Astounding everyone at the table. Including Mathias.
“Basset is a game of high stakes. That is part of the thrill,” the youth said. “It isn’t uncommon for people to play for lands . . . and jewelry. This one right here”—he flicked one of the diamonds—“is worth five hundred louis d’or. I’ll start my bidding with it.” He scooped up the other diamonds and placed them back in the pouch.
The Duc, like a dog about to be given a bone, was practically salivating. A large grin formed on his round face. “Welcome to the game.”
Mathias, on the other hand, was far more gripped by the sight of the youth’s hands. Delicate slender fingers. Too refined to be male. Scrutinizing the new arrival closer, he noted the justacorps he wore was of quality and yet was ill-fitting. Too loose in the shoulders. Anyone who could afford a costly overcoat like that would have had the thing properly tailored.
And then there was the youth’s cravat. He wore it oddly higher than was the norm, covering most of his throat, keeping Mathias from seeing the distinct masculine feature of an Adam’s apple.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the concealment was done intentionally.
Much of the young man’s face was hidden behind the mask and the periwig. Since they weren’t at court, no man in the room—save for the Baron de Ragon at the other table—wore the itchy thing, and the Baron only did so because he was concealing his baldness—just like the King. It was the very reason His Majesty had made it mandatory for all gentlemen of quality to sport the periwig at court.
Mathias himself detested them. He detested being at court and all its pomp and circumstance and had only attended twice—briefly.
It wasn’t common to see a periwig on someone this young—outside the palace.
Mathias’s suspicions continued to mount as his gaze dropped to the youth’s chest. His justacorps was open and beneath was the usual long vest one expected to find, but it was in shadow thanks to the chair he happened to occupy and the positioning of the nearest torchère. There was no way Mathias could see clearly if there was a hint of female breasts there.
Yet as he moved his focus back to the youth’s mouth, mentally tracing the lush curve of his lips, the slender neck, the delicate movements of the hands, his every instinct told him this was no male youth.
He knew a woman when he saw one. He’d spent too many years indulging in debauchery not to be certain.
Why was she concealing her gender? Women were permitted to play. Perhaps she was afraid that if she lost and needed someone to cover her losings, she’d be beholden to the man who advanced her funds in ways she didn’t wish to be.
He’d known a few ladies of quality who’d paid off their debts with sexual favors—though none would ever admit to it. Perhaps this was the very thing this woman wanted to avoid. Numerous questions whirled through his mind.
Who was she? Didn’t she have a husband or any male in her life who could have stopped her from donning her outrageous attire, traveling through Paris at night to an illegal gaming den to gamble at an illegal game?
If Mathias wasn’t taken aback enough by her disguise and actions, he was completely leveled by the sheer daring of her play. She played with confidence. The very same confidence exuded from her speech and mannerisms.
Luck was with her, perched firmly on her shoulder, in fact. She obviously knew it. It made her dauntless. In his opinion, a tad reckless.
And yet he watched her win her couch and then proceed to make a paroli, clearly after a sept-et-le-va—a chance at winning seven times her sizable bet. But only if her winning card was dealt yet again by the banker.
And it was.
In stunned amazement, he watched her indicate she was going for a quinze-et-le-va—fifteen times her bet on that same card. The odds of it turning up again, slim. And yet, to the Duc’s horror and the awe of every player at the table, her card turned up a third time.
He’d never seen such adventurous play rewarded so favorably so quickly. She’d only just started and had already won a sizable sum.
Then she did the most amazing thing of all. She gathered her diamonds, having not lost a single one, and her stacks of louis d’or, dropped them into a pouch and into her pocket. And quit the game.
When that amount of good fortune was on your side, he didn’t know anyone who could have resisted the lure to play on for more winnings. Yet she’d stopped when she was ahead—well ahead.
Before her luck could run out.
He was more than a little intrigued by this intriguing woman.
The moment she rose, Navers was on his feet. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you sit back down. I’ll see that some of my finest brandy is brought out and some food—for everyone. The night is young. Come now, have a seat. Let’s play another round or two while the servants attend to your needs.” The Duc, like everyone else, knew the longer she stayed, the more likely it was that her luck would change, and the Duc could recoup the losses he’d suffered because of her.
“No. I’m interested in neither your brandy nor the food. I am, however, tired of playing.” The way she spoke, with a certain elevated importance, told him she was of significant rank. A member of the house of Bourbon, maybe? Perhaps she was a part of the Prince of Condé’s family? Merde. That was absurd. To think that she’d be related to the King’s own cousin was ludicrous—as ludicrous as believing she was one of His Majesty’s own issue.
As if a royal princesses could or would slip away for this or any other nocturnal escapade.
What on earth was this woman about?
She moved around the table but the Duc stepped in front of her. “Will you be here Saturday night?”
At that she smiled, the most adorable dimple appearing near the corner of her mouth.
Mathias was suddenly gripped by an incredible urge to rip off her mask and wig for a better look at her appealing features. He couldn’t pinpoint her age. Try as he might, he couldn’t picture her face.
“You’ll have me and my diamonds back?” she said in that odd voice she was using.
“Of course. Until Saturday, then.” Navers personally escorted the mysterious woman to the door, giving no indication he’d noted her true gender.
Riveted by the way the woman had played, Mathias’s concentration on his own game had gone awry. He’d lost half his winnings, and he used it as an excuse to leave. “My luck has turned on me,” he said, rising, slipping his coin into his pouch and tucking it into his inner breast pocket. “I’m taking a break.”
Valette, still playing at the other table, gave him a curious look.
Mathias responded with a look of his own. One that said, stay put.
He moved around the tables slowly, trying not to make it obvious that he was following the “youth” who had just left, forcing himself to keep to a stroll and not bolt from the room after her.
But once outside the drawing room, Mathias picked up his pace, his long legs eating the distance to the doors that would lead to the courtyard—where he’d likely find her and her carriage.
He pushed open the doors and stepped outside, a warm summer breeze wafting up to greet him. There were a number of carriages lined up in front of him. The sounds of crickets and nickering horses drifted though the night air. Glancing in both directions, he spotted her ahead in the distance and raced to her as she made her way steadily and swiftly up the cobblestone path.
“You there!” he called out, arresting her steps.
She turned, her mask still on her face, yet he could tell she wasn’t pleased he’d stopped her.
Mathias walked up. It was the first time he noted just how tall she was. Normally with his height, he towered over women. She reached above his shoulder. The perfect height for a taste of that lush mouth . . . Having no idea where that errant thought came from, he shoved it aside.
“That was quite the game you played,” he said.
“Thank you. I wish I could say the sa
me about you.” She turned and walked away, dismissing him completely.
Mathias choked on a mirthless laugh, stunned. Dieu. She’d just dealt him a sharp snub. Not something he was used to receiving—especially from a woman. Then again, she wasn’t a typical female. He didn’t know any woman who would don a man’s attire. Or played Basset the way she did.
Watching her walk away, he glanced down her body, noting her long luscious legs clearly visible in her male clothing. He loved shapely legs. She definitely had those.
“I can’t imagine why you need to dress like a man to play,” he called out. That stopped her steps.
Gabrielle was fixed to the spot. She heard him approach. Her heart pounding so hard, she feared he could hear it.
The man standing behind her was the very reason she’d stopped playing. The weight of his regard had been on her the entire time she was at the Basset table. He had the most piercing light-colored eyes she’d ever seen. She felt as though his clever eyes could read every thought in her head. Know her every secret.
Unsettled, she walked away, fearing she’d lose her concentration, then her luck, the longer she sat across from him.
Undeniably, he was observant. No one else at Navers’s hôtel had noticed she was a woman.
Get away from him. Fast. He was trouble. There weren’t many people who could rattle her.
Yet, he had.
She turned and faced him, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Sir, I have some advice for you. If you wish to play better, you might consider avoiding intoxication. It muddles the mind. Clearly, drink has you thinking quite absurdly.” Thankfully her tone didn’t belie her inner distress.
Amusement flashed in his eyes and he shook his head. “Dieu, you are a spirited little piece, aren’t you?”
“What I am is bored of this conversation.” Did she sound convincing?
The meddling man didn’t seem as put off by her impertinence as she’d hoped. Still smiling, he pulled off his mask and ran his fingers through his hair.
Her agitated heart gave a lurch.
Gracious God . . .
Against her will, she drank in his handsome face, his cheekbones, his masculine jaw, and his alluring mouth. Even with his mask on, she could tell, seated across from him at the Basset table, that he was attractive, but without it, he took her breath away. She could better see his eyes now, and they were a stunning contrast with his dark hair. The night’s silver light was too dim to allow her to determine their true color, but his eyes were seductive. Disarming. Dangerous. Especially since his mere gaze on her was warming her blood and fluttering her insides.
His male beauty unbalanced her, and she couldn’t imagine why.
There were plenty of handsome men at His Majesty’s palace, but this man stood head and shoulders above them all—in more ways than one. He was so deliciously tall. She’d always hated her height. It wasn’t an asset for any woman to be at eyelevel with a man. Or taller in some cases. But standing near this man, she actually felt small and feminine. A first.
Leave now, her instincts screamed. “Good night and good luck.” Her response was purposely curt and dismissive. She turned toward her carriage, but he caught her arm, surprising her and halting her progress.
Her head snapped toward him. “Unhand me!” she demanded, unnerved by the thrill that shot up her arm from his touch.
“Are you always this rude?” he asked.
“Oddly, I had the same question for you,” she countered and yanked her arm free, as furious as she was flustered. “Is it your habit to follow strangers and make nonsensical accusations?”
The corner of his mouth lifted into what amounted to a smirk. Then he stunned her by stroking the back of his fingers along her jaw and down her cravat-covered throat.
She jumped back, his caress sending tiny tingles lancing into her womb.
“You are no man, or boy,” he said. “I know a woman when I see one, and when I feel one. This game you are playing isn’t without consequences. You’ve won yourself a sizable sum. Do not return here on Saturday. You don’t want to become mixed up with this.”
Oh, this man needed to be put in his place, so that he didn’t become a problem. Her situation was complicated enough.
She didn’t need more problems.
“I have the Duc’s personal invitation to attend. And I shall attend on Saturday,” she stated unequivocally. “You’re the one who should stay away, since I’m sure you don’t want to part with more of your louis d’or.”
She turned yet once again, intent on marching away, when she felt her mask and periwig yanked off her head.
She squeaked in surprise, and spun around. Standing there, holding her mask in one hand and the periwig in the other, he had an expression of utter astonishment.
“Jésus-Christ . . . You’re beautiful,” she heard him whisper. “Who the bloody hell are you?” he asked forcefully.
Panic surged up inside her. Gabrielle bolted for her carriage. Her pulse racing. Not waiting for her footman, she yanked the door open herself and practically threw herself inside. “Go!” she shouted to her driver, slamming the door shut.
The carriage lurched forward, knocking her from the edge of her seat, where she’d just settled herself, onto the carriage floor with jarring force. Pain shot up her arms and thighs. She barely caught her cry.
Picking herself off the floor, Gabrielle settled back in her seat, her breaths sharp and shallow. An alarming thought ripped through her mind, and she grabbed her breast pockets. The moment she felt both pouches, the one with the diamonds and the other with her winnings, relief flooded through her.
Already she’d won back half her brother’s debt. Another night like tonight and she’d have all she needed. But now there was an obstacle in her path. A tall dark stranger. One who inspired dread and unwanted feminine reactions. She simply had to return on Saturday.
There was no doubt in her mind; he’d be there.
What was she going to do?
There are only three days until Saturday. You’d better think of something, Gabrielle.
*****
Mathias craned his neck, watching the townhouses thread by from inside his moving carriage. He’d raced to his driver, shouting out orders to follow the mysterious woman’s carriage at a discreet distance. Without a second thought. A completely uncharacteristic impulsive act for him.
Merde. More questions were whirling in his head. He was no untried youth. He’d seen a pretty face before, but when the moonlight illuminated hers, a bolt of lust rocked him so hard, it shifted the ground beneath his feet. She was nothing short of ravishing. He’d never seen a lovelier face. He’d never seen her at all. Anywhere.
And he’d never had such a stunning physical reaction to any woman, especially one who hadn’t so much as touched him. He was still fucking hard.
Mathias shifted in his seat, trying to alleviate his discomfort.
Though undoubtedly a full-grown woman, she was younger than he’d imagined by her comportment.
His carriage slowed down, then finally stopped. His footman opened the door to the carriage. Dropping the mysterious woman’s items he was still clutching in his hands onto the seat, Mathias stepped down. He recognized this street. Exclusive stately townhouses for the social elite.
If not for the full moon, he wouldn’t have been able to make out much.
“There, my lord, the fourth one in.” The footman pointed up the street. “That is the one the carriage turned into.”
Mathias silently studied the townhouse from a distance. It had a rosy-white façade, just like the others near it. By tomorrow he’d know who owned the fourth townhouse.
He wasn’t going to wait until Saturday to talk to her. She was determined to return to the Duc’s gaming den. He’d seen it in her eyes.
Mathias wanted to know why.
Face it, you want to know who the hell she is. You want to know everything about her—including just how good she’d taste. She’d left him utterly seduce
d, with a pulsing prick, and the powerful urge to melt that icy façade. There was fire behind those big beautiful dark eyes. He’d seen an instant spark of desire in them when he’d caressed her. Though her tongue could be sharp, he knew down to his marrow that he could coax her to put it to better use.
He didn’t want to see her become entangled in the impending trouble about to befall those frequenting Navers’s Basset tables. He couldn’t speak of his mission, but he could make sure she was steered away. And if she was looking for nocturnal amusements, he’d be happy to provide a new form of entertainment—one of a carnal nature—for her.
Dieu. He rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this captivated by a female. For the first time in the five months since Victor’s death, he felt the gloom that had descended on him lift. And he couldn’t be more grateful.
By tomorrow night he’d know the identity of the woman he had to thank for the small reprieve.
He’d know all the answers to his multitude of questions. Not only was he sure of it, he was looking forward to it.
The next time they’d meet, he wasn’t about to let her run away.
Chapter Three
“I still cannot believe how much gold coin you won!” Bernadette exclaimed, closing her book and resting it on her lap.
It was the third time in the last hour she’d repeated that same statement. Bringing the total to twenty times today.
Offering Bernadette a polite smile, Gabrielle closed her own volume, settled back in her chair, and relaxed her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she’d been sitting practically on the edge of her seat, her muscles tense.
She couldn’t relax. She couldn’t concentrate on the book of poetry. It wasn’t simply because of Bernadette’s or even Caroline’s constant interruptions and carryings on about her winnings last eve.
It was because of the confrontation with a man outside her carriage whose physical appeal was far too potent for her liking. One who was meddling in her affairs.
The Princess and the Diamonds Page 2
