Cecilia

by Bancroft, Blair

  Charade! All a charade. Of course it was. And when the night was over, he would take back the jewels as coolly as he’d presented them.

  As he sank into the chair next to her with all the arrogance of a man who owned not only her but half the audience, as well as most of the population of St. Giles, Cecy called on a lengthy list of stalwart ancestors—noble, gentry, and yeoman—for courage. Leaning in and favoring Nick with a smile that said he was the most wonderful man in all London, she kissed him on the lower cheek, just short of his mouth, and was rewarded with a hissed breath of surprise. Ah, hah! She’d actually shaken the beast, at least for a moment! Applause rang out, a few cheers. Cecy sat tall, turning toward the main body of the audience, displaying the gift that must have cost more than the yearly income of most of those present. From the corner of her eye, she caught Longmere’s scowl. Good. Hard as it was to endure the memories of her last evening at the opera, she suspected tonight was going to be worth her sacrifice.

  Longmere and his party left before the third act. Without a word, Nick scooped her up and followed. Cecy’s eyes widened when she saw the marquess’s destination, a gaming club on Bennett Street, known for catering to the tastes of London’s most noble gentlemen. “We can’t follow him there,” she protested. “They’ll never let us in.” Meaning they would never let him in. To the best of her knowledge, ladies of the evening, properly escorted by gentlemen of the ton, were never turned away.

  “I own it.”

  Of course he did. Again, the more the fool, she.

  “I usually go in the back,” Nick confessed, “but tonight I believe we’ll go straight in the front.” A torch-bearer lit the way as a footman opened the carriage door and Nick climbed down, turning to offer his hand as if she were a duchess. A frisson of fear, and then she was ready. She grasped his hand, grateful for the reassurance of his strong grip, the cool gray eyes that ordered her to be brave. It was not, after all, the same gaming club she had attended with Longmere that terrifying night.

  The burly guards at the door came close to genuflecting as they passed by. Merciful heavens, it was true. Her escort was a living legend. Or else he paid his employees exceptionally well. The maître d’hôtel rushed forward to greet them. As he removed her cloak and handed it off to a minion, gasps rippled across the entry hall and continued to follow them from room to room. The diamonds? Cecy wondered. The fact Nick Black had claimed Longmere’s mistress? Or was it because a suspected molly man had ostensibly taken a mistress?

  As they made their way from table to table, game to game, room to room, with Nick always nodding, smiling, greeting the players by name, pausing here and there to chat, doubts crept into her assessment of her employer. Truth was, he was the most masculine man in the room, more hardened and impressive than the bully boys at the door or those standing quietly in each room, backs to the wall, arms folded over their chests. He even exuded more power than the array of noblemen at the gaming tables, all seemingly eager to transfer their fortunes to Nick Black.

  Was it possible she had been wrong about his indifference to women? If so, it was well past time for her to be afraid. Just how far did he plan to carry this charade?

  “Cecilia!” Lady Juliana Rivenhall popped out of the crowd, enveloping her in a hug. “My dear,” she exclaimed as she stepped back, eyes fixed on the necklace, “surely Longmere never gave you that.”

  “Ah no.” A swift glance around revealed her employer talking to a man Cecy had never seen before. “It is part of the charade,” she confided quietly. “Mr. Black wishes Longmere to think I am his mistress.”

  Lady Rivenhall continued to stare at the expanse of sparkling gems. “My dear, for that he will undoubtedly expect more than a charade.”

  “I’m sure he plans to take it back,” Cecy returned quickly, panic creeping in.

  Juliana Rivenhall finally raised her lovely amber eyes from the necklace. She drew in a breath. Paused. “Cecilia . . . I fear too much Nonconformist doom and gloom rubbed off on you before you saw the light. I strongly suggest you might wish to rethink your vow of celibacy. You have attracted the attention of a man more difficult to impress than all the dukes in the kingdom, including the royal princes. You might not wish to throw his regard away.”

  “But he’s a mo—”

  “Miss Lilly, allow me to present Mr. Wolfe, Lady Rivenhall’s escort for the evening. Wolfe, Miss Lilly.”

  Color flooded Cecy’s face as Nick Black spoke. What if he’d heard . . .? She curtsied, clinging to good manners to see her through—in addition to a strong spurt of curiosity. Every girl in The Aphrodite Academy had heard of Darius Wolfe. Rumors that Baron Rivenhall had shared his wife with his man of business refused to go away. It was said Wolfe still visited Thornhill Manner under cover of darkness, but no girl could claim to have actually seen him. Frankly, Cecy considered the whole thing a hum. Yet here were the two of them, together at a gaming club on Bennett Street. Wait ’til she told Holly about this!

  “The game continues,” Mr. Wolfe said, an anticipatory gleam in his luminous brown eyes as he bowed. “I am delighted you are here to see it, Miss Lilly.”

  She was going to kill him—Nick Black, that is. She seemed to be the only person who didn’t know what was going on.

  “It’s all right,” Lady R said, patting her arm. “While the men dabble in dangerous games, I will attempt to explain. Come.”

  As the two women followed their escorts deeper into the maze of gaming rooms. Cecy stifled a gasp, exchanging an uneasy nod with the girl she recalled only as Scarlet. She and the other three participants in Cecy’s night of horror were gathered around a hazard table. Cecy hurried to catch up as the men swept on into a room where Jason, Marquess of Longmere, sat at an oval table, covered in green baize and marked by the distinctive shape of a faro dealer’s card box.

  She paused beside Lady R, watching as Darius Wolfe and Nick Black, with no more than the mysterious eye exchanges gamesters were wont to use, joined the faro game. Only the marquess curled his lips in disdain, though one or two other players turned a bit pale, presumably at the sight of Nick Black.

  “I thought the house never played,” Longmere challenged.

  Nick’s gray eyes, expressionless, flicked over him. “I occasionally make an exception. But you needn’t worry. I don’t need another townhouse. I am quite satisfied with Princes Street.”

  A languid young dandy Cecy had never seen before shuffled the deck of cards and placed them in the dealing box, a device designed to keep the banker from being overly creative. A casekeeper stood by with an abacus-like device on which he would keep track of each card played. The dandy turned up a card to the right of the dealer’s box, another to the left. Play had begun.

  Although she had no taste for gaming, Cecy quickly mimicked the possessive stance of Longmere’s latest lady of the evening, who stood a few feet behind her man, closely following his every bet. Determined to play her role, Cecy became so absorbed in the game that she forgot to pursue Lady R’s promise to explain. Nick was going to win, of course. He was going to make Longmere appear a fool. A much less wealthy fool . . .

  But he didn’t. He was losing. Not badly, but losing nonetheless, as was Darius Wolfe, though not as disastrously as the other men at the table. The blond dandy and two other players dropped out, leaving only Darius Wolfe, Nick Black, and Longmere. Cecy’s frown grew as two of the most clever minds in London continued to play with seeming skill, yet gradually their losses mounted. Finally, she turned to Lady R, motioning her to follow her to a shadowed corner of the room. “What’s happening?” she demanded when they were private.

  “Longmere holds the bank and appears to be doing very well,” Lady Rivenhall returned calmly.

  “I can see that, but why? Surely that’s not what was planned.”

  “Did you not hear Darius and Mr. Black discussing the new investment they are considering, the very grand opportunity for anyone who invests before word of it spreads any further?”

&nbs
p; Anger surged. At Nick for not telling her. At herself for not recognizing their ploy when she witnessed it. Truth was, she had wondered why they had so casually mentioned something that was allegedly a secret.

  “That is why we are here,” Lady R continued. “So Longmere can win, feel expansive, and be interested in transferring a good deal of the money he has in the funds to this golden investment opportunity.”

  Cecy spun around, turning her face to the wall lest Longmere look up and catch the shock on her face. Fraud! Their men were enacting a carefully constructed play, with Longmere the mark. She’d seen some clever schemes during the years she’d been on her own in town, but this? This was fraud on a grand scale, and it looked very much as if Longmere was taking the bait. As she and Lady R moved back toward the table, Cecy saw her employer nod to the maître d’hôtel, who swiftly stepped forward and paid his employer’s debt. Mr. Wolfe, however, apologized for not having enough blunt to settle up on the spot. “I’ll come to Cavendish Square tomorrow, Longmere. Will one o’clock do? I could fill in some of the details about that investment opportunity, if you’d care to hear more.” So casual, so very casual. When it came to feigning indifference, Wolfe was clearly Nick Black’s equal.

  “Until tomorrow then.” Longmere sketched a bow and strode out. As he disappeared into the next room, Darius Wolfe offered Lady Rivenhall a wink.

  Nick Black merely offered Cecy his arm. “Time to go home, Miss Lilly.”

  Awe filled her as she and Nick exited through the back door of the club, leaving Lady R and her escort to depart through the front. No wonder Nick Black was so feared. No wonder Darius Wolfe had turned the Baron Rivenhall’s modest wealth into one of the greatest fortunes in England. And together? Together they were so good she almost felt sorry for Longmere.

  Almost.

  In spite of the chill night air, warmth glowed inside her. She was a fallen woman, a runaway from an obscure a village in Lincolnshire, from a family that could claim to be no more than modest gentry. And yet two of London’s most powerful men were enacting an elaborate plot just for her.

  She didn’t deserve it. But, truthfully, it felt quite wonderful.

  Chapter 11

  Nick leaned back on the gray velvet squabs, eyes closed, savoring the satisfaction of a trap well baited—enhanced by the intriguing scent of the woman sitting so close beside him. Lingering perfume, or simply the enticing scent of Miss Lilly herself? Cecilia. He let the name roll through his mind, suspecting it might be the call of doom. Men in his position could not afford vulnerabilities . . .

  Already too late. By taking her into his household, he had signaled his enemies that he favored her above other women. By flaunting her as his mistress, he had made her a possible target. Nick Black’s Achilles heel. All he could do now was hold his heart close, maintain his distance, and hope his would-be rivals were above using a woman in their scramble to unseat him. As for the moment . . . Nick scowled into the dark. Best keep his hands tight about his sword-stick and picture himself alone in the carriage.

  If only she didn’t smell so good . . .

  Was that her warm breath fanning across his cheek? Devil take it! How close was she?

  “I am so very sorry, Mr. Black,” she said, almost in his ear. “I had no idea your plot against Longmere would cost you so much money. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “It’s of no matter, I can afford it.” Grimacing at his brusque tone, Nick plowed on, his tongue ignoring his brain. “I find ‘Mr. Black’ absurd on your lips. I am Nick.”

  Silence. “But of course,” she murmured. “We are but characters in a charade, are we not?”

  “More than that, surely?” Shite! Where had that come from?

  “Which reminds me . . .” Her hands lifted to the back of her neck, emerging from under her hair with a cascade of diamonds in her hand. “Here,” she said, thrusting the necklace at him, “I want to be sure this is safely returned.”

  “Don’t be absurd, it’s yours.”

  “Indeed not! Even the grandest courtesan would be fortunate to receive such a gift, and I am merely one of your lackeys.”

  “Consider them payment for future services.” His voice maintained it customary coolness, but his tight control was unwinding at ever-increasing speed.

  Oddly, her gasp seemed to be more shock than outrage. “No-o,” she returned, shaking her head. “This is all wrong.” She slid away from him into the far corner of the carriage. “You have been kind to me,” she said after a pause. “A benefactor, possibly a friend, but everything I have observed makes me think your . . . affections lie elsewhere. So how can you make such a statement?”

  “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I . . . oh dear . . .” She fisted her hands in front of her lips. “Fetch,” she burst out. And Jed, the kitchen boy. I thought . . .”

  Nick grabbed her wrists, one in each hand, pinning her to the squabs so he could look directly into her face, though her green eyes were barely visible in carriage’s dim interior. “You think I sleep with boys?” he hissed. “You actually thought that?”

  “Or men,” she offered weakly. “I mean, you never looked at me the way most men do. Nor did the others. Naturally, I thought . . .” Her voice trailed away, eyes widening as she sensed his rage.

  Hell and the devil! The woman he lusted after thought him a molly man!

  In a gesture that had no relation to the manners he had worked so hard to learn, Nick thrust her hand to his groin. “Feel that!” he growled. “Is that the reaction of a molly man?”

  Cecy gasped and jerked away, shocked all the way to parts of her she’d thought forever frozen. He was so swollen and hard he might as well have fastened her fingers around a tree branch. He . . . Dear God! He . . . Refusing to face the truth, her brain shut down.

  Nick threw himself into the opposite corner of the velvet squabs, where he silently swore a litany of the worst of the words he’d learned during his decades on London’s streets. A few directed at Cecilia, most of them at himself.

  The diamond necklace had fallen to the carriage floor. As they turned into Princes Street, Cecy reached down and picked it up. Very carefully, she put it into her reticule. With this prize she could leave tomorrow and, if she was not extravagant, she could live quite comfortably for the rest of her life on what its sale would bring. A cottage in the country, a place in village life, the possibility of a respectable marriage, children . . .

  If she had a lick of sense . . .

  But Nick Black’s presence filled the carriage, as it filled his house, captured his minions, spread out to all parts of the London . . . Her world had just made an exponential shift. She should run while she could, but it wasn’t going to happen. At eighteen she had turned her back on tradition, on safety, on acceptable female virtues. Too late for respectability now. Even a sham of it.

  And too late for love. That faint hope had gone, along with her willingness to cater to men’s lust. Yet something strange was stirring inside her. Regret perhaps. An awareness of what might have been. The rebellious Chastity Singletary and the ambitious Cecilia Lilly would have scorned Nick Black. They had wanted to soar to the heights of society any way they could, and the devil take the hindmost. The new Cecilia Lilly, however, saw her mistakes. But only when it was too late. Stirrings be damned, she had nothing left to give. Even if she subjugated her panic and offered herself in payment for all Nick had done for her, she couldn’t be woman enough for the gift of a single gem, let alone three tiers of diamonds, plus eardrops. A sob caught in her throat as the carriage pulled up before the house on Princes Street. She could give compassion to children, to abandoned mothers, but love, no. Not even lust. Passion had been beaten out of her, never to return.

  After an abrupt “Good-night,” Cecy mounted the stairs to her room. Alone.

  “Be quiet, you!” Holly Hammond declared, patting her extended belly. “He’s as shocked as I am, my girl,” she said, directing her words to Cecy, her eyes wide with am
azement that her friend could be such a fool.

  “He?” Cecy questioned.

  “Any babe kicks that hard is bound to be male.”

  Cecy managed a rueful smile, glad to see her friend seemed more like her former self today.

  “Now let me see if I rightly understand you,” Holly said. “The Nick Black gave you a job. He has plans to take down your marquess by more than a peg or two. He gave you diamonds worth a fortune. And because he asked for nothing in return, you thought him a molly man. Nick Black, a molly man?”

  “His entire household consisted of men and boys,” Cecy wailed. “And none of them ever looked at me as if I were female!”

  Holly pounded the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Did they act like you were just another of his men?”

  “Well . . . no, of course not.”

  “Do you think that, knowing you were his, they would dare risk his wrath?”

  Cecy opened her mouth to tell Holly she was mad . . . and recalled Nick’s reaction the night she and Andrew Lovell had shared a bit of laughter. Merciful heavens, was it true?

  “Nick Black laid himself at your feet, and you, a sterling graduate of The Aphrodite Academy, dropped his diamonds in your reticule, climbed the stairs to your bedchamber, and left him standing in the hall?”

  “He was cold, angry,” Cecy protested. “There was nothing loving about him.” Surely a show of blatant lust didn’t count.

  “Did you ever think he might not know how to treat a woman who’s more than a quick in and out? Come to think on it, that’s probably why he gives the impression of a molly man—he holds tight to the reins of the Underworld, with little time for females. Until you came along and set him ass over teakettle.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “And besides, from what you say, he has an old score to settle. That Longmere had you first adds spice to the challenge.”