Gambling on a Scoundrel (37 page)

Ernest smiled. "It was my lucky chip. I saved it from the first night I was here when I won so much. I thought it might bring me luck again tonight."

Tempy decided not to mention the promise he'd made to his family. Instead, she pulled the drawstrings of her reticule loose and extracted Ernest's grandmother's brooch, along with a small packet of letters. She held them out to him.

He accepted the items with hardly a glance, tucking them away in his inner breast pocket. Then, he leaned toward her, placing one hand against the wall just above her shoulder.

"You look luminous tonight," he murmured, his coffee-scented breath warm against her bare shoulder. "Why is that?"

"Could it be the glittering gemstones?" Tempy cast Ernest a sidelong glance. Was this it? Was this the moment when all her work would come to fruition? She needed to be careful, just as Mme Le Clair had warned her. What had she said again?
Having a fish on the hook isn't the same thing as having him on your plate.

"No, it's not that," he said, waving his hand as though brushing away her prosaic explanation. "It isn't something external. It's something inside you. It's as though you've stoked the fire within your soul and now it burns so brightly it bursts from every pore."

"Ernest," she said, her voice sounding breathy. "You don't usually speak this way."

"You inspire me. I can't imagine my life without you in it." Ernest took her hand in his.

"Me? I inspire you?" These were the words Tempy had wanted to hear from Ernest for so long, but now that he said them, they didn't provide her with the joy she had anticipated.

Instead, they only made her angry. Angry that she'd had to wait so long to hear them. Angry that she'd had to remake herself in order for him to notice her. Angry that she was no longer being true to herself.

The strong surge of emotion startled her, and Tempy tried to master herself. This was her chance, wasn't it? Her chance, finally, to have her old life back?

She should be jubilant.

Not angry. Not bitter. Not annoyed.

But there it was. Not jubilance. Anger.

"Why do I inspire you now, Ernest, when I never did before? And what about the life you envisioned with Clarisse?"

"Clarisse? I don't know." A befuddled expression crept across his face as he drew his brows together. "I suppose I became entranced with her because she was new. I wasn't thinking straight. Blame it on being in Paris." His expression softened, and he seemed to become more caught up in his memories of the other woman. "Clarisse is so different from anyone else I've ever met. She's exciting and interesting. We always have fun together."

"Then why are you here with me?"

He refocused his gaze on her, returning to the present. His eyes seemed to drink her in, savoring every nuance, every measured change she had made to herself. "You're different now. And it isn't just the hair and the way you dress. I do like those changes, but that's not it. It's what I mentioned before. You have a fire within you now. A confidence that wasn't there before. You've been transformed."

Something inside her broke. "But why weren't you here with me? Why is it that you never supported me in my passion for writing? Why haven't you been in my life these past weeks? Why did I go through this transformation without you?"

He gaped at her.

"I'm still the same person. Don't you understand that? I still want to write. I still want a family. I still want all of the things I've always wanted."

"But what about me?" His eyes widened as if the possibility that she might reject him had just dawned on him. "You still want
me
, don't you? Because I'm here for you, Tempy. I know I hurt you, but I'm here for you. You can depend on that."

"Can I? I used to believe that." She looked at his sincere-seeming gaze and recognized the self-delusion behind it. "But how can you cast me aside so easily for Clarisse, and then cast her aside just as easily for me?"

"I...I made a mistake. I see that now. Please, Tempy. I want you back."

But having him say the words she'd longed to hear left her cold. She stared at him, trying to dredge up any feelings of love and warmth, and discovered that they simply weren't there.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ernest, but no."

She pushed away from the wall, planning to move past Ernest so that she could return to the casino floor.

"Wait, Tempy. Please," he said, blocking her way with his arm. Then he wrapped arm around her and pulled her close, pressing his hips against hers.

She tried to lean away from him, but he lifted his other hand and cradled the back of her neck. He lowered his head, aiming his mouth toward hers.

He kissed her.

In a gross reproduction of the kiss she'd shared with Lucien, Ernest's lips pressed against hers. She opened her mouth to protest, but he took the opportunity to slide his tongue against the inside of her upper lip.

She wrenched her head back and her hand flew up, landing a stinging slap against his cheek.

"I said, 'No'."

32 - ... While Lucien Distracts Clarisse

From his position across the room, Lucien watched Tempy and Ernest talking together near the roulette table.

"He's unlike most Frenchmen," Clarisse said. "He's sweet. But I must admit, he...how do you say...
Il me fait tellement frustré."

"He makes you frustrated." Lucien said, providing her with the translation.

She nodded. "He can't seem to decide where we will live. When we were in Paris, he promised we would live there," she said lifting one hand, "but now that we are in England, he wants to live here," she said, lifting the other. "He says he wants us to live near his family."

"But a man who loves his family, isn't that admirable?"

"Only if he loves me more," she said, lifting both hands and shaking them in frustration. "I don't want to have him care more for his parents' opinions than for mine. He was prepared to live in Paris until his parents voiced their objections. His goal seems to be to please them, not me."

"Don't you like it here?"

"
Bien sûr.
Of course I do, but that isn't the point."

"I understand. But once you are his wife, you will wield a great deal of influence over the man. I've discovered that men who love their wives will do anything to please them. I have no doubt that you'll hold that same power over Ernest. How could any man deny you your heart's desire? He'd have to be made of stone."

Clarisse fluttered her eyelashes in a practiced way that Lucien normally might have found intriguing, but he recognized the move from Mme Le Clair's lessons.

"You flatter me." Clarisse dipped her chin and then looked up at him, widening her eyes. "Certainly you don't find me so attractive. After all, I see the way your Miss Bliss looks at you. Surely she's captured your heart, hasn't she?"

He glanced across the floor at Tempy. When she caught his eye, she shot him an icy glare. It was the perfect expression of jealousy.

Lucien had to suppress his own smile. When he and Tempy had made their plans for the evening, they had choreographed that flash of jealousy. It was meant to goad Clarisse into believing that Tempy saw Clarisse as a rival for Lucien's affections.

Clarisse stepped a little closer to Lucien, and when he glanced down at her, he saw an expression of satisfaction cross her face. The cunning woman had fallen for the bait.

"My heart is my own," he quipped. But was it? He glanced back at Tempy and saw Ernest leading her toward one of the curtained alcoves. A sharp pang of jealousy shot through him. It was happening. He knew it was.

He smiled down at Clarisse, perhaps a little too brightly. "Would you care for some champagne? I have a bottle chilling in my office, if you'd care to join me."

Apparently Clarisse, too, had noticed where the other couple had gone. And she didn't seem pleased. She raised her chin and nodded, a sharp, definite nod. "I'd love to."

She wrapped her arm around Lucien's and he led her off the casino floor. Her hand clutched at his forearm, alerting him to the tension she was trying so hard to conceal.

"I think we are well quit of them for now," Lucien murmured. "Let them resolve whatever it is that lingers between them."

Her steps faltered for a moment.

"He needs to know that he can't take you for granted. After all, you don't want to marry a man easily swayed by other women."

At that, her chin rose and her shoulders straightened. Her grip on his arm loosened slightly, but remained. Lucien continued toward his office, and she readily kept pace with him.

Once they were inside, Lucien popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and poured it into two fluted glasses.

Clarisse drained over half of her glass, and Lucien refilled it promptly. He didn't like the way the scene reminded him of a similar one enacted with Tempy just two short weeks ago. He'd much prefer it if Tempy were here with him rather than Clarisse.

"You are a very understanding man," Clarisse said. She twirled the stem of her glass between her long, slender fingers. "How did you come to know women so well?"

"I've been running this casino for years. To be successful in this business, you must learn human nature. That applies to both men
and
women."

Clarisse sauntered closer to him, the movement of her hips causing her hoopskirts to sway seductively. "Does that mean that you can read my 'human nature?' Tell me then. What is it saying to you?"

Lucien set his champagne glass on the desk as Clarisse moved closer. She stopped when her body was just inches from his. Her skirts pressed against his legs and he caught a whiff of her rose-scented perfume. It was a much softer, simpler scent than the spicy lavender blend that Tempy favored. But he didn't like the way Clarisse's scent invaded his senses. He had to force himself not to back away. After all, he had promised Tempy he would do this.

Clarisse continued to look up at him expectantly, and he realized that he needed to reply. "I think, perhaps," he said silkily, "that your human nature has been overtaken by more, shall we say, animal urges."

Clarisse's face took on a more fervent expression and she pressed closer to him. Lucien raised his hand, not sure whether he was warding her off or pulling her closer. But his intentions didn't matter, because instead of doing either thing, he inadvertently bumped her champagne glass. The golden liquid splashed down the front of her bodice, and Clarisse jumped back with a squeal of surprise.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said. Fumbling in his pocket, he extracted a freshly laundered handkerchief. He held it out to her, the red "H H" Hamlin House monogram on its corner stark against the white fabric.

With an angry huff, Clarisse snatched it from his outstretched hand. "I had no idea you could be so clumsy." She dabbed at the droplets of wine dribbling down the bare skin of her chest, but she was unable to do anything about the darker spots that had soaked into the bodice of her dress. "It was a mistake to come here tonight. Look at me. How can I walk back out there looking like this? I must go home, immediately."

"I'll send for your cloak. Nobody will see the stain."

"And send for my carriage as well. Tell Ernest to find his own way home this evening. That's no more than he deserves."

The sense of relief that filled Lucien was almost overwhelming as he hurried to complete Clarisse's bidding. He was certain that she would have seen through his ruse if he'd tried to kiss her. And he wasn't even sure that he would have been able to bring himself to do it.

Boothby delivered the cloak and promised to pass on her message to Ernest. Within a matter of minutes, Clarisse was safely ensconced in her carriage and traveling home.

Lucien locked his office door. He was done. He'd fulfilled his commitment to Tempy. He tossed a couple of logs into the fireplace, sending up a flurry of sparks, and then walked back to the bottle of champagne. He lifted it, held it up to the light to check the level of liquid within it. Even though it was still half full, he set it down with a thunk. The thought of finishing this bottle of champagne alone left him feeling empty.

What he needed was something much stronger than champagne. He crossed the room to the side table, where he picked up the whiskey decanter and poured himself a generous serving, sloshing some onto the granite tabletop. Carrying the glass, he took a couple of strides toward the chair by the fireplace, and then stopped and turned around to retrace his steps.

This time, he picked up the decanter as well and carried it with him to the chair.

He planned to get good and drunk.

For a brief moment, he felt a twinge of guilt for his behavior. After all, this was his last night in the casino. He should be spending time with his former employees, assuaging their fears about the new owner of Hamlin House. But he quickly drowned those nobler feelings.

How could he possibly bring himself to walk out there?

Lucien knew what he'd see. Tempy with Ernest. They would be reunited. She would be glowing. Reveling in her success at winning Ernest back.

Draped in his mother's diamonds.

He lifted his tumbler to take another sip of whiskey and realized it was empty already. Good thing he'd brought the decanter with him.

He sloshed more into his glass, clattering the neck of the decanter against his tumbler.

As he set the decanter back on the small side table, he heard something smack against the door.

33 - On Second Thought

Tempy hurried back into the casino and glanced over her shoulder, but fortunately, Ernest had the good sense to stay hidden behind the curtain of the alcove.

Her chin held high, Tempy moved toward the roulette table as she scanned the casino floor, searching for Lucien. She didn't know what his plans were for distracting Clarisse, but he couldn't have gone far.