might be something telling in that. Let me know when you have news.’
Paine had a feeling that marriage to Julia was merely part of a larger plan Oswalt had set in motion. She was one of many steps—a critical step at that if the amount of manpower behind his search for her was any indicator—but Paine had no idea what that larger game might be, only a feeling that if Julia wasn’t found, Oswalt’s game might be hampered. Oswalt was a man who didn’t like to be thwarted. It made him an exceedingly dangerous opponent. If Oswalt felt cornered, he would become more volatile. On the other hand, he might also become more desperate and that could work in Paine’s favor.
He would also send an anonymous note to Uncle Barnaby, letting him know Julia was safe and that he should give out the story she was tending a sick relative in the country if he wanted to minimise scandal. He wanted to do more, but under the circumstances, the meagre effort would have to be enough.
There was nothing to do now but reassure and wait. He would reassure Julia that he’d taken some short-term steps to alleviate her uncle’s worry and to pre-empt the potential scandal. Regardless of his thoughts on the worm her uncle was, Julia obviously regarded him in a more friendly light. And he would wait; wait for the responses to the letters he’d sent out; wait for Flaherty’s news regarding Oswalt’s pursuits. Then there would come a time of action.
Between now and then, he would skin the young bucks waiting for him at the faro table and teach Julia to gamble. The thought of the last brought a lingering smile to his face.
Chapter Eight
‘I’m ready,’ Julia said with a touch of uncertainty at the top of the stairs. She nervously smoothed the skirts of the deep rose evening gown Madame Broussard had delivered earlier in the day. The gown was of the first stare of fashion, far beyond any of the pale, virginal gowns in her débutante’s wardrobe at home. There was no disputing the quality of the gown with its exquisite tailoring and stitching.
‘How do I look?’ She moved slowly down the stairs, highly conscious of the plunging neckline and the way the gown clung to her silhouette. Perhaps the colour was too bold after all? She would never have dared such a bold colour either. She suspected only Paine Ramsden would have the audacity to pair the rose with a cinnamon-haired girl and carry it off. She had to admit the shade Paine had chosen complemented her hair rather than clashed. Not that it made any difference tonight. Her auburn tresses were securely tucked up under a black-haired wig.
Julia reached the bottom of the staircase and gingerly touched a gloved hand to her head to check her wig one more time. ‘Say something, Paine. Do I look all right?’ But she already had her answer. Apparently the gown achieved its desired effect if Paine’s intent gaze was any indicator.
His eyes were hot; the wolfish smile spreading across his lips were approval enough. There was a certain thrill in earning the approval of a man like Paine Ramsden. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew with her new-budding woman’s intuition that he liked what he saw—that he desired her.
‘You’re absolutely ravishing, Julia. I can’t decide if you’re Snow White or Red Riding Hood. You look like a fairy tale come to life, even with that wig.’
Julia gave a faux-pout. ‘Little Red Riding Hood? That makes me sound like a child.’
Paine leaned close to her ear and nipped the tender flesh of her ear lobe. ‘No, not a child, Julia, a delicious ingénue,’ he drawled. ‘When I look at you, I see an intoxicating mixture of innocence and sensuality, a lady about to awaken to the pleasures of the world.’
Warm heat rushed to Julia’s core at the images his low tones conjured. There was no doubt as to what those worldly pleasures might be and how they might be provided. The man flirted so well, it was impossible not to be taken in. ‘Then perhaps you are mistaken. I am neither Snow White nor Red Riding Hood, but Sleeping Beauty.’
Paine laughed near her ear, enjoying her witty efforts. ‘If you’re Sleeping Beauty, what does that make me?’
Julia bit back the first reply that sprung to her lips—that he was the prince come to awaken the princess with love’s first kiss. That would never do for a man like him. It implied too much. ‘Why, that’s easy,’ she said instead. ‘You’re the wolf. You’re always the wolf.’
Paine stepped back, his eyes dancing. ‘Then let’s away to my lair.’ Her answer had pleased him. Julia wondered if the banter had been a test of sorts to make sure she wasn’t entertaining any romantic notions.
The idea to go with Paine had been an exciting prospect in theory. Dressing up in a low-cut gown, donning a wig and becoming someone else altogether for the evening had been exhilarating—right up to the part where they arrived at the gambling hell.
Paine’s coach lurched to a halt and Julia’s stomach did a lurch of another kind. ‘Are you sure no one will recognise me?’ she asked tentatively. Paine had explained to her that Oswalt’s man had come the night before asking about her and that it was possible the man might come again once Oswalt knew this hell was Paine’s territory.
Paine offered her another round of reassurances and leaped down. He turned to hand her out of the carriage. ‘Remember, Julia. This is not a fancy place. You’ll stand out like a diamond among coal. But we’re counting on that. If Oswalt’s man is here, there’s nothing better for throwing him off the scent than a glimpse of my dark-haired lady throwing dice. He’ll report back to Oswalt that the woman with me didn’t resemble you in the least.’
He shot her a dazzling smile, meant to reassure. ‘It’ll be fun, Julia. Relax. Tonight, you’re not Julia Prentiss, you’re Eva St George, an actress with many talents.’
That made her smile. Julia summoned her courage, telling herself she was on the brink of a grand adventure. When would she have the chance again to visit a gaming hell? As Julia Prentiss, the niece of a viscount, such behaviour was beyond the pale but as the embodiment of the fictitious Eva St George, anything was possible.
An hour later, she was fully into her role as the adventurous Eva St George. She stood at the head of a crowded hazard table, giddy with the thrill of it all. It was her turn to act the part of the caster. She jostled the dice in anticipation. Near her ear, Paine offered a running litany of instruction.
‘Call your main before you throw, that’s any number you choose between five and nine. If that number comes up, you win the stake. If you throw a two or three, you lose—it’s called “throwing crabs.” If neither the main nor the crabs comes
up, it’s your chance and you neither win nor lose on it.’
‘Seven!’ Julia called out, tossing the ivory cubes on to the green felt table. A six turned up first and she bit her lip, relieved to see a one showing on the other cube. ‘I win!’ Julia cried.
The men gathered around the table laughed good naturedly at her excitement. She picked up the dice again, prepared for another round. Paine bent over and blew on them for luck, taking a fair amount of ribbing from the other players.
‘Lady Luck is supposed to blow on the dice, Ram,’ one of them shouted.
‘Are you kidding?’ another joked, ‘With Ram’s luck, I’d let him blow on my dice any night of the week.’
Julia called a six and threw her main. ‘I won again!’ In her enthusiasm, she flung her arms around Paine’s neck and pressed close against him. ‘I love this game!’ In reality, she thought she’d love anything that kept Paine by her side, whispering in her ear. The combination of his dark evening wear and the scent of his spiced soap was intoxicatingly potent. Tonight, he exuded a commanding aura of urbane control and powerful masculinity. He was a man in charge. He could just as easily have come from an elite club or ton ballroom.
Paine responded to her embrace wholeheartedly, sweeping an arm about her waist and capturing her upturned face with a full-mouthed kiss that had the table whooping. ‘Let’s see how that helps your luck,’ Paine said with a grin, releasing her and handing her the dice. ‘Third time lucky.’
‘Looks like she already got lucky,’ someone at the end of the table hooted.
Julia blushed. The public display from Paine had been unexpected until she remembered who she was supposed to be. A seasoned actress would not balk at such a display or at any comment made about it. Eva St George would take such a moment in her stride. Julia Prentiss would have to, too.
As he stood beside her, Paine’s hand settled at her waist, steadying her as if he guessed her reaction. ‘You’re doing fine, quite convincing actually,’ he whispered near her ear.
She threw again and the table cheered.
The raucous laughter coming from the hazard table held Sam Brown’s attention almost against his will. There was a boisterous crowd tonight. The noise made it hard to concentrate on surveying the rest of the club. He’d been here the prior night, too. He’d spent that night in vain. No sign of his boss’s girl had materialised. Yet, he had a hunch that someone here knew something. The glint in the big doorman’s eye suggested as much. The doorman had been too quick to dismiss his questions and deny knowledge of anyone meeting the girl’s description. So, with nothing else to go on, he’d come back to wait and to watch.
From his small table against a back wall, he had a clear view of all the comings and goings in the place. Technically, no one was going to slip past him, but his attention kept drifting back to the hazard game. A whoop of excitement carried over the general commotion, followed by applause. The sea of people around the hazard table shifted. He caught a glimpse of a nattily dressed man in dark evening clothes and a stunning dark-haired woman dressed in a striking rose gown, leaning over the table with the dice.
The man, he recognised from the prior night. The man had been alone then and not dressed as formally as he was tonight. Still, it was the same person. His face, with its elegant cheekbones and aristocratic flair, was quite memorable.
A serving girl in a provocatively low blouse passed his table. He grabbed her arm. ‘Another brandy,’ he ordered, tossing a coin on her tray. He jerked his head towards the hazard table. ‘Who’s the gent?’
‘That’s Paine Ramsden.’ The girl sighed, her voice full of an annoying touch of hero-worship.
He grunted, scoffing at the girl’s obvious infatuation. The handsome coves had it too easy. ‘Is he bleeding royalty, then?’
‘He is to us. He runs this place. He comes in every night and handles all the business personally.’ She smiled, but he knew the smile wasn’t for him. She was remembering something about the god-like gambling-hell owner. Well, at least she was willing to talk about the object of her adoration. It was more than what he’d got out of anyone else—another telling sign that something simmered beneath the surface here. Everyone was too close-lipped.
He smiled back at the girl and nodded, encouraging her conversation. She leaned towards him. ‘He’s not royalty, but there’s a rumour that his brother is an earl.’ She sighed again. ‘Just think, the brother of an earl rubbing shoulders with us in our part of the world. Who would have thought?’
The girl moved on, her stock of facts about Ramsden exhausted. But she’d given him plenty to chew on. Who would have thought, indeed? What was the brother of an earl doing managing a cut-rate gambling establishment? The place wasn’t a place the Quality would frequent. He could see first hand that the people here were from London’s underbelly, rough men, men of disrepute—the dandies in the corner being an exception. But Sam could imagine why those toffs had come. No doubt they were looking for the adventure and excitement they thought hobnobbing with the lower classes could provide.
The girl returned with his brandy and set it down. ‘What about the woman with him? Do you know her?’
The girl shook her head. ‘He’s always got a pretty bird on his arm. Some of the other girls say she’s an actress.’
He nursed his brandy and stared hard at the handsome couple. He could tell, even from a distance, that Ramsden was a charismatic man, but the real reason everyone flocked to the table was the woman. The deep hue of her gown was a siren, drawing men to her from across the bleak, colourless hall. Her laughter kept them. She was enthralled in the game, her excitement over winning as genuine as her disappointment when the dice betrayed her.
The man finished his brandy and edged closer to the crowd, hovering on its rim, studying the woman. Someone in the group called out, ‘Come on, Eva, roll a good one!’ She held up the dice for Ramsden to blow on for luck. She tossed and won. The group cheered. ‘Hurrah for the St George luck!’
Eva St George. Now he had a name and an occupation. That would be something to go on. But what? According to the serving girl, it wasn’t unusual for this Ramsden to have a woman by his side. There was nothing to suggest a connection between this couple and the lost girl. Another wasted evening and an unusual incident of his hunches failing him.
He gave the happy table a last look and was about to call it a night when he felt a discreet presence at his elbow. A well dressed young man with slightly dissipated features stood next to him.
The young man stared ahead at the game in progress as he talked, making no attempt at eye contact. ‘Are you the man seeking information about a girl?’
He eyed the newcomer, sizing up his potential. ‘Yes. Do you know something?’
‘Do you have the means to pay?’
He nodded. ‘But only for good information. I’ve got a nice knife in the ribs for liars. Meet me in the alley out back and we’ll see what you’ve got.’ He hadn’t survived this long as one of Oswalt’s henchmen for believing every tip he received.
The young man waited out in the alley for him, clearly nervous. Good. It gave him a chance to assume the upper hand. ‘All right, tell me what you know. I have a fifty pounds if your information is good.’
The young man brightened at the prospect of money. Excellent. The buck could be bought.
‘The girl was here a couple of nights ago. She wore an aquamarine silk dress and had reddish-brown hair.’ The boy blurted his information quickly. ‘Can I have my money?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Not so fast. Why should I believe you? Perhaps you overheard me describing her.’
The boy swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘I saw her with my own eyes. I was sitting at a table, playing Commerce with Ramsden himself. He went to the door and met the girl. Then he took her back to his office. Ramsden didn’t return that evening or the next.’
He nodded. ‘Very good.’ He’d noted the hardness to the boy’s voice when Ramsden’s name was mentioned. It explained
much, like why the finely dressed young man was out in the alley talking to the likes of him. He turned friendly. ‘Did Ramsden clean you out?’
‘Yes.’ A sigh followed. ‘I didn’t think I’d lose as much as I did, but Ramsden has the devil’s own luck. If the pater finds out I’ve lost my quarterly allowance already, I’m in the suds.’
He smiled in the dark. From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first time this bucko had had a run of bad luck. ‘How much do you owe Ramsden?’
‘A hundred pounds,’ the lad said dejectedly.
‘Tell you what, I’ll give you a hundred pounds—fifty for your information tonight and there’s another fifty in it for sticking around the club and letting me know if the girl resurfaces.’ He tossed a leather purse full of sovereigns at Beaton. ‘There’s good money in information,’ he assured the lad.
‘How shall I contact you?’
He clapped the boy on the shoulder with false bonhomie. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find you.’
From the hazard table, Paine covertly watched Gaylord Beaton re-enter the club after a ten-minute absence. It took all of his will power to refrain from dragging the boy outside and doling out the pummelling he deserved. The boy was a poor loser and a stupid one at that. After losing at Commerce, followed with a losing streak at faro the other night, the boy hadn’t learned his lesson about playing within his means. Paine knew the loss had cost him dearly. He’d hoped it would teach the boy to keep away from the tables.
The lesson hadn’t taken and now the boy was bent on revenge, no doubt seeing Paine as the arbiter of his ill fortunes. Unfortunately, the boy wasn’t all that good at skulking. Paine didn’t have to ask John where the boy had gone. He’d tried too hard to slip out into the alley unnoticed by the back door.
Paine could guess, too, who he’d met out there. Oswalt’s man had been back. He’d had his eye on him all night. He’d watched the man chat to the barmaid. In spite of his best efforts to keep Julia’s appearance at the club secret, it appeared the secret was starting to surface and his connection to Julia along with it. It was bad luck that Gaylord Beaton had been at the club the night Julia had shown up and that he’d found the courage to share that information with Oswalt’s henchman.
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