Gambling on a Scoundrel (10 page)

Tempy froze for a moment and then scooped her remaining chips into her container, preparing for a hasty retreat. "I'm terribly sorry if I've caused offense. None was intended. I hope you'll excuse me."

She turned, carrying her box of chips and moving quickly away. But the man reached out and grabbed hold of her upper arm, almost knocking her chips from her hands.

"Just you wait a minute. I don't like this, and I want some answers."

Tempy tried to pull away, but the man held her firmly. How could she make him stop? Her gaze darted around the room, not sure where she could turn for help.

She caught the eye of the same gap-toothed footman who'd found her so amusing earlier. He was already crossing the room toward her, weaving his way between Hamlin House's patrons.

The young footman stopped just behind the other man's shoulder. "Can I be of assistance?" he asked, gazing pointedly at the man's grip on Tempy's arm.

The man looked over his shoulder at the footman and then dropped his hand from Tempy's arm as though it had just transformed into a hot stovepipe. He didn't say a word but simply shot Tempy a withering glare. Then he turned his back to them and stalked off, heading toward the bar across the room.

"I believe he's been overtaken by a profound thirst," Tempy said, her voice quavering.

"Miss?" asked the footman. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes," she said, pressing her hand to her rapidly beating heart. Her arm still hurt from the man's grip, and she wondered vaguely if she'd develop a bruise where he'd grabbed her. "And thank you. I'm not sure what I did that irritated that gentleman, but I'm relieved that you intervened."

"It's not just you. He tends to be irritable. I'm sorry that he bothered you. Please tell me, or any of the other staff, if you have any further trouble with him."

She nodded and looked down at her box of chips. They were rattling slightly from the little tremors that ran through her. She pulled the box more firmly against her stomach to hide the telltale movement. When she looked back up, the footman was gone.

What she'd really like right now was someplace to sit.

With not a small amount of relief, Tempy noticed a woman stand up from her chair at one of the smaller gaming tables and gather her winnings. Then the woman headed toward the cashier, presumably done for the night. Tempy hurried toward the vacant chair and placed her hand on its back. She glanced at the other players at the table and asked, "Would you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," one of the gentlemen replied.

Tempy lowered herself onto the chair, thankful that it had become available just when she'd most needed it.

"As long as you can play whist," he added, almost as an afterthought

Whist? She furrowed her brows. "I don't suppose you'd want to teach me?"

Based on the stony expressions the other players shot her, they did not. The evening was not going well. Not well at all. With a sigh, Tempy collected her chips and stood. Her chair was filled, almost immediately, by an older woman who glared at her contemptuously. It was hard for Tempy not to look foolish as she beat a hasty retreat, but she managed to maintain a modicum of grace and composure as she walked off.

Why had she come here alone? It had been an absurd notion. She needed a new plan. Perhaps she could enlist Millicent to assist her. At least then she'd have a friend by her side for support. Things were certain to be better if she tried this when she wasn't alone.

Tempy wandered toward the archway leading to the cashiers' windows as she tried to decide whether she should stay or cut her losses. Fortunately this evening wasn't a complete waste. At least she'd won something.

As Tempy stood in the archway, she caught sight of the couple standing at one of the cashiers' windows. The man had pale blond hair and the woman on his arm had her dark mass of hair artfully arranged so that curls cascaded down the back of her head.

But it was the man with the blond hair who caught Tempy's full attention.

Ernest?

Here?

But that wasn't possible. Ernest's family disapproved of gambling.

But then Tempy saw his face as he looked down at the little French woman on his arm. Tempy's stomach twisted when she stared at the odious woman. Wasn't it bad enough that the wench was snatching Ernest from her arms? Did she also have to come here and ruin her research for the article for Mr. Dickens? The woman was insidious.

Tempy stepped back through the archway and hid behind one of the potted plants, peering between the leathery leaves to observe the couple as they stood at the cashier's window.

Clarisse wore the latest in French fashions. Wasn't that just like a Parisian? Tempy glanced down at her own dress, which she'd been quite pleased with a scant hour ago. But now, looking at the lovely confection in pale pink satin and creamy lace, she discovered that she felt dreadfully out of style in comparison.

Ernest and Clarisse gathered up their chips and moved through the archway into the main casino. They were just inches away from her, but fortunately they were scanning the room, either looking for a game to their liking or for people Ernest knew. As they walked on, Tempy could see that Clarisse led the way, resting her hand lightly on Ernest's forearm as she guided him.

Tempy scooted a bit farther behind the plant, circling behind it as the pair moved on. She sidled around the large pot, trying to keep it between her and the other couple. It proved to be difficult to keep her wide skirts out of the couple's line of sight. Mountains of fabric must have been used to create her dress.

Once Tempy was on the opposite side of the plant, she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to make her escape. Ernest and Clarisse had their backs to her, and the cashiers' cage was right behind her.

Tempy took two quick steps backward and began to perform what she hoped was a graceful pirouette, but instead, she felt her shoulder bump into something that gave way behind her. She heard a tinkle of glass, followed by a crash, and then had the sudden sensation of cold liquid dripping down the back of her dress. The footman she'd backed into tried to prevent the large silver serving tray she'd hit from toppling to the floor, but he lost the battle, along with his balance, and fell into her. This knocked her off her feet so that she landed on her seat in a froth of petticoats.

The round silver tray hit the floor with a clang, but didn't land flat. Instead, it spun, its edges bouncing up and down in a circle until it finally stopped moving and ceased making such an incredible racket.

The entire casino was silent as Tempy climbed to her hands and knees. She glanced over her shoulder and then widened her eyes in horror as the two people she most wanted to avoid in this world turned to see what had caused the commotion. It felt as though time stopped for an instant, and her gaze momentarily focused on the faint mote of dust that caught the light as it floated past her face.

Tempy turned away from the pair. At the same time, she grabbed the large silver serving tray from the floor and whipped it up to block their view.

She had to get out of here. What if Ernest recognized her?

Tempy lurched to her feet, keeping the serving tray raised to shield her from view, looking, she realized, just like a fallen knight lumbering to his feet after being unhorsed. Could this moment be any worse?

Tempy rushed toward the archway, only to find her escape blocked by a large man. She looked up, not wanting to meet his gaze, but what choice did she have?

It was Mr. Hamlin.

Tempy nearly lost her grip on the silver platter, but then clenched it more tightly than ever. She couldn't squeeze past Hamlin without forcing him to one side, so she stopped short in her headlong rush to freedom.

When she gave Hamlin a look of pleading desperation, she was appalled to see the restrained fury on his face.

"Please," she whispered to this man whose anger seemed to radiate from him in waves of crimson and scarlet. "You must help me. Don't let him see me this way."

Did Hamlin's face soften, almost imperceptibly, at her words? Every atom of her being focused on the man, willing him to help her.

9 - Angels Rush In

This infuriating woman was a walking disaster. Every time Lucien saw her, she was in the midst of some emotional crisis.

But the pleading look Miss Bliss gave him seemed to thaw something inside him, allowing his heart to beat a bit more smoothly as bits of ice broke free. She seemed to have a great deal of faith in his ability to rescue her from this humiliating situation.

Perhaps too much faith.

Lucien wasn't certain from which gentleman Miss Bliss wished to hide, but he felt certain that it had something to do with her recent abandonment by her faithless fiancé. Despite wanting to remain uninvolved, Lucien couldn't bring himself to peel Miss Bliss's fingertips away from the edge of the cliff to which she now clung only to fling her back to the howling wolves below.

"Boothby," Lucien said, addressing the young footman who had suddenly appeared at Miss Bliss's shoulder, "would you be so kind as to gather the young lady's winnings from the floor?"

Boothby nodded and immediately turned away to fulfill his task. Lucien then trained his gaze back on Miss Bliss, quickly gauging her level of panic. It was already too high, and he could tell that it was increasing with every moment that passed.

But why was she hoisting that enormous silver platter like a shield? Then, with a flash of comprehension, he understood. Of course. She was hiding behind it.

"This way," Lucien said, putting his hand on her elbow to escort her to safety.

Miss Bliss didn't move. Lucien exerted some gentle pressure, but she remained solidly affixed to that spot on the floor.

Lucien leaned closer to her ear and murmured, "Either come with me now, or face them alone." From his light grip on her arm, he could feel the tremor that his words elicited.

Miss Bliss kept her head down but gave a small nod. This time, when he put a little pressure on her elbow, she allowed him to escort her off the casino floor.

Lucien pulled a key from his pocket as he headed toward the locked door next to the cashiers' windows. He slid it smoothly into the lock and twisted it in a motion he'd made hundreds, no, thousands of times in his life.

But this was the first time he'd ever taken one of the casino's patrons into this area. It went against every rule he'd maintained over the years.

The cashiers looked at them, wide-eyed at this violation of his most sacrosanct rule, but no one made a comment. He frowned as he hurried Miss Bliss back toward the only other door in the cashiers' area. The door to his office.

Thumbing through his key ring, Lucien selected a second key that allowed him passage into his office. Once in the room, he locked the door behind them.

"Thank--" she began, but Lucien wouldn't let her finish.

"It takes a lot of audacity for you to come here when I made it clear that you're not welcome. Don't think you can presume upon me simply because we're both acquainted with Mrs. Kidman."

"But I..."

"There
are
no 'buts,' Miss Bliss. You are entirely in the wrong."

"Yes, I am."

"I--" He stopped. "You admit it?"

"Of course. This entire evening...no," she corrected herself, "I should say this entire
week
, has been one mistake or misjudgment after another. I don't know what's happening to me. I apologize for ignoring your wishes, but I felt so beaten down by everything that's happened to me that I simply had to do something constructive."

Someone knocked at the door, and when Lucien bade them enter, Boothby came in carrying Miss Bliss's tray of winnings. "I think I was able to retrieve most of your chips. One of the cashiers provided me with the amount that you'd withdrawn from your account, and I added your winnings from the roulette table. Unfortunately, some chips still seem to be missing."

"They're probably all here in my bag," Tempy said, bouncing her reticule by its strings so that her chips rattled against one another with a muffled clatter. "I wanted to hold a little in reserve."

She pulled the chips out and laid them on Mr. Hamlin's desk. "Thank you for gathering those for me."

Boothby poked at the pile of five pound chips with one finger, apparently counting them. "It appears that a fifty-pound chip is still missing," Boothby said. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to retrieve them all."

"Perhaps it's under one of the tables," Lucien said. He glanced at Boothby. "Ask the cleaning crew to look for it later. And thank you, Boothby."

The footman nodded at the obvious dismissal and then left the room.

"One?" Miss Bliss cleared her throat. "That won't be necessary." She flushed and pressed her hand to her chest. "It isn't missing."

She slid her index finger and thumb down the front of her bodice, and Lucien couldn't stop his eyes from widening slightly. What on earth was this woman doing? At the next moment, something came flying out of her bosom and smacked him in the forehead.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed.

Lucien looked at the floor by his feet and saw the object that had struck him. A red-rimmed chip. The missing Hamlin House chip with his "HH" logo imprinted on one side.

He bent over and retrieved it, finding the small object still warm from its nest. Instinctively, his hand closed around the little disk that had so recently been on such intimate terms with Miss Bliss.

He didn't like the direction in which his thoughts were wandering, so he forced himself to relax and unclench his hand, but it wasn't easy. He couldn't quite bring himself to meet Miss Bliss's gaze as he approached her. He stretched out his arm and dropped the chip in her trembling hand, glimpsing the "50" on it before it disappeared in her fist. Where would she put it? His gaze crept back to her cleavage before he flushed and spun on his heel. He quickly retreated to his former position across the room. How could someone as seemingly innocent as Miss Bliss affect him at such a visceral level?