Molly took a deep breath and tried to steady her breathing. This was all they had ever known, she tried to remind herself. Their Da had been a crook, and his Da had been a crook, and now her two brothers were crooks.
“It would break Ma’s heart to see us like this,” she said softly, trying a different tack. “You know she raised us for more than this.”
Jack nodded. “She did, but the world did not want that for us, Molls. Good fortune ‘tisn’t for the likes of us. We have to make our own way in the world, and this is the only way we know how.”
Molly sighed and shook her head. “Thieving, stealing, begging? We cannot do it any longer, you know that.”
“I likes what we do,” Tom said with a wide grin, revealing several teeth missing at the sides. “And do not pretend you do not like the spoils, Molls, because I know you like a little coin to take yourself around the shops with. New bonnet?”
Molly’s cheeks darkened a little. “From my savings.”
“From our crimes,” Tom corrected. He leaned back and shook his head. “What will you do, Molls, if you are not our bait no longer?”
Molly swallowed. She had thought of this problem and not yet found a solution. Her heart was focused on getting her brothers out of this mess they had all found themselves in, but Tom made a fair point.
How did three siblings with naught but crime in their pasts make a clean breast of it in 1818?
“And ‘tis easier for you,” Jack said slowly. Molly glanced at him; her baby brother. “You are a woman, Molls, they will ask no questions of you. But us? They will need references, evidence of good character.”
“Evidence we do not have.” Tom took a long draught of his beer.
Molly laughed drily. “Boys, I do not think you realise just how few opportunities there are out there for girls to work. What we do now is wrong – wrong, you hear me?”
But the word did not seem to touch either of her brothers. Wrong? What did wrong or right mean to two lads who had been raised in a house where the food on the table had once been someone else’s?
“You are excellent bait, Mollsy,” said Tom with a grin. “No one can say no to you, no one. Without you…we need you to make the tricks work.”
Molly shifted uncomfortable on her seat. She knew it. She knew that walking away from the lives they had led together did not just mean a different way of life for her – one she barely knew anything about.
No, it also meant her brothers would need to find a pretty girl willing to smile at fools while they did their dirty work.
“I am tired of being bait,” she said heavily. “Are you not tired of – ”
“No,” said Tom flatly. “Are we, Jack boy?”
Molly’s eyes turned to Jack, who hesitated. The youngest of the three, Jack had followed his elder brother Tom everywhere. What he did, Jack did. What Tom said, Jack said.
Molly bit her lip. If she could not get Tom around to her way of thinking…
“I am not tired of it,” Jack said defiantly.
Molly sighed. “You won’t be tired of it until it is too late, boys, trust me.”
But Tom did not want to be convinced. He jutted out his jaw. “Charlie never questioned what we did.”
“And my husband has danced the hangman’s jig,” Molly said sharply, her eyes flickering between her two brothers. “Is that what you want for yourselves, is it? You want to go the same way as Charlie?”
For a moment, Molly was sure she had them. It had come as a shock to both of them when Charlie went down for thievery. So sure he would be sent to Australia, and they could all join him after all, there had been stunned silence in the court when the judge had placed that black square over his wig.
Molly swallowed. She had never cared for Charlie, really. He had been their father’s friend’s boy, just a kid they had grown up with. She had been lonely, she had been bored, and six months of marriage had left her with a different name and no fond memories.
“Perhaps,” Jack said tentatively.
Molly’s heart stirred.
“You there, the girl at the table. Would you do me the honour of searching my person?”
The three siblings stiffened. Tom’s hand immediately moved to the blade he kept in his sleeve while Jack’s fists clenched.
“No,” Molly muttered. “Wait.”
It was not worth starting a brawl here, not in one of the few pubs where the Bletchley boys were still permitted to drink.
Turning her head, she stared at the gentleman on the other side of the pub that had spoken those words.
He was grinning at her. Dressed a little too well for a man drinking at the King’s Head, he had dark hair and sparkling eyes, a sense of superiority that was evident even from here, and the gaze of everyone in the place was on him.
Molly swallowed. “Thank you, kind sir, but I am quite happy to miss that spectacular opportunity.”
She allowed just a little of her scathing wit to seep into her words, and the watching men laughed appreciatively as she turned back to face her brothers.
Her brothers who now had wicked grins on their faces.
“No,” said Molly immediately.
“He would be worth having,” said Tom, whose eyes were still weighing up the stranger.
“No, we want out of this life,” Molly said in a hiss.
Tom looked at Jack, who swallowed. “You want out of that life, Molls. He looks like a ransom would come for him, and a pretty penny it would be too.”
It was going from bad to worse. Molly’s heart sank as she saw the eagerness on her brothers’ faces. She had been foolish to come here, foolish to think that she could persuade them to a different life.
“I need your assistance, dear lady, and this kind man insists!” The gentleman’s voice rose above the growing din. “All you need to do is prove I am not a cheat. My life is in your hands?”
Molly rolled her eyes. What she would not do to be free of egotistical men. Well, he was seated with Mr Groats and she had seen him break a man’s hands for refusing to allow his waistcoat to be checked for spare cards.
What was the harm in giving him a hand?
Chapter 2
Edmund’s eyes widened as he watched the elegant woman rise to her feet – albeit with bad grace, if her features were anything to go by.
“An unbiased observer!” He said, thrusting a hand towards the woman as she approached their table. “There, Mr Groats, you cannot possibly protest against such a lovely thing.”
And she was lovely. If Edmund had not been in such a precarious position, with Mr Groats clenching his fists and all those wonderful silver coins still lying on the table between them, Edmund would consider the young lady now standing between them as someone worthy of his full attention.
If possible, he had underestimated her beauty. She was all curves and softness, dark eyes and yet light golden hair, an intoxicating mixture he had never seen before.
“You called, sir?” She said haughtily, looking him up and down as though he was a rat who had clambered out of a hole.
Edmund’s face must have fallen, for the crowd still watching him gave a laugh and someone wolf whistled.
“I did indeed, and I am beyond grateful that you answered that call,” Edmund said quickly, regaining his composure quickly. All he needed to do was for this pretty young thing to pat him down – perhaps in some areas more than others – and prove he was no cheat.
Then he could take his money, get back to his rooms, pay the rent that had been due two days ago, and forget about this evening.
Not that he would ever be able to forget about her.
“I would like nothing more to get this over with as quickly as possible,” the woman said dully, somewhat dampening Edmund’s growing ardour. “Arms out, please.”
As she came closer to him, Edmund breathed in her scent, a heady mix of lavender and something else he could not quite put his finger on. Her fingers moved to the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling out a scrap of paper and a small ha’penny penci
l.
“Nothing there of interest,” she said quietly, more for the crowd’s benefit than anything else.
Edmund grinned. It was invigorating, having a beautiful woman like this so close to him. God, if they had met years ago when he had been in his element – at the Pump Room in Bath, perhaps, or Almack’s in London – he would have had her hanging on his every word.
No one would have passed up the chance to speak to the Duke of Northmere’s heir.
But now…
“Is that it? Can I go now?”
She was standing up before him, her hands on her hips, evidently eager to leave the spectacle he had created for her.
Edmund smiled. “I think you missed somewhere to look.”
If he had thought she would be scandalised, he was wrong.
Her eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile crept across her face. “I must tell you, sir, that I already looked there, but I could not find anything worth speaking of.”
Mr Groats guffawed at the shocked look on Edmund’s face. “Ah, but she has one over you, sir!”
“And I have one over you,” countered Edmund, trying to ignore the heat of embarrassment surging through his body. “For though she has not found anything of interest, she has also found no cards. Your coin, sir, as per our agreement.”
The dirty smile that adorned Mr Groats’ face vanished, and he glanced at his companion.
Edmund held his breath.
The companion shook his head imperceptively, and Mr Groats threw down two half crowns.
“Until next time,” said Edmund, his voice a little hoarse after the breath he had been holding escaped. “Always good to play with you, Mr Groats. Now, where do you think you are going?”
His hand reached out and grabbed at the wrist of the pretty young thing who had searched him. She could not be much older than eighteen, and yet she looked world weary. Someone who had a little coin on them ready to lose, perhaps.
“Going?” Her voice was cold and it matched her eyes, which were glaring at him. “My work here is done, sir. You have proven yourself no liar and no cheat.”
“But am I any good at cards, or is it just luck?” Edmund sat down and opened his arms expressively. “Come and find out. Play me, join our game.”
He had expected the woman to laugh, to scoff and walk away; the final part of the play which they had acted out for the benefit of all the inhabitants of the King’s Head.
But she did not. The woman smiled slowly and looked around the table. “Our game, sir? I see no others who are willing to play you.”
“Then prove them wrong,” countered Edmund. God, he could quip with this woman all day. Beauty and brains, a deadly combination. “Show them how a lady plays, and prove them all cowards for refusing to take a seat at the table where luck is smiling down upon me.”
Ninety nine women out of one hundred would have walked away from him at that point, laughing at his nonsense and chalking him up as a bit of a scoundrel.
But not this one. Her dark eyes moved over his face, as though searching out some sort of truth from them. Edmund allowed his smile to widen ever so slightly. She would not be able to resist.
“What is your name, sir?” Her voice was gentle, and she took one step closer to the table.
Edmund swallowed. He had always promised himself he would never lie, never give a false name, but for some reason the instinct to lie did not surface with her.
“Sir Edmund Northmere.”
The room stirred a little as faces turned to look at him.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Sir Edmund, is it? Seems like a strange place for you to be the day before Christmas, Sir Edmund, if that is your real name.”
“And what is your name?”
His question caused her smile to widen. “Molly. Molly Kimble.”
Molly Kimble. It suited her perfectly from her golden hair to the practical and frequently mended gown to the sensible shoes.
Molly Kimble.
“Well then, Miss Kimble,” Edmund said quietly. “Are you ready to play?”
For a moment, perhaps one that he did not see clearly, a flicker of hesitation moved across Miss Kimble’s face.
“You…you will teach me?”
Edmund’s smile widened. Even better, a complete novice. He could take a few shillings from her and be home within the hour.
“I will do my best to teach you the rules of the game,” he said magnanimously. “Come.”
Pulling out a chair, he indicated that she should be seated.
Why was his heart beating so rapidly? Why did it suddenly matter that this woman, a woman he had literally picked out of the air and knew nothing of, sat beside him? Why did he need her closer?
Miss Kimble lowered herself slowly into the chair, and smiled nervously. “I only have one shilling to bet.”
Edmund smiled kindly. “Well then, let me let you half a crown – no, I insist Miss Kimble! Anything for a lady who has done me such a service.”
Her dark eyes widened as he pushed the pile of silver totalling half a crown towards her. “And those are the cards?”
Edmund’s hands picked them up and started shuffling them rapidly. “These are the cards.”
It took but five minutes to explain the simplest form of poker to her, though Edmund had to focus to ensure he taught them correctly. Those dark eyes followed his fingers and darted towards him so often that he found he dropped a few, and was forced to pick them from the table.
“I am sure I understand now,” she said with a slow smile. “Are…are we ready for the first hand?”
There was something so innocent about her, so gentle and soft. Edmund wanted to wrap her own in his greatcoat and carry him to his bed, but he could not think like that. He needed to win back that half a crown, and more.
The cards were dealt and he looks at his carefully. A bad hand, damnit. He could potentially get a two pair if another seven appeared from the deck, but he may have to cut his losses on this one.
“And then we bet?”
Edmund smiled. “Now we bet.”
She was eager to throw money down, and as the five cards appeared on the table, Edmund’s heart soared. Two pairs, and one pair was Jacks. Even better, she had bet the entire half a crown he had loaned her, along with another six shillings of her own.
Miss Kimble’s smile was a little hesitant, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her excitement. “And now we reveal?”
Edmund’s smile, never far from his face since she had sat down with him. “Indeed – oh, and yes, I have two pairs. Now you must not be too disheartened, Miss Kimble, I can lend you another shilling or two.”
Edmund had already reached forward to pull his winnings towards him when Miss Kimble’s voice interrupted him – and the soft and innocent tone had disappeared.
“Do you mind, Sir Edmund? Those are my coins you are taking there – I’ve always known a flush to beat two pairs.”
Edmund looked up and saw a knowing grin on Miss Kimble’s face.
“Really,” she said pityingly. “You may be a knight, but you are very stupid.”
Molly swallowed and tried not to take too much pleasure from the look of genuine horror on her opponent’s face.
Sir Edmund, indeed. What a ridiculous name to give oneself – he could have made anything up, and he chose that?
“What I may have failed to mention, Mr Northmere,” she said sweetly, “is that I have been playing poker since I was seven, and winning almost every hand since I was nine. Did I forget to mention that?”
A strangled noise came out of Mr Northmere as she leaned forward and swept the coins into her purse. That was almost a pound in silver: over a month’s earnings with her brothers. What she could do with that sort of money…
“You have the advantage of me,” Mr Northmere managed to say.
Molly grinned “I know. Ready for the next hand?”
She should not do this, she really should not. This was a part of her old life, the life she had just spen
t the best part of an hour convincing her brothers she did not want.
But there was nothing like this: the thrill of the chase, the thumping of your heart as you played the gentleman, that little smile you gave him to push him over the edge and make him grasp for what he knew was too good to be true.
Look at him. All dark hair and handsome features – for there was no denying it, he was handsome. But there was just a hint of fear in his eyes, and he looked a little too disappointed that the best part of a pound had disappeared into her pocket.
“One more hand then,” she said generously, leaning forward slightly so that her gown dipped at the front.
Mr Northmere swallowed and Molly hated herself. Was that all she was, then? Feminine wiles to get what she wanted, a pretty little bird, honey for the pot?
Didn’t she want to be something more?
“Thinking about it though, I must get back,” she said hastily, rising from the table. “I need to – ”
“No, stay.”
He had spoken so gently, but that was not the reason Molly hesitated. Up until now, Mr Northmere had believed himself to be the conman, and now he had realised he was the one being conned.
But his voice; it was soft, gentle, with no pleading or wit. Just honesty, pure honesty.
It had been a long time since she had heard that.
“I am sure some other gentleman will wish to play with you, now your luck has turned,” Molly said lightly. She would not allow herself to become entangled with a gentleman.
The last time she had fallen to a soft voice and a handsome face, she had ended it watching that man hang from rope.
“I am sure they will,” Mr Northmere said wryly. “But I would like to play with you.”
Molly hesitated. Every fibre of her being wanted to stay with him, and that was not a reaction typically stirred by gentlemen in the King’s Head.
Mr Northmere was different. Whether or not his foolish title was anything to go by, he was evidently a man who had fallen on hard times. The waistcoat was fraying at the edges, but it was real silk, and at least half the buttons were still brass.
The others had been replaced, poorly, by wooden replicas carved poorly.
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 77
