The Marriage Trap (5 page)

“Don't look so frightened.” His fingers became nimble as he dealt the cards. “You're quite safe here. Our ushers are armed and are crack shots.”

She tried to look gratified.

She would lose a little to begin with, to establish how innocent she was. And she wasn't going to break the bank. She wasn't greedy. When she had enough for Robbie's needs, she would collect her winnings and retire gracefully.

It was time to discuss the stakes.

The cards were the least of her worries. She wasn't conscious of memorizing which cards were played or discarded. Her brain seemed to work automatically, systematically slotting cards into various combinations that she could use to her advantage in the next play.

Her most pressing problem was how to conceal from her opponents that she was their worst nightmare, what Uncle Ted called a “virtuoso.” The only way they could beat her at cards was if they cheated or found another virtuoso to play against her, and the odds of that happening were too remote to consider.

It helped that she wasn't greedy or addicted to gaming. Most gamblers with her gift couldn't help themselves. They had to show everyone how clever they were and went on to break the bank. All this achieved was that someone, usually an employee of the house, accused them of cheating. As a result, their winnings were confiscated and they were thrown out on their ears.

Her strategy was simple: lose a little, win a little, and leave everyone happy and smiling.

Her game began well enough, but she soon lost ground, deliberately, of course, and was back where she started. The operator and director were all smiles. Very soon, however, her luck changed and she was on a winning streak. When she had forty thousand francs to her credit, Milton started to cough.

“Aurora,” he got out between gasps, “I'm . . .” He shook his head and steadied himself with one hand against the back of her chair. “We should go home. I don't feel well.”

This was what they'd arranged beforehand, that when she had forty thousand francs to her credit, Milton would feign illness. It was a ploy to get them out of the gaming house just in case the director took exception to losing a large sum of money with no chance of winning it back.

The temptation to go on was almost irresistible, and that had never happened before. At one stroke, she could solve all her problems. If she played for another hour, she would have enough money to set herself up for life, not in luxury, but modestly. She was tired of being humiliated by employers who took her for granted, and tired of living on the fringes of other people's lives. She wanted a life of her own.

“Not
now,
Milton.” She glanced at her cards, then looked up at him with an appeal in her eyes. “I'm on a winning streak. I feel lucky. You can't ask me to go home yet.”

This was unexpected and his expression showed it. “Aurora?”

She wavered. A glance at the director steadied her. He was beginning to look suspicious. One of Uncle Ted's precepts belatedly came back to her. A gamester who did not follow the strategy he'd set for himself could find himself playing with the devil.

Papa could not have said it better.

She breathed deeply, then pushed back her chair. “Just one more hand?”

That's what she was supposed to say, the cue for the next part of the charade.

Milton seized on it before she could change her mind. He coughed again, felt in his pocket, produced a large white linen handkerchief and proceeded to cough into it. Everyone could see that there was already a red stain on the handkerchief and assumed, wrongly, that it was blood.

With a show of reluctance that wasn't entirely feigned, Ellie got to her feet. “I suppose we must go,” she said. She looked at the director. “But I shall be back the first chance I get.”

The director gave her one of his measuring stares, then nodded. His manner was a little stiff. “I shall look forward to it,” he said.

The same flashers who had tried to distract her with their loud conversation about the actress who was done to death, now talked over the other patrons about the lady who had won handsomely at the card table. The hum in the room faded as people stopped to listen.

Ellie was aware that this was another of the house's tactics. It went to show that the house was honest and it was possible for the ordinary patron to win at the tables.

After bringing Ellie her winnings, the director escorted them to the door. She smiled and offered him her hand. When he bid them both
au revoir,
he was effusive and meticulous in his attentions.

On the way downstairs, Milton said, “What brought that on?”

“I passed him a banknote for a thousand francs.”

Milton stopped and looked up at her. “Why?”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Always leave a place so that you will be welcomed back. It's a precept I learned from my favorite uncle, and it's stood me in good stead.”

Alarmed, Milton said, “You're not thinking of coming back here?”

“No. I'm glad it's over. I just want to go home to my bed.”

When they came out of the door, they halted. Though it was closer to dawn than midnight, the arcades and courtyard were thronged with people, but not as orderly as they had been when Ellie and Milton had entered the building. There was a great deal of drunkenness and rough play. Ellie could see now why so many redcoats and gendarmes were posted in the courtyard. They were there to keep order or haul away the miscreants who refused to obey them.

Milton's hand closed like a vise around her arm.

“What is it?” she cried.

“The moneylender's messengers, and I think they've seen me.”

She followed the direction of his gaze. “You're not saying that Robbie is here somewhere?”

“No, but
I'm
here and they know I can lead them to Robbie.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“I'm going to lose them, then I'll come back for you.”

This didn't make sense to her. “What if I pay them the money Robbie owes? I have it right here.”

He drew her behind one of the arcade pillars. “That won't do. They're gladiators sent to find Robbie and teach him a lesson. We have to pay the money directly to old Houchard, then we'll be free of them.”

“Houchard being the moneylender, I suppose?”

“Yes. There isn't time to debate the point. Just do as I say.”

He sounded very masterful for an eighteen-year-old, and not at all like the Milton she knew. “But—”

He was done debating. With his hand cupping her elbow, he steered her to one of the cafés in the arcade. “Wait for me here,” he said. “Speak to no one. I'll come back as soon as I can.”

She was thrust unceremoniously through the door of the Café des Anglaises and left to fend for herself. It was crowded, boisterous and smoky, and patronized, for the most part, by gentlemen. A few were in British uniforms, and that was reassuring. All this registered in one comprehensive glance, then she turned her back on the room and gazed searchingly out the window.

She scanned the crowds, trying to find Milton, but the task was impossible. There were too many people.

She gave a start when a masculine voice spoke at her back.

“Madame est solitaire? Isolée?”

She turned slowly. A Prussian soldier, no more than Robbie's age, was gazing at her with an intoxicated smile. She could smell the drink on his breath.

Hoping to discourage him, she shrugged and said, “I'm sorry. I don't speak French.”

His intoxicated smile grew broader. As though translating each word carefully inside his head, he replied, “I don't speak French, either, but my English is quite good.”

She flashed him a neutral smile, neither provocative nor aloof, brushed by him, and took a chair by a table for two against the wall. When he sauntered over, she affected an interest in the other patrons. She wasn't alarmed. If the young Prussian soldier became a nuisance, she would simply appeal to the British soldiers for their protection.

She suffered a small pang when she began to take stock of the other ladies present. They were just like the ladies in the gaming house, expensively turned out, but as unsubtle as concubines in a harem.

The objects of their fawning did not escape her notice, either. Two gentlemen, whom she recognized immediately as English by the cut of their clothes, were holding court at the table in the far corner of the café. The light was too dim to see their faces clearly, but one seemed to be the life and soul of the party. The other gentleman was quietly sipping from a glass, his eyes studying her reflectively.

She blinked to dispel the foolish fancy that flitted through her mind. It couldn't possibly be Jack . . . could it?

Flustered now, she looked up at the Prussian soldier whose conversation she had missed. He was lonely if she was not, he'd said. That much she remembered. Her long silence was all the encouragement he'd needed to start taking liberties.

Seating himself on the opposite chair, he reached for her mask. She instinctively slapped his hand away.

It was the wrong thing to do. His smile vanished and his expression turned ugly. Reaching for the mask again, he tore it from her face. His words were slow and slurred. “I want to see what I am buying before I put down my money.”

She was ready to bolt for the door, then she looked into his young, young face and felt her confidence return. She spoke to him as she would to her brother. “That's no way to speak to a lady. What would your mother say if she could hear you?”

His brows knit in a befuddled frown. “If you were a lady, you wouldn't be here. So—”

His words were choked off when a strong, masculine hand hauled him up by the collar. It was no flight of fancy. Her rescuer was none other than Jack Rigg. She took a shaky breath and swallowed hard.

His voice soft with sarcasm, Jack said, “You have something that belongs to the lady, I believe. If you know what's good for you, you'll return it at once.”

A silence had descended at every table as all waited to see what would happen next. Ash Denison got to his feet and slowly sauntered over. Between sips from the glass in his hand, he said in a conversational tone, “Now, Jack, what's this all about?”

Jack said, “This jackanapes insulted the lady.”

Ellie sat there frozen in silence, her nerves on edge, expecting at any moment to be recognized by Jack or his friend. If it ever got back to her employer that she'd visited the Palais Royal when she was supposed to be in her bed, she would be ruined.

Her confidence crept back when it dawned on her that no one recognized her. She wondered how long that would last and began to think how she could get out of there unscathed.

To Ellie, Ash said,
“Permettez-moi d'instruire ce jeune homme ici des manières.”

Having already told the young soldier that she did not speak French, Ellie thought it prudent to keep up the pretense. She lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I'm sorry, I don't speak French.”

Jack said, “If anyone is going to teach this lout some manners, it will be me.”

The young soldier suddenly wrested himself out of Jack's clasp and turned to face him. “You have insulted me,” he gritted out. “I demand satisfaction.”

“You mean, a duel?” Jack sounded incredulous. “I don't duel with boys.”

Ellie decided it was time to make her move. She rose and gestured to the door. “I really must go. My husband will be looking for me. I was supposed to wait for him here, but I think he must have mistaken the time he said he would return.” She was rattling on as she tried to inch past him with no clear idea of what she was saying.

Jack smiled. “What time did he say he would return?”

“Ah—what time is it now?”

He looked at his watch. “A little before four o'clock.”

“That's the time he said he'd come and fetch me.”

Jack's smile widened into a grin. “Then what's your hurry? He's not late. Why don't we sit down and have a little conversation until he turns up?”

She picked up her mask and put it on. There was no smile now. “You're too kind, but I must decline.”

Ash now spoke to Jack in fluent French, which Ellie had no trouble understanding. “Leave her alone, Jack. She's not for you. I'd say she already has a protector, and a rich one at that. Just look at the clothes she is wearing. She's a pretty piece, I grant you. But do you really want to fight another duel this evening just to bed her? I'd be surprised if you're able to unsheathe your sword, let alone keep it up.”

This was obviously a huge joke, because both men laughed.