Gambling on a Scoundrel (39 page)

Lucien stepped up behind her, glancing at her eyes in the mirror before checking them both for telltale signs of what had just transpired. He tucked one of her sparkling hairpins more firmly in place and then gave a nod of approval. Apparently, he thought they'd both pass muster.

She agreed.

"They must think I'm still in the casino somewhere," she whispered as she turned to face him. "My cloak is in the coatroom and my carriage is out front."

Lucien glanced at the clock and frowned. "It's just past one. I'm sure many of my patrons are still here. You can't leave unnoticed, but you can't stay either."

"Tell Boothby I fell asleep in here."

Lucien shook his head. "He'll never believe that."

"Perhaps not, but I don't think that matters. I'm certain he'll help us."

Lucien buttoned his frock coat, and Tempy reached out to smooth a stray lock of his hair back in place. But before she could touch it, he grabbed hold of her hand to stop her.

He looked troubled. "This should never have happened. I took advantage of you last night when my judgment was clouded with drink. I apologize."

Gentlemanly though his words were, she hated the idea that he regretted what they'd done. She pulled her hand from his grasp. "Don't say that, Lucien. I wanted it as much as you did."

He shook his head. "I'm not sure you did. You left my office last night intent on winning back Ernest, and then returned and gave yourself to me. I find it difficult to accept that you could abandon that dream so easily and so irrevocably. I'm afraid that in the light of day, you'll regret what transpired between us."

She flinched at his words. He sounded angry. Hurt even. "But I want you. Not Ernest. You're the one who helped me and encouraged me. You're the one who likes me exactly as I am. Not Ernest."

"All I have to give you is me," he said, spreading his empty hands before her. "No family. No history. No connection with your father and your past. Are you really willing to give up on all that?"

Someone knocked at the door again, right behind them. This knock sounded much louder than Boothby's had.

"Hamlin! Open this door," John Snowden demanded.

"I know you're in there!" shouted Squire Formsworth.

"What in blazes is Formsworth doing here?" Lucien demanded in a whisper.

Tempy's entire body tensed and her eyes widened. She glanced up at Lucien. "It can't be good," she said, shaking her head. "But you'd better open the door," she muttered. "And quickly, before they make an even bigger scene than they already have."

Lucien waited just a moment, but at Tempy's urging, he opened the door.

Squire Formsworth and John Snowden came barging into the room, and John's gaze immediately locked on Tempy. "Turn up the blasted lights," he demanded, his voice tight with fury.

While keeping his gazed fixed on Formsworth, Lucien closed the door and moved his hand to the control for the gaslights, flooding the room in light.

Mr. Snowden looked her up and down and then turned his scrutiny on Lucien, but he didn't seem to find anything amiss. He stalked into the room, moving closer to the fireplace.

He picked up the tumbler of whiskey from the table next to the armchair. "Were you trying to get her drunk, Mr. Hamlin? Your whiskey decanter is only half full, and an entire bottle of champagne is empty."

"Miss Bliss only had half a glass of champagne."

"Then why are the two of you closeted away together? Nobody has seen either of you for hours."

"He's seduced her, he has. You can see it in their faces."

Tempy cleared her throat and took a step forward. She sent Formsworth a dismissive look and then addressed herself to John Snowden. "I'm afraid I fell asleep. It was quite foolish of me, I know."

The stern expression on John Snowden's face froze in place.

"And...," she seemed to lose momentum as she met his disbelieving gaze, "and now I don't know what to do to remedy the situation. Won't you please help us?" Her voice trailed off, ending on a pleading note.

His eyes widened in shock. "Good God. Is that the best excuse you can come up with?"

"It's just that. An excuse. Just look at her. He's ruined her, he has. I knew he was set on seducing her when I saw them last week. I should have stopped him them."

Lucien took a threatening step toward Formsworth. "I think you need to be more careful about the aspersions you are casting. Miss Bliss has a reputation to protect, and your shouting is doing her no good."

A moment later, Boothby burst into the room wearing a harried expression. His gaze immediately landed on Formsworth, and he stormed across the room toward him. "I said you weren't permitted to come inside Hamlin House, and I meant it. You're nothing but trouble, you are."

Formsworth backed away from Boothby, sidestepping Lucien as he did so. "You have no right to ban me from this casino. You're nothing but an underling."

"And you're nothing but a murderer. That means that when it comes to who has the right to be here, I win." Boothby glanced at both Lucien and Snowden. "My apologies, but if you'll allow me, I'll ensure that this 'gentleman' leaves the premises. I'll even escort him out personally."

"You can't treat me this way," Formsworth blustered.

"And if you don't go quietly," Boothby said, "I'll be happy to call the constable and make certain that all of your friends back in Porlock know all the details about how you were forcibly ejected from Hamlin House."

Formsworth's face went red. He stood rooted in place for a moment, obviously wanting to ignore the threat, but then he jammed his hat on his head, let out a great huff of frustration, and turned toward the door.

Boothby hurried after him, but paused at the door and gave a brief bow to the three of them before following Formsworth out and closing the door.

"What was that about?" John Snowden asked. "Are your footmen in the habit of ejecting guests from the premises?" He frowned toward the door.

"On occasion, but it's not a common occurrence. That happened to be a peculiar situation," Lucien replied. "I'm afraid Formsworth is someone from my past. My distant past. He's angry because he lost the court case that took me back to Porlock last week. Our families have been squabbling for generations, and now he's decided to continue the fight."

John Snowden glanced at Tempy. "I don't like this. I don't like it at all."

"I think it would be best if I were to go home now," Tempy said softly. "My carriage is waiting and I'm not usually out this late." She stifled a yawn.

"Hmmph." John narrowed his eyes at her.

Lucien stepped forward, earning a scowl from John, but it didn't seem to faze him. "Could you, perhaps, escort her to her carriage?" he asked. "And don't forget to collect her cloak. If nobody finds out that I was alone in this room with her, then her reputation could remain untarnished."

John glared at him. It was obvious that he wanted to argue the point, but then he glanced at Tempy.

She shot him a pleading look. He had to help them. He simply had to.

John's expression shifted, and he nodded. "Quickly then."

Lucien slid his hand into his pocket and removed a key. In three long strides he crossed the room heading toward the private door to the cashiers' area. With practiced ease, he inserted the key and twisted it in the lock. He opened the door just enough so that he could pass through it, but before slipping away, he paused to turn and give Tempy and enigmatic look.

"Let me know what you decide," was all he said.

And he was gone.

35 - Being Ernest

Tempy waited in Lucien's office for a few minutes so that some of the patrons could make note of his presence in the casino. She certainly didn't want to run the risk of having both of them reappear at almost exactly the same time.

While they waited, John Snowden refused to speak to her or even to meet her eyes. Instead, he wandered through the office, picking up the champagne flutes and the whiskey glass and stashing them neatly on the side table.

Once enough time had passed, Tempy cleared her throat. "Can you escort me to fetch my cloak?"

John nodded and opened the office door. There were a few patrons standing around in the foyer who stared at them openly, so Tempy made a show of it. She left the door of the office open so that if anybody cared to check up on her, they could see that the room was empty.

She quickly collected her cloak, and John escorted her outside and handed her into her carriage.

It was cold inside the dark carriage, and Tempy wrapped the lap blanket over her legs, tucking it in place. She glanced back at the entrance as John Snowden walked back inside, and was surprised to see another guest being escorted out of the casino.

It was Ernest Lipscomb.

Based on his hangdog expression and Boothby's stern look, she could only assume that his "lucky chip" hadn't been quite so lucky after all.

He kept his eyes focused on the steps as he walked down them like a man heading to prison. He looked as though he'd lost everything.

Tempy called out for her coachman to wait.

Upon hearing her voice, Ernest glanced up, his eyes widening in surprise. He hurried to stand next to her carriage. "I've lost everything," he said.

"Your lucky chip?"

He furrowed his brow. "Well, yes, I lost that, but I lost you as well. And then when I went in search of Clarisse to apologize, I discovered that she'd last been seen entering Hamlin's office. I tried to follow her, but his door was locked." He shook his head. "I know it was foolish, but I listened at the door for a moment, and I'm convinced she was in there with him. He seduced her, I'm certain of it."

Tempy's eyes widened in horror.

"I did what I could to keep anyone from discovering he had someone in there with him, but I never saw her come out. I've lost her, Tempy."

"And you still love her?"

He nodded. "I realize that now. I was a fool tonight. In so many ways. I stayed until that footman made me leave. He knew I'd run out of funds. He was pleasant enough about it, but still, he said I had to leave. Hamlin House policy."

Tempy frowned. "Ernest, Clarisse left hours ago. I'm certain of it."

Ernest shook his head. "No. People saw her go in there with him. I know what I heard through the door."

"No, you don't understand. She left. She may have entered the room, but she didn't stay long. She was gone before--before Lucien let me in."

Ernest stared at her as though he couldn't understand her words.

"You didn't hear Clarisse in there," she said. "You heard me."

His eyes widened in shock. "You? But that means...Clarisse..."

"She left hours ago. Lucien said she took your carriage."

"I didn't lose her after all." A grin broke across Ernest's face and he beamed with relief. Then his eyebrows lowered. "But Tempy. What were you thinking, telling me something like that?"

"I was thinking that I'd done enough harm tonight. I couldn't let you leave imagining the worst about Clarisse."

"So instead you told me the worst about yourself?" He looked at her steadily for a moment. "Don't worry. I'll keep your secret. But I hope you know what you're doing."

"So do I."

Ernest looked at her gravely for a moment and then gave a nod and stepped back. He signaled to her coachman that he could depart, and Tempy's carriage immediately pulled forward.

Her eyes remained focused on Ernest for a moment, but there was only one thought in her mind.

She was a fool. A complete, bloody fool.

How could she not have realized she'd fallen in love with Lucien? He'd been right in front of her the entire time, and she'd taken him for granted.

He'd been right when he'd demanded that she make a decision in the clear light of day. She'd behaved childishly at best. One might even say cruelly. To both Lucien and to Ernest. And to Clarisse as well, for that matter.

Looking back over the past couple of weeks, she now viewed Lucien's behavior in a new light. His strange insistence on working in his office while she and Mme Le Clair had their lessons. His smoldering looks. His repeated insistence that she didn't need to transform herself. And most especially, those kisses they'd shared on the night of her lesson. They all painted an entirely different picture in light of what had just transpired between them.

Had a bigger fool ever been born?

36 - Trains, Ephanies, and Roulette

It's strange the way a moment of sharp clarity can strike when one simply stops worrying over a problem. That's exactly what happened the moment Lucien stopped worrying about Tempy and Ernest and the newspaper articles and his casino.

While he was still mired in Tempy's problems, it had been like watching a ball bounce around on a roulette table and trying to figure out what might happen next. It was an impossible task because the little ivory sphere's movements were simply too random. There was no telling where it might land. But once it stopped moving, everything that would unfold next was already determined with a high degree of certainty. For example, if this were his casino, his croupier would rake in the losing chips and then neatly stack up the winnings before sliding the chips to their new owners. By now Lucien knew his customers well enough to know with a fair degree of certainty how they'd respond to either winning or losing.

And now that Tempy had made her decisions and her wheel of fate had stopped spinning, everything came into focus for Lucien. And one of those things in particular required his immediate action.

While waiting in station for the train to Bath, he wrote three letters; one to Tempy's law firm, a second to her board of directors, and a third to John Snowden. He considered writing a fourth one to Tempy. What would she think if she were to see it? Would she open it? And if she did, would she be disappointed with its contents, or relieved?

No. He wouldn't write to her. He wanted to tell her in person or not at all. Just the three letters would do.