Читать книгу From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read - Eva Leigh, Eva Leigh - Страница 12

Chapter 5

Cheers and the clink of glass rang out across the gaming hell. The sounds of revelry and joy were everywhere, echoing from the coved plaster ceiling, reverberating off the columns lining the walls. The night was early. Nobody had lost heavily—yet. The groans and curses would come as the hour grew later.

Cassandra welcomed those sounds of unhappiness. Every sound of pleasure or joy grated on her like handfuls of stones running up and down her spine. But a moan of dismay meant someone had lost to the house—increasing profits for her, Martin, and the other investors in the gaming hell. One month of business might not seem like much, but in a gambling-mad place such as London, with a genteel clientele, heaps of money could be made in a short time.

And she had no taste for cheerfulness tonight. She felt raw and angry from turning Alex away once again. Much as she wanted to hide in her private rooms upstairs, she couldn’t. She was needed down here, wheedling and charming guests into playing longer and deeper. Their loss was her gain. She had to remind herself of that.

She stood near a faro table, a smile affixed to her face like a shield. “Have another go, my lady,” she urged an older woman in yellow satin. “I’m certain that luck will be on your side this time. Don’t you think so, my lord?”

The man, who was as much a lord as Cassandra, nodded vigorously. Younger than the lady by at least two decades, he was pomaded and polished, his grin as practiced as the caresses he gave to his female patron.

“Indeed, you cannot stop now, my love,” he cried with an affected wave of his hand. “You promised me diamonds purchased with tonight’s winnings.”

“So I did.” The dowager patted the man’s face. “I cannot deny you anything, pet.”

A wave of stifling anger passed through Cassandra. Everyone got what they wanted—but her. She’d deliberately pushed away the one man who’d been truly good to her, who cared about her. There was no comfort in the fact that she’d had no choice in refusing Alex, that she’d been acting in both of their best interests.

Keeping her smile tacked in place, she moved away from the couple. It was so hot in here tonight! So crowded. If only she could sneak off to the balcony to refresh herself with a little solitude and darkness.

She pressed a hand to her temple, willing a headache to subside. She glanced toward the doors leading to the terrace. Should she go outside? The cool air might do her a bit of good. But if she went to the balcony, reminders of Alex would stab her like needles. He already haunted her thoughts in the main hall. And when she walked on the street. And when she lay herself down for sleep every morning.

It didn’t matter where she stood. She felt his lips against hers now. Tasted the passion she and Alex had created. Had he kissed like that in Cheltenham? The fire between them had only grown stronger these past two years. She wanted him so badly her body ached—and hated that she craved him so much.

She saw the warmth and concern in his dark eyes, too, in shadows and in sunlight. Always close by, but forever out of reach.

More sounds of gaiety punctured her thoughts. Looking at the nearby faro table, she saw the wild joy in the guests’ eyes, the carefree air that verged on madness. To be on the other side of the table. To forget the burden of her many identities and the constant need to endure. If only she didn’t have to cozen and swindle for her survival.

If she ran into any of her old marks—a distinct possibility—she would simply tell them what she’d said to Alex. None of them would pursue her with the same single-minded purpose, however. They were feckless men in search of the next amusement. So unlike Alex.

“A word, Mrs. Blair?”

Startled, Cassandra whirled to face Martin, standing behind her.

“Apologies, Mr. Hamish,” she murmured. “I didn’t see you there.”

Martin gazed at her sadly. “Unlike you.” He placed a hand on her back and gestured toward an alcove off the nearby hallway. “A word?”

Dread pooled in her stomach. Whatever it was he had to say, she was in no humor to hear it.

“Of course,” she said brightly.

She permitted him to guide her toward the alcove, making certain that her face didn’t betray her edgy wariness.

Once they were safely hidden in the nook, Martin faced her, his back to the room. He was a somewhat tall man, with a broad torso and she couldn’t see past him, which made her slightly anxious. A full view of any room was good. She craved the sight of windows. Damn those early years with her father in the Marshalsea. It didn’t take much for her to feel choked and uneasy.

Martin’s eyes were concerned but alert. Despite their privacy, he didn’t drop his Scottish accent. “I worry for you, my dear.”

“There’s no need for concern,” she answered.

“You say that too quickly,” he noted. Always a keen observer, that Martin. “Didn’t even ask me what made me worried about you.”

She shrugged warily.

“You’re drifting through the place like a low-lying mist,” Martin said.

“I’ve brought dozens of people to the tables tonight alone,” she replied defensively.

Martin held up his hands. “Never suggested you weren’t doing your job. But I’m a bloke whose known you since you were a Southwark urchin, picking pockets for coin and handkerchiefs. That smile of yours looks as counterfeit as Dusty John’s forgeries, and your eyes just as dull as the coins he makes in his basement.”

A wash of heat flooded Cassandra’s cheeks. She should be more difficult to read, but then, as Martin had pointed out, they knew each other well. Too well, perhaps.

“Maybe it’s regret that makes you so distant tonight,” Martin speculated gently.

“I’ve got nothing to regret,” she replied automatically. Only when the words left her mouth did she realize that wasn’t entirely true. She wished she’d never selected Alex as a mark, and she wished she’d never come to London.

What was up and what was down? Left and right?

She’d find her bearings again, once she had her share of the profits from the hell. When she left London, she’d never look back. And let heartbreak be her constant companion.

Alex had no idea how easy his life was, or the comfort and security of his existence. A peculiar resentment bubbled up at the thought, but she forced it down. She’d never see him again, and he could go back to his sheltered life, leaving her to the peril of her own.

“No?” Martin pressed. “Not even a grain of remorse for letting the Duke of Greyland slip through your fingers?”

Her breath deserted her and an ache settled between her ribs.