“Oh no, I won’t. Count me in.”
She suppressed the thrill of delight that sparked through her.
It worked!
Chapter Nineteen
Peter had found his reason to play, and he was looking forward to the challenge. His first mission was to protect Opal from herself; the second to stop the wolves from slavering at her. The best way to do that was to stay by her side as much as possible.
He liked the surprise on her face when he did not object to Teleos muscling in to be the second player.
He glanced at his pocket watch. It was twenty after eight, they’d been here for just over three hours and the evening was still young. He paid special attention to the redheaded young man. He was younger than Peter had initially thought and, while he was suitably appreciative of Opal’s considerable charms, the thing which truly moved him, it seemed, was money.
If Teleos sat damned low in the water, as he suspected, a dowry of ten thousand was attractive, indeed.
To Peter’s surprise, Opal was doing quite well on her own. She talked Teleos out of betting large. Instead, they played a shilling a point – stakes more serious than one would find at a friendly game in someone’s parlor, but modest for a place like this.
After a couple of early successes, the young man’s cockiness was becoming more obvious and so, too, his greed.
Go on, cast the lure, draw him in…
Hylas stepped up beside him. Peter acknowledged his presence with a nod.
“You’ve not been long back in the country, have you?”
The question should have taken him by surprise, but it hadn’t. If he was sizing up the competition, it made sense that he’d be under scrutiny, too.
Peter saw no harm in answering the question honestly.
“A year,” he answered. “Although I haven’t been to London in many more.”
“You served in the army.”
“A lucky guess.”
“No, not really. You carry yourself with the bearing of an officer. Served in France?”
“India.”
“Ah, the exotic East, full of mystic delights and hidden pleasures… it’s a pity we did not meet under different circumstances, Paris. We might have much to discuss.”
Peter hoped not; he’d rather not have anything to do with these men or The Lyon’s Den at all after tonight. He gave a noncommittal answer. Through the open salon door, he could hear the sound of music as well as the increasing hum of noise at The Lyon’s Den as the regular evening patrons arrived.
“Repique! Oh, my dear Mr. Teleos, you are too kind to let me win. I do believe you now owe me two pounds.”
Peter allowed himself a moment of amusement at Opal’s overenthusiastic exclamation then Hylas drew him back.
“Here.” Peter found a card pressed into his hand. It featured an address and a symbol that looked like flame. “I imagine this is breaking some of the rules about revealing identities, but since you appear to be a man of refined tastes, I’d like to extend you an invitation to a rather exclusive club. Tastes there run to the unusual, if you get my meaning.”
Peter’s mind ran the gamut of what “unusual” could mean. He didn’t want to know. Instead, he nodded toward Opal who was concentrating on winning her game.
He shuffled out a small laugh. “My tastes run to the very usual, if you know what I mean.”
“She is an exceptionally fine woman.”
“Then given your taste for… variety, I’m surprised by your interest in her.”
“There is a time in a man’s life that calls to him beyond hedonistic pleasure – so they tell me. My family would be comforted to see their only son marry. And my dearest wish is to please my family.”
“And a wife obtained under these unusual circumstances would be most understanding of obligations of your other club?”
A satyr-like grin spread across Hylas’ face.
“I see we understand each other very well, my dear Paris.”
“Bah!” Teleos had risen abruptly from the gaming table, his florid face now turned to puce. He pushed past Peter on his way out the door, trailed by his assigned footman.
Opal leaned across the table to collect the cards scattered across the baize.
“Do you think we will see Teleos again?” she asked.
“I think so, once the unlicked cob finds his temper again,” said Hylas. “But the evening is too young to worry about the uncouth. We were promised an opportunity to socialize before the contest begins in earnest. Shall we find some entertainment downstairs, away from this salon for a while? You are utterly enchanting in that gown. I imagine you would like to show it off, and I would like to know if you can dance in it.”
The roué has a silver tongue.
Opal glanced Peter’s way a moment before gifting Hylas with a fulsome smile. She got to her feet and offered him her gloved hand.
The man bent over it.
Peter followed Opal and her mysterious masked escort down one flight of stairs to the main gaming room. Such a striking couple turned heads as they walked past.
Jealousy wasn’t quite the word to put on his feelings. He would own to feeling protective and that was all. As he had done on maneuvers time and again, Peter observed the room, taking in its entrances and exits, who looked dangerous and who was watching them.
Never far out of sight were Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s footmen, obviously there to keep an eye on them and report to their host.
After half an hour had passed, Teleos seemed to have recovered his temper. He was now standing on the edge of the dance floor with a half-empty glass in his hand. He wondered how much money the young man had lost this evening. A footman came bearing a tumbler of dark amber liquid. He sipped it absently, surprised to find, instead of whiskey, it was ginger ale and that was all.
Across in the corner of the room, Mrs. Dove-Lyon watched him. Peter saluted her. Did she want him to remain alert and sober for any special reason?
This whole charade centered on Opal. He didn’t trust the other men, particularly Hylas. Hell, he didn’t even trust himself, not when Opal looked utterly delectable. And yet of the four of them – one now no longer in the game even before it started – Mrs. Dove-Lyon seemed to think he was the best of a bad bunch. At least he knew he was the only man who had Opal’s best interests at heart.
Suddenly, he remembered himself at nineteen years of age, holding her as they danced on the deck of the ship. It was not just a pleasant recollection, the recall of it so strong he could remember the feel of the fabric of her dress and the firmness of her body beneath it. What else was there in suddenly thinking of it? Simply the desire to dance with her also as Hylas now did?
Then it hit him with the force of a blow. He no longer had anything to be ashamed of. He was not in disgrace. The letter from his colonel proved that to him where the judgment of the Board of Inquiry had not. He was free. The burning coals of regret and recrimination he had heaped on his head were finally extinguished. It was as though Sisyphus had finally rolled his burden to the top of the hill for one final, definitive time.
He was free. Free to be happy, free to make someone else happy, free to marry Opal.
He turned his attention back to the dance floor. Hylas was as graceful on the dance floor as his companion. They spoke as they danced. Opal threw her head back as she laughed, exposing the ivory column of her throat. She was beautiful, a jewel like her namesake. He wanted to be the one to hold her in his arms as he had all those years ago.
Did she see through the man’s flattery? God, he hoped so. But he was not going to leave it to chance. He would be the last man standing – for his sake as well as hers.
Chapter Twenty
It was late. Opal wasn’t sure of the time, but the orchestra downstairs had finished their last set, so it had to be sometime after midnight at a guess. And yet the evening continued.
The man who could stay awake the longest would be the one she married – yet there was only one she wanted and he’d hardl
y said a word to her now for hours.
When they returned to their upstairs suite, he barely spoke as he went through the motions of their game of piquet, losing to her almost deliberately as if to get the preliminaries over as quickly as possible. Then another table had been prepared.
The game was faro. Opal had only newly mastered it. It was a fast game and seemed a quick way for an inexpert player such as Peter to lose a lot of money which is what he did for the first hour. Then his “luck” began to change – thanks to the card counting Opal had been schooled in by her tutor earlier in the day.
Peter “won” a couple of hands; she, Teleos and Hylas each “won” one. Then another two for Peter and one each for her, Teleos and Hylas. Opal needed to spin the play out as long as possible to give Peter the best chance to win while not arousing his opponents’ suspicion.
The game went on until shortly after a clock in the room chimed three in the morning.
“You’re cheating!” Teleos exploded. He rose from his seat and pointed an accusing finger toward Peter.
The complaint was so loud, several of the servants from The Lyon’s Den ran into their private salon to see what was the matter.
Peter simply leaned back in his chair and looked up at Teleos, as though his honor had not been called into question.
“Pray mind telling me how?” he asked.
“The cards are marked. They have to be.”
“No, they’re not. You are simply an exceedingly poor player.”
“Is there anything wrong, sir?” asked one of the footmen, a beefy, intimidating chap.
“Yes! I want a new deck now.”
“What is wrong with the one you have?”
“It seems our friend here thinks The Lyon’s Den is a less than honest establishment,” offered Hylas with a sly grin.
“Is that so?” The footman squared his shoulders.
“He only started objecting when he ran out of money. Do you think Mrs. Dove-Lyon would extend him credit?”
“No blunt, no punt. That’s the rules of the house.” The footman squared up to Teleos, backed up by two other men equally large. “You will have to leave.”
Opal unfurled a fan to hide a grin behind it.
Teleos curled his lips in a sneer.
“Hang on! The wager was to see who could stay awake the longest. Check the rules – it was in the contract. There was nothing said about whether I could raise a stake…”
Opal looked to Peter and to Hylas. Both men were amused but said nothing. The footman frowned, clearly not expecting this argument.
He conferred with his confederates a moment, then turned back.
“It seems you are exactly right, sir. It does say ‘whosoever can stay awake the longest’.”
Teleos grinned and readied himself to return to the table, but the footman clasped his shoulder. Teleos turned with a snort of outrage, only to meet the impact of a swinging fist which bounced him on the chin. He crumpled soundlessly to the floor.
The footman looked down.
“Nighty-night, then.”
Opal watched wide-eyed as the three men picked up Teleos and carted him from the room. Hylas lost interest immediately. He collected the discards and shuffled them into the current deck.
“If there are no objections, I’ll be banker for this round,” he said.
Peter picked up a chip and played with it along his fingers. He was tired. He wanted to go home. He wanted Opal to be safely tucked up in her own bed, not caught in a trap of her own devising.
He considered the remaining opponent before him. He could outlast the man; he was confident of that. He’d gone days without sleep in the army. But the situation was becoming tedious, and he recalled the conversation they’d had a few hours ago.
Marriage to this man would be a sham. Worse than that, Opal would suffer a life of loneliness without the love, true intimacy, and passion she deserved.
“What would it take for you to lose?” he asked mildly.
A broad grin spread across Hylas’ face.
“My dear chap, you mistake me. I’m here to win.”
“She’s not for you.”
“I say she’s ideal.”
“There must be a dozen other women who could meet your needs just as well.”
“But none who would keep my reputation intact in such a charming way. You see, dear Paris, my future bride must meet the approval of my parents. They know nothing of my, ah, interests, and I intend to keep it that way. A young lady of unimpeachable reputation who will ask no questions and whose discretion I can count on for life is what I require. Are you in or out, sir?”
It was tempting to look at Opal to see how she reacted to her future discussed without her input, but Peter did not. Did she even think about this before she agreed to participate? All the men she might have ended up with – the drunkard, the gambler, the rakehell… and then there was him.
He started today – no, yesterday – thinking of himself as he imagined the world saw him: a failure, a squanderer of men’s lives, and, in the end, a coward because he quit instead of facing the opprobrium he deserved.
Now, he had papers that said otherwise…
“Count me in.”
Peter smiled to himself, aware he’d said the words earlier.
Now he looked at Opal, wishing not for the first time he could see her full face without the mask. What he could see hinted at a blush, but it was her posture that told him everything he needed to know. She was nervous but determined.
They would get through this together.
A further two hours passed quickly. The Lyon’s Den fell to silence as the rest of the gambling establishment slept. The footmen who’d remained with them throughout the night were replaced with a new shift of three.
Despite the cheery little fire in the grate, the air about the table was cold and the mood tense.
Hylas was an excellent player. That was a problem. Peter was currently losing more games than he won. Thank God, Opal seemed to have had a real run of luck, but how long could they keep this up? Worse still, Hylas looked as crisp and alert as he had in the early evening.
The man’s nocturnal activities had obviously left him well primed for all-night activities.
He won another game and swept the coins toward him. Poor Opal looked absolutely spent, and Peter found his mind drifting. He deliberately bit his tongue. The sharp pain roused him. He couldn’t afford a moment’s inattention.
He wanted to find a window and breathe in frigid air. Instead, a small retinue of servants arrived with hot cocoa. They placed cups before each of the players.
Peter sipped his. It was hot and bitter. Opal looked at hers with disinterest. Hylas threw his down in a single, hearty gulp.
“I need to stretch my legs a moment,” the man said. Opal nodded wearily.
Hylas got to his feet, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he dropped to the rug like a sack of potatoes.
Peter jumped to his feet; so did Opal. She looked at Hylas, her eyes wide.
“What happened? Is he…?”
Peter crouched down beside him. Before he could reach for a pulse, Hylas let out an almighty snore.
Opal briskly skirted around the table, her tiredness evaporated, just in time to see the footmen bend down and pick up the unconscious man. Peter stood up with them.
Was that it?
The game was over.
She had won.
Well… as a point of order, Peter had won. Did he know she had arranged the whole thing to force his hand?
Force his hand in cards.
Force his hand in marriage.
The footman cleared the room, leaving them alone.
Peter picked up Hylas’ cup and sniffed the dregs in the bottom, wrinkling his nose. He eyed Opal suspiciously.
She removed her mask. There was no need to conceal her identity now. She had absolutely no doubt of Peter’s commitment to honor and duty. But here in the dawn hours of the morning, other doubts crept in
to her mind.
Many other marriages were made on far flimsier foundations than theirs. They knew each other. Their families knew each other. They were well suited in temperament.
She loved him.
Did he love her? She knew there was deep affection. Did that mean he could grow to love her?
“Opal, we need to talk.”
She nodded.
“All this?”
“It was my idea,” she said softly.
He straightened up as though every ounce of tiredness vanished.
She couldn’t bear to see his censure. Her eyes slid away from his. “I’ve loved you for the longest time. When you returned to London out of the blue, I thought you felt the same way and this would be an amusing way to… it was a whim…”
She couldn’t complete the rest of her sentence, cursing herself a thousand times over as a fool.
He stepped up and his hand touching softly on her cheek jolted her from her introspection.
“Whatever the reason behind the bizarre escapade,” he whispered, “you’ve given me something I thought I’d lost.”
She raised her head to look at him. The blue of his eyes and the soft smile on his face gave her a spark of hope that she’d not ruined everything.
He withdrew an envelope from his jacket and handed it to her.
“I assume you were behind all of this, too?”
She scanned the documents – a letter from his colonel and a clipping from the London Gazette.
“I’ve not seen these,” she said truthfully, handing them back to him, “but I cannot say I’m surprised. You’re a brave, resourceful man. A brave soldier, a fine officer. A good man.”
For some reason, that seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to say. Peter’s face changed. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and shook his head once before returning in control of himself.
“You think you really know who I am? How could you know, when I didn’t even know myself?”
Before Opal could draw breath, Peter seized her for a punishing kiss.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Lyon Sleeps Tonight Page 11
