Regency Wagers (35 page)

‘You are going in to supper?’ The gleam remained in his eye. ‘Perhaps Sir Reginald and I might join you?’

The East India man huffed in disapproval. Emily ignored it, feeling an anger building in her so fiercely, she thought she might plant her husband a facer, pop his cork, draw some claret.

How dare he look at Lady Widow in this…this leering sort of way, when in his own home, he did not look at her at all? Is this what he was about when he went out at night? Was he jauntering through the London hells, searching for just such a creature as Lady Widow? A woman he might dally with? Goodness knows, he had no wish to dally with his wife.

Her throat constricted and a bitter taste filled her mouth. Why could he not look at Emily in that manner? Why could he not look at
her
? The jelly her insides had become now solidified into sharp-edged steel.

If her husband so desired Lady Widow, Lady Widow would lead him a merry dance. She would entice him and tease him. She would become everything he fancied. She would lead him to the brink and then she would push him over so hard, he would be knocked out of his senses. And when Lady Widow left him, he would know exactly what he had lost.

She leaned towards him to make sure he appreciated the low cut of the gold silk gown Hester had transformed. She lifted her hand and ran her finger slowly down his arm. He responded. His eyes darkened. Colour infused his face. His posture changed.

She smiled. ‘Your company, sir, would give me great pleasure.’

Taking his arm, she pressed her bosom into his side as
she’d seen Madame Bisou do to Robert. He escorted her to the supper room, leaving Sir Reginald and the East India man to trail behind like two baby ducklings. Sloane glared at her from across the room.

Guy’s gaze feasted upon the woman seated across from him in the supper room, his blood coursing through his veins. She had certainly roused his senses.

When he’d seen her stride gracefully across the room, her chin had been elevated regally. Her hips swayed gently. She’d moved with the knowledge that every man in that room wanted her in bed with him.

God help him, Guy was no exception. No wonder Sir Reginald was besotted. Guy was somewhat shocked that he’d reacted so physically. Every sense in his body was aroused. Every one.

Why her? He had certainly encountered other beautiful women on occasion. What was it about this one that stirred him so?

He had an uncanny notion he ought to know her, but that was nonsense. Surely he would remember. Lady Widow, masked or unmasked, could not be a female to forget. Still, the feeling of familiarity nagged at him.

She flirted openly with him, batting her eyelashes, touching his arm, pressing her knee against his. He was not immune. No, she’d whipped him into a vortex of sexual desire the likes of which he had not known since before he’d reached his majority.

When a droplet of wine rested on her lip and she slowly licked it off with her pink tongue, he was struck again with the feeling he’d seen this before, and reacted as strongly. At least the notion distracted him from his sudden raw sexual need.

‘Why have you come to Madame Bisou’s, Lord Keat
ing?’ she asked, music in her voice. ‘To sample her lovely girls?’

He swallowed some wine. ‘To play cards.’

‘Indeed?’ Her eyes widened from under her mask. ‘That is why I attend as well. To play.’ She paused and gave him a saucy look. ‘Play cards, that is.’ She was a seductress all right.

She swept her gaze over the other gentlemen at the table, lighting upon Sir Reginald, who puffed up like a rooster about to crow. ‘The gentlemen here are not very good players, I fear.’ Her eyes, looking golden like her dress, glittered with amusement. ‘I seem to win almost every game I play. Perhaps you wish to partner me? You will win, too.’

He took another sip of wine, a bit wary of the effect she had on him. ‘If you wish it.’

Her smile widened, and she shifted her attention to one of the other gentleman sitting with them, asking him something about trade with India.

A few minutes later, she declared supper over, and all the gentlemen rose in unison. Lucky Sir Reginald had the pleasure of escorting her back to the card room. Guy took up the rear.

He regarded her more dispassionately, an easier task with her back turned, even though that view of her was delightful as well. She flirted with him quite blatantly. Did he wish for a dalliance? Lord knew, he ached for release. Lady Widow was more temptation than his imagination could have conjured up, and he’d not lain with a woman since that night with his wife.

His wife. Emily, alone at home in bed. Always alone. And her husband could do nothing to bring enjoyment into her life, as her brother had so briefly done. Never her husband.

Lady Widow turned around, as if checking to be sure he followed her, smiling when she saw he did. Damn him, he could easily be hooked.

He blew out the breath he’d not been aware of holding. He had no intention of being unfaithful to his wife, no matter how much temptation a masked lady might be. Even if she could never discover it, his conscience would never allow him. He’d betrayed his wife enough.

Lady Widow led him to a table, directing him to be her partner and designating Sir Reginald and another man as their opponents. They all scurried to do her bidding, like bees buzzing around their queen.

She pointedly favoured Guy with her coy glances and flirtatious banter throughout the game. As she’d predicted, Sir Reginald and the other gentleman played like simpletons, putting down high trumps when low ones would do or leading with suits they knew she’d held. Lady Widow squealed becomingly at every trick she won. She grinned when the losing team pushed their counters to her side.

Guy gave Sir Reginald an amused glance. He’d watched Sir Reginald partner Emily in whist and knew the man to be a crack player. The love-struck old fool was merely tossing away money. Sir Reginald was a nodcock for letting his funds dribble through his fingers. He’d be better off playing at a high-stakes table and winning the fortune he said would entice the lady. The man could do it. He and Emily had been formidable opponents.

Sir Reginald and Emily.

Guy’s head snapped up. He stared at Lady Widow as she regarded the hand she’d just been dealt. She tapped the cards against her fingertips, then snapped the cards into place exactly like a practised gamester.

Exactly like Emily. Guy’s heart thudded in his chest. Could it be?

She looked up. He quickly averted his gaze for the moment, arranging his own hand. As the round commenced, he watched her carefully. When the cards were in play, her face held no expression. No smile, no frown, no clue to what she really thought or felt.

How many times had he seen that same lack of expression? Certainly in that game of whist more than a fortnight ago. He’d not thought about it, but, then, he’d glimpsed the same lack of expression every day when he said good morning at the breakfast sideboard.

By God, she was Emily. Lady Widow was Emily.

‘Your turn, Keating,’ Sir Reginald said.

He quickly put down a trump, winning the hand.

The game was theirs. Lady Widow’s face lit with delight. ‘Oh, thank you, Lord Keating! We have won again!’ Smiling, she leaned over the table and scooped up the counters, giving all the gentlemen a good glimpse of her décolletage. ‘Did I not tell you I always win?’

He wanted to throw his coat over her chest. This woman was nothing like his wife, but she was Emily all the same. He was very certain. ‘Indeed you did, my lady,’ he replied.

‘You must play with me some more,’ she teased, her eyes filling with mischief.

Would Emily speak so provocatively? No, she would not, but he heard the words coming from her mouth. ‘The night is merely beginning,’ he said.

She grinned wickedly at him. ‘Do you mean to say you wish to spend the whole of the night with me, Lord Keating? I assure you, sir, other gentlemen will wish their turn.’

His body lit like a rushlight touched to flame, the heat of raw carnal desire. But before he went completely up in flames, he struggled to consider that this wife of his now
spoke like a skilled coquette. What games was she playing here besides whist? Nothing yet, if Sir Reginald’s tale of a wager was true.

By God, these gentlemen were wagering on bedding his wife! He had half a mind to call them all out. He had half a mind to drag her away from this place this very moment. Drag her to
his
bedchamber at least.

That would not answer, however, no matter how much he craved it. What was she doing here? Why was she dressed in this disguise? Why was she flirting with every man in the place—even her husband?

He’d never discover her purpose by prematurely tipping his hand. She did not know he recognised her. She believed he thought her to be Lady Widow. He could play along for a while, until he found out exactly what she was up to. And, by God, he would be here every night to make sure none of these men collected on that wager.

After winning the next game, she yawned, stretching her arms above her head and declaring she must retire for the night. All three men jumped to their feet as she rose from her chair, Guy included.

‘Now, I do not need all three of you to escort me to the door, do I?’ She swept her gaze over the three of them, letting it light on Guy longer than the others. ‘I pick…Sir Reginald!’

‘Delighted. Delighted.’ Sir Reginald nearly knocked over his chair to give her his arm.

Guy’s fingers curled into fists. By God, he didn’t care if Sir Reginald was on the far side of fifty and an old friend of his father’s, the man was asking for a duel if he led Guy’s wife to a room above stairs.

Trying to appear calm, Guy wandered over to the door a bit behind Sir Reginald and
his
wife. If they turned to the stairway leading above, Guy would not be far behind.

None other than Cyprian Sloane waylaid him.

‘No need to draw daggers, Keating,’ Sloane said, sounding as slippery a cad as ever. ‘She’ll allow Sir Reginald help her with her cloak and walk her to her hack. Nothing more. He’s no rival.’

What the devil was that fellow doing here? ‘Sloane,’ Guy said, pushing towards the doorway. ‘Didn’t know you were in town.’

As he reached the hallway, Sir Reginald’s voice sounded from down in the hall. Guy heard the front door open and close. Apparently Sloane had been correct. Guy bit down on a relieved sigh and leaned against the wall.

Sloane, who had followed him, eyed him curiously. Of all people, why should Sloane show up here? He’d been in Bath, and here he was again. Was this an accident? Had Emily come to meet Sloane in this place? She’d hardly given him a glance, however. Or was that because her husband had walked in the door?

‘Have a drink with me,’ Sloane said, bending his head to the supper room.

Guy’s eyes narrowed slightly. What better way to discover what kind of fast shuffle the man was playing with Guy’s wife?

The supper room was nearly empty. They sat at a secluded table where no one would overhear their conversation. Sloane ordered whisky for them both. After the pretty maid delivered it, Guy sipped and waited.

Sloane lifted his glass as if in a toast. ‘Congratulations, Keating. You seem to have won the regard of our Lady Widow. I commend you.’

Guy gave Sloane a shrug. ‘What concern is this of yours?’

‘I lay claim to her. I saw her first.’ Sloane’s voice
dropped into a more menacing tone. ‘Consider yourself informed.’

‘Indeed?’ Guy kept his cards close to his chest, but he certainly did so with effort. ‘She has your
carte blanche
?’

Sloane did not break off his gaze, but Guy perceived a fleeting look of uncertainty there. ‘Not quite.’ Sloane paused before continuing, ‘She’s a wily creature, Keating. Not an easy win. I intend to be the first to bed her, however.’

Guy nearly rose from his chair to plant his fist in Sloane’s face. With difficulty he adopted a calm demeanour. Could Sloane indeed not know he was speaking of bedding Guy’s wife?

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Guy asked casually.

Sloane took a swig of his drink. ‘Damned if I know,’ he said. ‘Maybe to make the game more challenging. No cards hidden.’

‘The game?’

Sloane smiled. ‘The game of who wins the lady. Have you put your wager in the betting book? Stakes are at four thousand, I believe.’

Guy’s fingers squeezed the glass in his hand. This was his wife Sloane spoke of! His wife the men had bet on! He silently fought for control. They could not know Lady Widow was his wife. Even a man like Sloane would not speak in this manner to a husband of his wife.

Guy believed he discovered the gentlemen’s interest in Lady Widow, but he still did not know why Emily engaged in this masquerade. He’d discover nothing if he unleashed his temper. ‘Who the devil is she, anyway?’ he asked instead.

Sloane’s brows rose. ‘No one knows. Makes the game more interesting. The winner removes the mask!’

Guy let that one pass.

Sloane glared at him. ‘The point is, Keating,
I
claim her. I aim to win. Do not waste your money on this wager. She’s mine.’

No
, Guy thought.
She’s mine.

The air vibrated with tension. The two men stared each other down, like two Captain Sharps, each daring the other to accuse him of playing a dirty game.

Guy figuratively threw in a stack of coins. ‘Seems to me the lady decides,’ he said. ‘You play your cards, Sloane, and I’ll play mine. We’ll see whose hand wins the lady.’

Guy would play his hand, yes, indeed. He’d return to Madame Bisou’s, every night if necessary, until he discovered why his wife came there in a mask, flirting like a demi-rep. He’d return to make certain Sloane failed in his plan to entice Lady Widow into his bed. He’d return to make sure all of them failed.

No one would bed Lady Widow. No one save her husband.

E
mily slept late the next morning. Or rather, she remained abed, until certain her husband would not be about. It was his habit to go out in the morning, off on some jaunt in town. Perhaps he’d go to White’s to boast of meeting Lady Widow.

She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow. Silly. No one would speak of Lady Widow at White’s. Lady Widow’s renown confined itself to one gaming hell. Not very auspicious fame, but more than Emily had expected to experience. She had aimed merely to be considered above reproach in every quarter. Ironic that by being Lady Widow she risked every shred of her reputation. Emily would be mortified if discovered.

But even her husband had not known her. Lady Widow’s mask proved to be an effective shield. She could say and do as she pleased.

Even flirt with her husband, if she chose to.

Emily sat up and pressed her fingers to her temple. Why had he, of all gentlemen, walked into Madame Bisou’s? It changed everything. She must not allow him to ruin her plans. She would make sport of him instead, show him how his desires could be shattered just as easily as hers…

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. No, she must not admit to any foolish notion that she’d hoped for anything more from her marriage besides an escape from her parents. She’d known from the beginning it was a marriage of convenience. She merely had not known that the convenience her husband sought was a fortune to gamble away. She’d thought he sought an heir.

What a lovely idea. A baby. A robust boy with hair as dark as mahogany and eyes as blue as the sea. She sunk her head to her knees. This was indeed foolish in the extreme. Her husband avoided her bed. There would be no baby from this marriage.

Do not think of that
, she scolded herself.
Think of how he looked upon Lady Widow. Think of the sweet revenge when she spurns him.

The clock struck noon. Had she ever stayed in bed this long? Dragging herself from beneath the covers, she summoned Hester to help her dress.

‘You have slept late, my lady,’ Hester remarked.

‘I was out very late.’

Would not Hester’s eyes grow round as saucers if Emily told her the disguise she’d fashioned worked so effectively that Emily’s own husband did not know her?

She and Hester had created a more dazzling creature. Lady Widow made his eyes glitter with desire. The reprobate.

‘Did you win the card game?’ Hester asked.

Oh, she’d won more than a card game. She’d won the favour of Lord Keating himself.

‘Of course I won.’ Emily opened a drawer and removed four shillings, dropping them into the maid’s palm.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Hester curtsied and, with a wide grin, thrust the coins in a pocket of her apron.

‘And your brother received his share as well.’

Still beaming, Hester skipped over to the wardrobe. ‘What dress today, ma’am?’

Lady Widow would undoubtedly have picked something bright and gay, but Emily Keating owned nothing of that description. ‘My green and brown stripe, I suppose.’ The stripe was about as dashing as ever-so-proper Emily Keating could manage, which was to say, not at all.

Hester helped her into the dress, tying the laces in the back. The looking glass reflected back a drab young woman in a drab outfit. Emily sighed. It really was much more fun to dress in something like the gold confection that had captivated her husband the night before. For the first time Emily appreciated her mother’s madness for the latest fashions.

Hester arranged her hair in a simple knot on top of her head. Emily wondered how Lady Widow would wear her hair if she went without her hat?

Probably in a becoming cascade of curls.

When she finished dressing, Emily made her way down the stairs. As she reached the first floor, the Dowager Lady Keating called from the drawing room, ‘Is that you?’

Not, ‘Is that you, Emily?’, which would make some sense, but, ‘Is that you?’, which avoided using her name, and could be answered affirmatively by anyone.

She took a deep breath. ‘It is Emily.’

Her mother-in-law appeared at the drawing-room door. ‘You slept the morning, did you not?’

‘My apologies, Lady Keating. Did you require me?’

Lady Keating walked back into the drawing room, no doubt expecting Emily to follow. ‘I have several calls to
make and I need someone to accompany me. I hope you do not have plans.’

The word
plans
was emphasised, referring, Emily supposed, to the one day her brother had called upon her.

Emily lingered at the doorway. ‘I shall accompany you, if you wish.’

‘Good,’ said Lady Keating, ‘because Guy has taken Aunt Dorrie and Aunt Pip out in the curricle, and I have no one else I might ask.’

He’d taken the aunts out? How nice of him. The dutiful grand-nephew.

‘Indeed,’ she said.

A tension inside her eased. She would not run into him after all. Inexplicably, this easing of tension closely resembled disappointment.

Lady Keating went on, ‘Aunt Dorrie got a notion she needed air and ribbons, so Guy took them to the shops.’

Good for him, Emily thought. She hoped they would make him look at every ribbon and engage him in a quarter of an hour’s discussion of whether to buy the yellow or the blue. And which shade of blue? Would this blue perhaps clash with the shade of her bonnet? It would, Miss Nuthall would say. Lady Pipham would insist it would not. Finally Miss Nuthall would choose green, because her sister said green would never do. Emily had been to the shops with the aunts.

‘When do you wish me to be ready?’ Emily asked.

‘Well, not now,’ Lady Keating huffed. ‘I could not leave for another hour at least.’

‘Then I shall go see how Mrs Wilson goes on.’

Emily continued down the stairs, finding the housekeeper in the passageway outside her sitting room giving instructions to the maid.

What crisis would Mrs Wilson report today? A tiff be
tween the maid-of-all-work and the kitchen maid? No partridges for dinner? Mice in the cellar? No difficulty was too small for Mrs Wilson to lay at Emily’s feet.

When she saw Emily, Mrs Wilson shooed the maid away. ‘Good day, my lady,’ she said.

‘How do things go on, Mrs Wilson?’ Emily asked.

The housekeeper launched into a long discussion about the coal porter, how he meant to cheat them, how she, not knowing what her ladyship would do, worried her head off, but finally gave the fellow what-for and he’d done just as he ought.

‘What else could I do, my lady? You were abed and like to never get up,’ she concluded.

Perhaps Emily ought to sleep late more often.

‘You did very well,’ she assured her.

She walked back to the hall where Bleasby approached, begging to ask how he might serve her. She’d managed to reduce his duties to the lightest of tasks, but the old butler felt remiss if he did not do as much work as he’d done thirty years ago. She spent some moments convincing him his services were perfectly adequate, trying all the while to salvage his pride.

The door opened. Guy and the aunts had returned, Lady Pipham’s and Miss Nuthall’s shrill voices, bickering as usual, echoing into the hall. With the quarrel in full swing and the door open to the chilly air, Guy urged each of them over the threshold. He stood ready to remove their pelisses, but Bleasby beat him to it, silently assisting while the two ladies barely drew a breath between angry words.

Emily could have made a hasty retreat, but instead watched as Guy removed his beaver hat and caped coat, moving as always with a masculine elegance totally without affectation. He continued placating the sensibilities of
each great-aunt, and successfully cajoled them out of their huffiness, making them each feel they had won the point.

They were in perfect charity with each other as they made their way up the stairs. With any luck, their truce would last until they reached the upper floors.

Watching Guy’s solicitude towards the aunts affected Emily as much as it had the first time she’d seen it. She watched him through the whole exchange with the aunts, as if in a trance, his kindness still able to touch that needy part of her she tried so hard to ignore.

She stepped forward to take his coat and hat, but he did not hand them over. Instead, he lay them on a nearby chair.

‘Good day, Emily.’ He gave her a smile.

It almost seemed as if he’d really looked at her.

‘Good day, sir,’ she responded.

‘You were not at breakfast,’ he went on. ‘Were you feeling unwell?’

She felt herself blush, knowing she’d stayed abed merely to avoid him.

‘I assure you, I am very well.’ She heard the edge of anger creeping into her voice. Beware, she told herself. Do not give him anything to wonder about.

She composed her most colourless countenance, but it seemed his eyes almost twinkled in response, as if he alone knew the answer to a riddle and was keeping it to himself.

What was the reason for his sunny mood? He had won a great deal of money at Lady Widow’s table the previous night. Perhaps that was the origin of his bonhomie. Or perhaps it was meeting Lady Widow herself.

Her mother-in-law emerged from above stairs. ‘I am ready,’ she announced.

Emily turned her blank expression on her husband’s mother. ‘I shall get my coat and bonnet.’

Lady Keating gave her a quick nod, then came over to her son’s side.

‘Where are you and Emily bound, Mother?’ He kissed his mother’s cheek.

It occurred to Emily then that he did not kiss her in greeting. A dagger twisted inside her. She’d wager he would kiss Lady Widow if she let him.

Lady Keating patted her son’s cheek. ‘The daughter of my dearest friend is in town awaiting the birth of her baby. I sent a note round asking if I might call on her and her reply arrived this morning.’

‘How nice for you,’ Guy said.

Emily tried to keep her tread light on the stairs, though she felt like stamping her way to the next floor. It should not bother her that this gambling husband of hers cared nothing for her, but lavished all his attention on his mother and his great-aunts. It should signify nothing to her. She would soon leave them all behind.

She paused a moment, straightened her back, and continued up the stairs with more iron in her spine. By next spring, she told herself, before the Season was underway, she should have winnings enough to walk out of the door and say good riddance to them all.

Guy’s gaze followed his wife as she ascended the stairs, her spine straight, her step purposeful. She walked with Lady Widow’s dignity, he thought. With Lady Widow’s grace, but in Emily both were held back, controlled, contained. There all the same, however. How could he not have seen it before in Emily? He felt like a blind man suddenly blessed with sight. Everything became clear. Ev
erything except why. Why masquerade as Lady Widow? Why hide Lady Widow’s vivacity the rest of the time?

The cloth of her dress caught between her legs, for an instant clearly outlining her pleasing form. This sudden vision rekindled the desire she’d aroused the night before. He had half a mind to follow her to her bedchamber, putting an end to that infernal wager once and for all.

Be patient
, he told himself.
Don’t rush the cards. Play out the full hand.

He turned back to his mother. ‘I am glad you are taking Emily with you.’ He gave a glance back to the now empty stair.

Lady Keating sighed. ‘I would not upset you for the world, Guy, but I still cannot like her.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘She tries mightily to please you. She tries to please all of us.’ And underneath her pleasing manners was so much more.

‘I know,’ his mother admitted. ‘But her parents, you know. They are such wretched people. I’m convinced she cannot be as utterly correct as she seems.’

If you only knew, Mother
, Guy said to himself.

‘Blood always tells, Guy.’ She gave a knowing nod, obviously overlooking the blood of a wastrel father in his own veins.

Was that it? he suddenly wondered. Emily’s father was a sad gamester, even more ruthless in his play than the elder Keating’s had been. How much of Duprey’s blood flowed through his daughter’s veins? As much as his own father’s flowed through his? If Guy were always a hair’s breadth from falling completely into the lure of the cards, why not Emily?

Lady Widow’s eyes had danced with every winning hand. Was Emily at Madame Bisou’s for love of gambling?

Eventually the gentlemen at Madame Bisou’s would tire of letting her win, especially if the wager about her were won. What would be the result? If her opponents played to win, how long before she must present her husband with her gambling debts? She would not be the only woman to have succumbed to the lure of the card table. The Duchess of Devonshire had been known to bet deep, owing everyone throughout London. It was said she sadly damaged the Duke’s finances with her losses.

The Duchess was also known to have borne another man’s child. Surely Emily would not go so far?

His mother broke into his reverie. ‘Besides, she is utterly lacking in charm.’

Guy almost laughed aloud. If his mother only knew how much charm Emily could display when she so chose. ‘Emily’s is a quiet charm, Mother,’ he told her.

His mother rolled her eyes.

His temper flared. ‘Do not roll your eyes when I speak of her. She is my wife, ma’am. Treat her with the respect she deserves.’ He leaned towards her to imprint upon her that he was entirely serious. ‘One word from her and you could be away from here.’

Lady Keating put her hands on her hips. ‘There is nothing I should more desire. I am perfectly content to make my home at Annerley. I pine for a spell in the country.’

A short time ago she’d longed for London.

He shook his head in frustration. ‘Annerley is her house as well, Mother. But you know even the dower house at Annerley is unfit for habitation, and the main house needs total repair.’

The dower house was under repair, thanks to a fat pot won a fortnight ago, but it would be spring before work on it could be completed. Guy planned to live in the dower house while Annerley was restored. He wished to
be in residence for spring planting and to oversee the renovations. First, however, he needed to win the necessary funds.