Читать книгу Regency Reputation - Diane Gaston - Страница 12

Celia sat at the desk in her library in the rooms she’d taken for the Season, rooms she now had more hope she could afford. Her winnings were stacked in piles on the desk, one half set aside to stake her next venture to the Masquerade Club.

What would she have done had she not discovered the new gaming house? Her widow’s portion had been stretched to the breaking point and the bills continued to pour in.

Now she could transfer some of the bills from one stack to another—ones to pay now, ones to pay later.

She rolled some of the coins in her hand, almost giddy at their cool texture and the clink of them rubbing against each other.

She stacked them again and leaned back, appalled at herself. To be giddy at winning was to travel a perilous path. She must never succumb to the mania that was gambling. Not like her father—and, by association, her mother. They both died of it.

If she played with her head and not her emotions, she should be able to resist. She planned to visit the place often enough to learn who the high-stakes players were. Think of the money she could win in games with such gamblers!

Stop! she warned herself. No emotions. Playing cards must merely be what she did to earn money, like any tradesman or skilled workman.

Celia turned her face to the window and gazed out into the small garden at the back of the house. At the moment she must depend on Rhysdale to find her partners, but soon she would become known to the regulars. Then she hoped to be sought after as a partner.

At least Rhysdale had set her up with partners skilled enough to bring her a tidy profit.

She riffled the stack of coins. She needed more. Her stepdaughter’s Season cost money and her mother-in-law refused to stop spending recklessly.

Her late husband had been another whose gambling and debauchery ruled his life. Her husband had been excessive in everything. Gambling. Spending. Drinking. Mistresses.

He’d even been excessive in his disdain for his young wife.

Not that it mattered now. His death had freed her from a marriage she’d never wanted and from a husband she’d abhorred. It had left her with a stepdaughter nearly her own age and a mother-in-law who despised her.

‘Celia!’ Adele, her stepdaughter, called.

Celia’s singular joy, the closest Celia would ever come to a daughter of her own. Adele. Bright and starry-eyed, and full of hope that her first Season in London would bring her the love match she pined for. Celia was determined Adele should achieve her dreams, dreams that might have been Celia’s own.

If gambling had not robbed her of them.

‘I’m in here, Adele,’ she responded.

Dreams aside, it was pragmatic for Adele to make a good match. The girl deserved to be settled and happy with a husband wealthy and generous enough to support Adele’s grandmother, as well. Celia’s modest widow’s portion might be enough for her to live in some measure of comfort if she economised very carefully, but it definitely did not stretch so far as to support her stepdaughter and mother-in-law.

Besides, Celia had no wish to be shackled to her mother-in-law forever.

Adele bounced into the room and gave Celia a buss on the cheek. ‘Grandmama and I went shopping. We went to the new Burlington Arcade. It was a positive delight!’

‘Was it?’ Celia would miss Adele. The girl was the delight of her life.

Adele danced in front of her. ‘There must have been a hundred shops. We did not see half of them.’ She sobered. ‘But, I assure you, I did not purchase a thing.’

Celia smiled. ‘I hope you enjoyed yourself, none the less.’

‘I did. I cannot tell you of all the items I saw for sale.’ Adele lowered herself onto a nearby chair. ‘Do not tell me those are bills.’

‘They are bills, but do not fret. I have funds to pay some of them.’ Celia moved the stacks of bills to pay farther away from those that would have to wait. ‘Including the modiste. So you may order a new gown or two.’

Adele shook her head. ‘I do not need them. I can make do with my old ones.’

Celia rose from her chair and went over to the girl. ‘Indeed you may not!’ She took Adele’s hands. ‘It is very important for you to put in a good appearance! Your grandmother and I agree on that score. Besides I’ve—I’ve found some funds I did not know we had. We are not so poverty-stricken after all.’

Adele looked sceptical. ‘I hope you are telling me the truth and not shielding me as if I were a child.’

Celia squeezed her hands and avoided the issue. ‘Of course you are not a child. A child does not have a Season.’ Adele was nineteen years old. Celia herself was only twenty-three, but she felt ancient in comparison.

‘I am sending Tucker out with the payments today.’ Tucker had been one of the footmen who had served the Gales for years. Without overstepping the boundaries between servant and master, he’d been loyal to Celia through her marriage and widowhood. He was now her faithful butler.

‘Where did you find the money?’ Adele asked.

Celia pointed to the coins. ‘The silliest thing. I was looking for something else and I discovered a purse full of coin. Your father must have packed it away and forgotten about it.’

Adele’s expression saddened. ‘That was a fortunate thing. Had he found it he would have lost it gambling.’

What would Adele think if she knew where the money had really come from?

Only three people knew of Celia’s trip to the Masquerade Club—Tucker, her housekeeper, Mrs Bell, and Younie, Celia’s lady’s maid. Younie was lady’s maid to all three women since Lord Gale’s death.

What would Adele think if she knew Celia planned to return to the gaming hell tonight?

An image of Rhysdale flew into her mind. Would he watch her again? Her heartbeat accelerated.

The Dowager Lady Gale, Celia’s mother-in-law, entered the room. ‘There you are, Adele.’ She did not greet Celia. ‘We must decide what you are to wear to the musicale tonight. It cannot be the blue gown again. Everyone has seen that gown twice already. It will be remembered.’ She finally turned to Celia. ‘She absolutely needs new dresses. You are excessively cruel to deny them to her.’

Celia pasted a smile on her face. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Gale.’

Like Celia, Lady Gale wanted Adele to have a successful Season, ending in a betrothal. The difference was, Celia wanted Adele to find someone who could make her happy; Lady Gale cared only that Adele marry a man with a good title and good fortune.

Celia adopted a mollifying tone. ‘You will be pleased to know Adele and I have been talking of dresses. I have payment for the modiste, so Adele may order two new gowns.’

Her mother-in-law, silver-haired and as slim-figured as she’d been in her own Season, narrowed her eyes. ‘Only two? I cannot abide how tight-fisted you are!’

Celia forced herself to hold her tongue. Engaging in a shouting match with the dowager would serve no purpose. ‘Only two for now, but I am confident our finances will soon improve and Adele may order more.’

Her conscience niggled. How many times had her father purchased something, saying he’d win enough to pay for it?

Lady Gale pursed her thin lips. ‘And I am to wear my old rags, I suppose.’

Celia’s smile froze. ‘You may order two gowns for yourself, if you like.’

‘Will you come with us tonight, Celia?’ Adele looked hopeful. She was too kind to say she did not find her grandmother’s company altogether pleasant at such gatherings.

Celia calculated what time the musicale would end. It would still give her time to attend the gaming house for a few hours of play. ‘If you wish.’

‘I do!’ Adele’s countenance brightened.

Her grandmother rolled her eyes. ‘You will dress properly, I hope.’

‘I will, indeed.’ Celia always dressed properly. Her most daring gown was the one she’d worn to the Masquerade Club the night before. Its neckline had always seemed too low. She’d only worn it because she thought no one would recognise her in it, as if anyone at these society events noticed what she wore. None the less, she would change into it to wear to the gaming house tonight, as well.

She turned to Adele. ‘Why don’t you see if Younie has any ideas of how to alter one of your old gowns for tonight? She is very clever at that sort of thing.’

Adele jumped to her feet. ‘An excellent idea! I will do that right away.’ She started for the door. ‘I beg your leave, Grandmama.’

Lady Gale waved her away. ‘Go.’ She called after Adele. ‘Younie is in my room, Adele. She is mending.’

Adele skipped away and Lady Gale turned to Celia. ‘I do not see why my granddaughter and I must share your lady’s maid.’

Celia kept her voice even. ‘Because we do not have the funds to hire more servants.’

‘Money!’ the older woman huffed. ‘That is all you ever talk of.’

Money had consumed her thoughts, Celia would be the first to admit. Except this day thoughts of money were mixed with combinations of hearts, spades, clubs and diamonds.

Would Rhysdale be pleased at her return? Celia wondered.

She gave herself a good shake. Why was she even thinking of the man? It was not a good thing that she had come to his notice, no matter how attractively masculine he was. She planned to win and win often.

What if he accused her of cheating?

Lady Devine’s musicale was a sought-after event and Celia’s mother-in-law said more than once how lucky they were to have received an invitation. Celia, Adele and Lady Gale were announced amidst Lady Gale’s grumbling that they ought to have had a gentleman escorting them.

They strolled through the rooms where the pink of the ton were assembled. Celia recognised some of the men as having been at the gaming house the previous night and she wondered how many more of these people—ladies especially—had been there, as well, but wearing masks as she had done.

Some of the gentlemen’s faces at this entertainment had been quite animated at the gaming house, impassioned by the cards or the dice. Here in this Mayfair town house their expressions were bland. It seemed as if the risks of winning or losing made them come alive.

She did not know their names. The ton were known to her only from newspaper articles or books on the peerage. When her parents had been alive she’d been too young for London society. By the time she was married, her husband chose to keep her in the country so as not to interfere with his other ‘interests.’ The arrangement had suited her well enough. She preferred him to be away.

If she had been with him in London, though, she might have had some warning of his profligacy and the condition of his finances. She would have seen in him the telltale signs of gambling lust. Her childhood had honed her for it.

Her mother-in-law ought to have known how debauched her son had become. Lady Gale had spent most of her time in London as part of the social scene. In fact, it was because of Celia’s mother-in-law that they received as many invitations as they did. But her mother-in-law would never countenance anything negative being said about her only son.

Except his choice of a second wife.

One of the men who had been at the gaming hell passed close by. Celia had an impulse to ask her mother-in-law who the gentleman was, but Lady Gale gestured to her dismissively before she could speak.

‘Get me a glass of wine,’ the older woman ordered. ‘It is so tedious not to have a man about to perform such niceties.’

‘I will get it for you, Grandmama,’ Adele said. ‘Do not trouble Celia.’

Before either lady could protest, Adele disappeared through the crowd.

Lady Gale pursed her lips at Celia, but something quickly caught her eye. ‘Look. There is our cousin Luther.’

Luther was second cousin to Celia’s husband. And he was the new Baron Gale.

Needless to say, Luther was none too pleased at the state of his inheritance, mortgaged to the hilt, all reserves depleted. He had not the least inclination to offer any financial assistance to the former baron’s mother, daughter or wife, as a result.

‘Yoo-hoo! Luther!’ Lady Gale waved.

The man tried to ignore her but, with a resigned look upon his face, walked over to where they stood. ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He bowed. ‘I trust you are well.’

‘We are exceeding well,’ Lady Gale chirped, suddenly as bright and cheerful as she’d previously been sullen. ‘And you, sir?’

‘Tolerable,’ he muttered, his eyes straying to elsewhere in the room.

‘My granddaughter is here, Luther, dear,’ she went on. ‘You will want to greet her, I am sure.’

Luther looked as if he’d desire anything but.

‘It is her Season, do you recall?’ Lady Gale fluttered her lashes as if she were the girl having her Season. ‘We expect many suitors.’

‘Do you?’ Luther appeared to search for a means of escape.

‘Her dowry is respectable, you know.’ That was because her father, Celia’s husband, had been unable to get his hands on it.

Luther’s brows rose in interest. ‘Is that so?’

Celia felt a sudden dread. Surely Lady Gale would not try to make a match between Adele and Luther? Luther had already proved to be excessively unkind. After all, he’d taken over Gale House as soon as Celia’s year of mourning was completed, removing Celia, Adele and Lady Gale without an offer of another residence. Even now he was rattling around in the London town house by himself when he could very easily have hosted the three women for the Season. That simple act would have saved Celia plenty of money and would have given Adele more prestige.

‘Gale!’ some gentleman called. ‘Are you coming?’

Luther did not hesitate. ‘If you will pardon me.’ He bowed again.

‘But,’ Lady Gale spoke to his retreating back, ‘you have not yet greeted Adele!’

‘He can see Adele another time,’ Celia assured her. ‘In fact, he could call upon us, which would be the civil thing for him to do.’

Lady Gale flicked her away as if she were an annoying fly. ‘He is much too busy. He is a peer now, you know.’

A peer who cared nothing for his relations.

Adele returned, carrying two glasses of wine. ‘I brought one for you, too, Celia.’ She handed a glass to her grandmother and one to Celia.

Adele was always so considerate. Sometimes Celia wondered how the girl could share the same blood as her father and grandmother.

Lady Gale snapped, ‘Adele, you missed our cousin, Luther. He was here but a moment ago.’ She made it sound as if Adele should have known to come back earlier.

‘Oh?’ Adele responded brightly. Did Adele simply ignore her grandmother’s chiding or did she not hear it? ‘I have wanted to meet him and ask how all the people are at Gale House. I do miss them!’

One of Lady Gale’s friends found her and the two women were quickly engaged in a lively conversation.

Adele leaned close to Celia. ‘The kindest gentleman assisted me. I—I do not know if I properly thanked him. I must do so if I see him again.’

Celia smiled at her. ‘You will be meeting many gentlemen this Season.’ She so wanted Adele to pick a steady, responsible, generous man.

Luther was certainly not generous.

‘You grandmother will wish to select your suitors, you know,’ Celia added.

Adele frowned. ‘I do want her to be pleased with me.’

Celia sipped her wine. ‘You must please yourself first of all.’

Adele would not be pushed into a marriage she did not want and should not have to endure—as Celia had been. Celia would make certain of it.

The start of the programme was announced and Lady Gale gestured impatiently for Celia and Adele to follow her while she continued in deep conversation with her friend. They took their chairs and soon the music began.

Lady Devine had hired musicians and singers to perform the one-act French opera, Le Calife de Bagdad by Boieldieu. The comic opera was ideal for an audience who were intent on marriage matches. In the opera, the mother of the ingenue Zétulbé, refuses to allow the girl to marry the Caliph of Baghdad, who meets her disguised as an ordinary man. When he tries to impress the family with extravagant gifts, the mother merely thinks he is a brigand.

It should be every family’s fear—that the man marrying their daughter is not what he seems. It certainly was Celia’s fear for Adele. If only Celia’s experience had been more like Zétulbé’s, discovering the generous and loving prince disguised as something less. Celia’s husband had been the opposite. Presented by her guardians as a fine, upstanding man, but truly a cruel and thoughtless one in disguise.

As the music enveloped Celia she wondered if all men hid their true colours.

Of course, she disguised herself, too. She pretended to be a respectable lady, but she visited a gaming hell at night. Once there, she disguised herself again by wearing a mask and pretending to be a gambler, when gambling and gamblers were what she detested most in the world.

The tenor playing the Caliph’s part stepped forwards to sing of his love for Zétulbé. Celia closed her eyes and tried to merely enjoy the music. An image of Rhysdale flashed through her mind. Like the tenor’s, Rhysdale’s voice had teemed with seduction.

Rhys watched the door from the moment he opened the gambling house. He watched for her—the woman in the black-and-gold mask.

‘Who are you expecting?’ Xavier asked him. ‘Someone to make our fortunes or to take it all away?’

He shrugged. ‘The woman I told you about last night.’

Xavier’s brow furrowed. ‘This is not the time for a conquest, Rhys. Your future depends upon making this place a success.’

Xavier was not saying anything Rhys had not said multiple times to himself. Still, he flushed with anger. ‘I will not neglect my responsibilities.’

Xavier did not back down. ‘Women are trouble.’

Rhys laughed. ‘That is the pot calling the kettle black, is it not? You are rarely without a female on your arm.’

‘Women attach themselves to me, that is true.’ Xavier’s blue eyes and poetic good looks drew women like magnets. ‘But I’ve yet to meet one who could distract me from what I’ve set myself to do.’

‘I did not say she was a distraction. Or a conquest.’ Rhys tried to convince himself as well as his friend. ‘I am curious about her. She is a gamester like me and that is what intrigues me.’

Xavier scoffed. ‘Is that why you warned me away last night?’

Rhys frowned. ‘That prohibition still stands. I do not wish to have you distract her.’ He paused, knowing he was not being entirely truthful. ‘I want to see what transpires with this woman gamester.’

Xavier gave him a sceptical look.

Truth was, Rhys did not know what to make of his attraction to the masked lady gamester. Xavier was correct. The woman did tempt him in ways that were more carnal than curious.

But not enough to ignore his commitment to the gaming hell, not when his main objective was to show the Westleighs he could succeed in precisely the same world in which his father failed.

The buzzing of voices hushed momentarily. Rhys glanced to the doorway as she walked in, dressed in the same gown and mask as the night before. Sound muffled and the lamps grew brighter.

His body indeed thought of her in a carnal way. ‘There she is.’

He left Xavier and crossed the room to her. ‘Madam, you have returned. I am flattered.’

She put a hand on her chest. ‘I have indeed returned, Mr Rhysdale. Would you be so kind as to find a whist partner for me once again?’

Xavier appeared at his side. ‘It would be my pleasure to partner you, madam.’

Rhys glared at him before turning back to the masked woman. ‘May I present Mr Campion, madam. He is a friend and an excellent card player.’

She extended her gloved hand. ‘Mr Campion.’

Xavier accepted with a bow. ‘I am charmed.’ He smiled his most seductive smile at her. ‘Do me the honour of calling me Xavier. No one need stand on ceremony in a gaming hell.’

Rhys groaned inwardly.

‘Xavier, then,’ she responded.

He threaded her hand through his arm. ‘Do you wish to play deep, madam?’

She did not answer right away. ‘Not too deep, for the moment. But neither do I wish a tame game.’

Xavier nodded in approval. ‘Excellent. Let us go in search of players.’

He looked back at Rhys and winked.

Rhys knew Xavier well enough to understand his intent was merely to annoy. Xavier would always honour his wishes in matters such as this. Rhys was less certain about the lady. Most women preferred Xavier to Rhys. Most women preferred Xavier to any man.

Rhys went back to patrolling the room, watching the play, speaking to the croupiers running the tables. He kept a keen eye out for cheating in those winning too conveniently and desperation in those losing. Gamblers could easily burst out in sudden violence when the cards or the dice did not go their way. Rhys’s plan was to intervene before tempers grew hot.

His eyes always pulled back to the masked woman. She sat across from Xavier, posture alert, but not tense. Tonight her handling of the cards was smoother than the night before. She arranged her hand swiftly and never belaboured a decision of what card to play. She’d said she preferred games of skill and she was quite skilled at whist.

She was a gamester, for certain. Rhys could wager on that. He’d also bet that she remembered every card played and that she quickly perceived the unique patterns of play in her partners and her opponents.

He strolled over to the table to watch more closely.

‘How is the game?’ He stood behind the masked woman.

Xavier looked at him with amusement. ‘We make good partners.’

Judging from the counters on the table, Xavier and the masked woman made very good partners indeed. Card partners, that was.

Rhys stood where he could see the woman’s cards. If it bothered her, she gave no sign. He watched the play for several hands. She was clever. Deal her four trump and she was certain to win with three of them at least. Give her a hand with no trump and she took tricks with other cards when trump was not played.

She was a gamester all right.

He instantly looked on her with respect.

But, as fascinated as he was watching her play, he needed to move on. No gambler wanted such acute attention to his or her play, especially by the house’s proprietor.

Rhys sauntered away.

An unmasked Ned Westleigh approached him. ‘How are things faring?’ Ned asked in a conspiratorial tone.

Rhys lifted his brows and raised his voice. ‘Why, good evening, Lord Neddington. Good to see you back here.’

‘Well?’ Ned persisted.

‘We are near to recouping the original investment,’ Rhys replied. ‘So all is as it should be.’

‘Excellent.’ Ned rubbed his hands together.

‘There is more to our bargain, do not forget,’ Rhys added.

He expected these Westleighs to try to renege on the earl’s obligation to claim Rhys as a son. More than once Rhys wondered why he’d made that part of the bargain. Another man might wish for the connection to the aristocracy such an acknowledgement might bring, but Rhys cared nothing for that. Neither was the money he’d reap from this enterprise a motivation. He could always make money.

No, all Rhys really wanted was to force his father to do what he ought to have done when Rhys was a child—take responsibility for Rhys’s existence. Once that was accomplished, Rhys was content to spurn him and his sons as they had once spurned him.

‘Hugh and I do not forget,’ Ned said in a low voice. ‘Our father … requires some time.’

Rhys lifted a shoulder. ‘I will not release the money until that part of the promise is assured.’ The Westleighs, in their desperation, had ceded all the power in this matter to him.

Rhys glanced over to the masked woman and caught her looking back. She quickly attended to her cards.

Rhysdale was talking to the gentleman Celia had seen earlier at the musicale, she noticed. It was fortunate she had changed her gown, even though she doubted the gentleman would have noticed her. The widow of a dissolute baron who never brought his wife to town did not capture anyone’s attention.

Rhysdale caught her watching and she quickly turned back to the cards and played her last trump. She guessed Xavier still had two trumps remaining. That should ensure they won this hand.

They’d won most of the games and each time Celia felt a surge of triumph. Their opponents, however, grew ever-deepening frowns. Xavier took the next trick and the next and the game was theirs.

Their opponents grumbled.

Celia shuffled the deck and the man on her right cut the cards. She dealt the hand and the play began, but this time Xavier did not play in the manner to which she’d accustomed herself. The opponents took tricks they ought to have lost. Xavier suddenly was playing very sloppily indeed. He was losing her money. She gave him a stern glance, but he seemed oblivious.

When the hand was done, the opponents won most of the tricks and won the game, to their great delight. Luckily that game’s wagers had been modest, but Celia’s blood boiled at losing so senselessly.

‘That was capital!’ the man on her right said. ‘I’m done for now, however. Excellent play.’ He stood, collected his small pile of counters and bowed to Celia. ‘Well done, madam.’ He turned to Xavier. ‘You chose a capital partner, sir. We must play again.’

‘I’m done, as well,’ the other man said.

Both begged their leave and wandered over to the hazard table.

‘They must wish to lose more,’ Xavier remarked.

Celia gathered her counters. ‘You let them win that last game.’

‘You noticed?’ Xavier laughed. ‘Better they leave happy. Otherwise they might choose other opponents next time.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You made certain they would be willing to play us again.’

He nodded. ‘Precisely.’

He smiled and his incredibly handsome face grew even more handsome. He’d been an excellent partner, she had to admit. She now possessed even more money than she’d won the night before. Still, she sensed he’d had motives of his own for partnering her, something that had nothing to do with trying to win at cards.

Another man hiding something.

She stood and extended her hand to him. ‘It was a pleasure, sir.’

His smile flashed again. ‘The pleasure was mine.’ He held her hand a moment too long for her liking. ‘What’s next for you? The hazard table?’

She shrugged. ‘Vingt-et-un, perhaps.’

‘Ah, there is a vingt-et-un table. Let me take you to it and see if we can get you in that game.’

Vingt-et-un was another game where she could exercise her skill. All she need do was remember the cards played and bet accordingly.

Xavier led her to the large round table with a dealer at one end and players all around. Xavier facilitated her entry into the game and it soon occupied all her concentration.

When the croupier reshuffled the cards, she glanced up.

Mr Rhysdale was again watching her. He nodded, acknowledging that she’d again caught him watching. She nodded in return and refocused on the cards.

Time passed swiftly and Celia’s excitement grew. She was winning even more than the night before. Her reticule was heavy with counters. She fished into it and pulled out her watch.

Quarter after three.

In only a few minutes her coach would arrive and she still must cash out.

Mr Rhysdale appeared at her elbow. ‘Almost time for your coach, madam?’

Her senses flared with his nearness. ‘Yes.’

He touched her elbow. ‘I will escort you.’

‘That is not necessary, sir.’ His attention made it hard for her to think. And to breathe.

He touched her reticule. ‘I cannot allow you to walk into the night alone. Especially with a full purse.’

As he had done the night before, he escorted her to the cashier and waited for her while the hall servant collected her wrap. He again walked her out the door and onto the pavement.

It had apparently rained. The street shone from the wet and reflected the rush lights as if in a mirror. From a distance, the rhythmic clopping of horses’ hooves and the creaking of coach wheels echoed in the damp air. Celia’s coach was not in sight.

Rhysdale stood next to her. ‘How did you find the cards tonight, madam?’

She closed her hand around her reticule. ‘Quite satisfying.’ She glanced down the street again. ‘Although I may not spend much time at vingt-et-un after this.’ She feared he would catch on that she had been counting the cards.

‘You did not lose.’ He spoke this as a fact, not a question.

She smiled. ‘I try not to lose.’

His voice turned low. ‘I noticed.’

Her face warmed.

‘You have an excellent memory for cards, do you not?’ he went on.

Her stomach knotted. He knew. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Not for me,’ he responded. ‘Not as yet.’

Her hands trembled. ‘Are you warning me away?’

‘Not at all.’ His tone remained matter of fact. ‘If I saw you make wagers that would jeopardise my establishment, I would certainly warn you away from my tables, but, as long as you play fair, it matters not to me how much you win off of any gentleman brave enough to challenge you.’

‘Do you suspect me of cheating?’ The very idea filled her with dread.

And reminded her of her father.

He shook his head. ‘You are a skilled player.’ He paused. ‘I admire that.’

She relaxed for a moment, then glanced down the street, looking for Jonah, her coachman.

‘Who taught you to play?’ Rhysdale continued conversationally.

She averted her gaze, not willing to reveal the pain she knew would show in her face. ‘My father.’ Her throat grew dry. ‘He once was also a skilled player.’

Before he died.

She faced Rhys again, wanting to take the focus off of her. ‘And who taught you to play, sir?’

He made a disparaging sound. ‘Certainly not my father.’ He looked reluctant to tell her more. ‘I learned in school, but I honed my craft later when it became necessary.’

‘Why necessary?’ she asked.

It was his turn to glance away, but he soon faced her again. ‘I was living on the streets.’

She was shocked. ‘On the streets?’

He shrugged. ‘When I was fourteen, I had no one and nothing. I came to London and learned to support myself by playing cards.’

No one and nothing?

How well she remembered the desolation of no one and nothing.

She opened her mouth to ask why he’d been alone, what had happened to his parents, but her coach turned the corner and entered the street. She was silent as it pulled up to where they stood. As he had done the night before, he put down the steps for her and opened the door.

He took her hand and helped her inside, but did not immediately release it. ‘Will you come play cards again, madam?’ His voice seemed to fill the night.

She wanted to return. She wanted to win more.

And she wanted to see him again.

All seemed equally dangerous.

‘I will return, sir.’

He squeezed her hand.

After he released her and closed the coach door, Celia could still feel the pressure of his fingers.