Miss Fellingham's Rebellion (17 page)

The space wasn’t filled with noise exactly but with the buzz of people talking quietly. She could see men and women standing around tables watching the activity with obsessively careful eyes. Catherine inched forward toward the action.

“That’s faro,” said Freddy in her ear, pointing to a green table with representations of cards painted on top. “That game there with the dice is called hazard. Papa plays hazard as well but not quite as much as faro. Hazard is a complete game of chance. Some claim there is an element of skill involved with faro.”

“Really?” asked Catherine in her baritone. “Then perhaps there’s hope for him yet.”

When a waiter came around asking them if they’d like a drink, Catherine ordered a brandy because she didn’t want to stand out. She would have preferred ratafia but suspected that wasn’t all the crack in a gaming hell, particularly if one was a man.

The waiter brought their drinks, and Freddy cautioned her to be careful. “Brandy is slightly stronger than that female stuff you’re used to drinking.”

After one sip, Catherine announced brandy delightful and then gulped half the glass down.

“Hey, watch it,” her brother ordered. “Can’t have you getting foxed.”

“Pooh,” she dismissed. “Come, let’s play faro. I have all my pin money from last quarter to lose. Of course, I might win something, too. If I do, I shall buy you a gift.”

“Don’t talk so loudly,” ordered Freddy, looking around the room to see if anyone was suspicious yet. “Men don’t buy men presents. Follow me, do what I do and, above all, don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Catherine followed instructions and pretty soon found herself playing faro. She didn’t quite see what the fuss was about, nor did she think the game required any skill. As far as she could tell, all one did was speculate on what card the dealer would turn up next. A player won the hand when he guessed correctly. The thought of the entire family rotting in debtors’ prison because her father couldn’t make the correct guess angered Catherine. What a stupid came, she thought. But then on the next turn of the cards, she guessed right and won a small pile of guineas and felt a little tingle. Winning, she decided, was fun, and as she placed her bet for the next hand, she felt herself tensing as she watched the dealer turn over the cards. She wanted to win and was very excited when she did. The tidy stash in front of her grew. What a lovely game.

Freddy remained by her side for a time, playing against the same dealer but not doing quite so well as she. Then he left to try his luck at hazard, although he assured her he wouldn’t be gone long. Catherine shrugged and while he was away, ordered another brandy.

She was finishing her second drink when the tide started to turn. Her guessing became erratic as she abandoned the system that had served her well for the first portion of the evening. She felt little beads of perspiration begin to trickle down the back of her neck. Winning was fun. What was happening now wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.

And then she saw it. At first she didn’t credit it. Surely it was just her eyes playing a trick on her. Or maybe it was the light. But then it happened a second time. It wasn’t the light or her eyes; it was the dealer’s sneaky fingers pulling from the bottom of the deck. In her deep baritone, she called the dealer a cheat. The room became silent, but Catherine didn’t notice.

“You there,” she said to an official-looking gentleman she had seen earlier, “please come here and talk to your dealer and let him know that cheating is not acceptable behavior.” The man she gestured to walked slowly over to her table.

Before she knew it, Freddy was at her side. “Damn it, I leave you alone for one moment,” he muttered angrily into her ear. “What have you done?”

“It will be all right,” she assured him before turning to the boss. “Tell me, my good man, what shall you do about this?”

“I’m afraid, sir, that we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” the unhelpful gentleman said, his arms folded over his chest, his look intimidating.

“My good sir, if you think on it a moment, I am sure you will realize that you meant that you will ask
this
man to leave and not I.” She pointed to the dealer. “He is the one dealing from the bottom of the deck, which I know for a fact is not the way the game is meant to be played. I am a fine, upstanding law-abiding citizen of the Crown who has come to your establishment in good faith.” Catherine stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated.

The pit boss nodded his head and three large men surrounded Catherine and grabbed her arms. “There is no cheating going on here,” he said. “Take him outside.”

Catherine began to squirm violently in their grasps, despite the painful pressure they applied to her arms. “Let go of me, you brutes,” she yelled, looking to Freddy, who had gone awfully pale at this development. Clearly, he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next. Catherine was about to protest again when a voice interceded.

“Marlowe, tell your men to let my nephew go.” At Deverill’s command, the three brutes freed Catherine so quickly, she lost her balance and had to steady herself against the green baize table. “He is new to London and not quite familiar with our ways. I’m sorry that he made a scene.” The crowd, amazed by this turn of events, averted their eyes under Deverill’s steady gaze. “However, he may have handled the situation poorly, but he made no mistake. I suggest you sack the dealer and watch over them all more carefully if you want to maintain a decent reputation.”

Having said this, Deverill turned on his heels and walked to the door. Catherine and Freddy followed. Once outside, Catherine got a good look at Deverill, who seemed very angry indeed, but he didn’t say anything until they were in his carriage. Catherine, mindful of the good turn he had just done them but equally horrified that he should discover her ruse, said in her deep baritone, “Thank you, sir, for your help. I am—”

“Not now, Catherine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t say a word.” He turned on poor Freddy. “What were you thinking, you irresponsible pup, to bring your
sister
to a place like that?”

She leaned forward in her seat to defend her brother, using her regular voice now that the masquerade had ended. “Freddy had no choice,” she said. “I made him do it.”

“I said, not a word out of you.” He pinned her with his eyes and dared her to speak again. Catherine sank back.

“You are right, sir,” said Freddy. “It is my fault. I should not have given in no matter what argument she used. I have learned my lesson and will never do so again.”

Deverill, seemingly satisfied that Freddy had learned a lesson, laughed. “That’s all right, pup. I’ve known your sister for scarcely two weeks now, but I am quite familiar with her outrageous behavior. I daresay that I myself went to the British Museum under similar circumstances.”

They rest of the journey passed in silence because that seemed to be the way the Marquess of Deverill wanted it. Catherine, who had quickly overcome her embarrassment at being found out, tried several times to defend herself, but Deverill kept shushing her with word or deed until she finally gave up and stared sullenly out the window. London was not as glittering on the ride home.

When the carriage arrived at the Fellinghams’ London residence, Deverill requested a moment alone with Catherine. Freddy, not anticipating this, was unsure how to respond. He had already behaved improperly enough this evening and thought that their mother would certainly not approve of his leaving Catherine alone with a man like Deverill, suitor or not.

Catherine could tell what thoughts were running through her brother’s mind because they were quite well reflected on his face. She knew that he was debating how to handle the situation. He couldn’t very well just abandon her to Deverill’s devices, but at the same time, he was still very much intimidated by the fashionable older peer who had just rescued them from an ugly scene. “It’s all right, Freddy, I won’t be a minute. And Deverill here promises to be the perfect gentleman.”

Looking uncomfortable, Freddy stammered, “Of course you do, sir. Would never imagine you could be anything else. But perhaps I should stay. We have had a frightfully improper evening already, and I should hate for it to grow even more improper.”

“Very good,” said his sister, laughing, “you’ve done your duty as my brother. Your concern has been registered and duly noted. Now, please let me have a moment with Lord Deverill. I swear I won’t be a minute.”

Freddy hesitated for a moment more before giving Lord Deverill one final glance and climbing out of the conveyance. When he was gone, Catherine turned to Deverill. “Well, what is it?” she asked impatiently. “I imagine you want to take me to task for my improper behavior. Please, do make it quick. I don’t want to worry Freddy and he has already been through enough this evening.”

“And whose fault is that?” he asked haughtily with an accompanying eyebrow raise that Catherine imagined could intimidate all the young misses on the marriage mart. It did nothing for her.

“I expect you mean for me to say it is my fault.” She let out a bored sigh. “It is not. If that dealer hadn’t been cheating, I would have been in and out of there with no one any the wiser.” Seeing the look on his face, she added. “Of course, I am not saying that we aren’t appreciative of your help. Because we are. We are very thankful indeed that you were there to smooth matters over. I shudder to imagine what those brutes would have done to me and Freddy. Still,
my
behavior was circumspect.”

Deverill, whose expression previous to this announcement had been positively stormy, broke out into amused laughter. His countenance lightened, and Catherine thought she detected dimples in his cheeks. Why, he’s absolutely beautiful when he laughs, she realized, amazed that a man whose looks were already so close to perfection could improve so dramatically.

After a few moments, Deverill’s outburst ended and he contemplated Catherine in a detached sort of way that made her uncomfortable. “You’re extraordinary, Miss Fellingham.”

Miss Fellingham, who had never been called extraordinary in the whole of her four-and-twenty years, blushed becomingly and lowered her eyes. It wouldn’t do for a woman of her age to have her head turned by meaningless flattery. “Surely you exaggerate, Lord Deverill. I am extremely common. Indeed, there’s nothing remarkable about me.”

“Come, my dear, don’t be so modest,” he said, amusement still evident in his tone. “You are sitting alone with me in my carriage, disguised as a man, wearing a cravat that is tied in the most wondrous fashion, after an evening of playing faro in one of the worst gaming hells in London, which you were almost forcefully ejected from, claiming that your behavior is above reproach. You can’t really think that there is nothing remarkable about you.”

“Is there something wrong with my cravat?” she asked, looking down at the confection that she and Freddy had cobbled together. “What is wrong with my cravat?”

Deverill considered the starched white linen. “An invention of yours, I suppose. What do you call it? The Roman Ruin?”

Despite her ire, Catherine laughed at his witticism. “No, you wretch, it’s the Windblown.”

He smiled but seemed disinclined to linger over the light moment. “Regardless, your behavior tonight was unacceptable. Whatever were you thinking? And how could that hapless pup have agreed?”

“Leave Freddy out of this. I used all sorts of persuasion to get his consent and won’t have you criticizing him. Tonight’s work was all my doing,” she said, taking full responsibility for the debacle before reiterating that it wasn’t her fault. “If that oafish dealer hadn’t tried to cheat me, neither you nor anybody else would have ever known the truth.”

Deverill, who had been sitting across from her, took that moment to switch sides. The carriage swayed a little with the movement, and Catherine jumped in surprise. “You do me an injustice, my dear,” he said softly, taking her hands. “I recognized you the minute you walked in wearing that ridiculous costume.”

This intelligence so shocked Catherine that she gave up trying to devise a way to free her hands from his. “You lie, sir. My own brother did not recognize me and, several times more impressive, neither did my butler.”

Deverill shrugged. “Mayhap I know you better than your own brother.”

“Bah. I haven’t known you for even a month.” She withdrew her hands from his. “What gave me away? Was it the hair? I know this style is exceedingly out of fashion but still.…”

“I don’t know what it was.” He examined her carefully. “Suffice to say, I simply knew it was you from the moment you walked in. There is a certain quality about you that gentlemen’s breeches and a poorly tied cravat cannot hide, and you were with Freddy. It was an easy enough conclusion to arrive at.”

“Leave off ridiculing my cravat,” she ordered.

Deverill did not laugh as Catherine intended. Instead, he grew serious and said, “Come, tell me now why you have behaved so foolishly.”

She didn’t like the change in his demeanor. She liked him best when he was in a teasing mood and found his somber expression unsettled her. “I’m afraid, my lord, that must remain my secret. I cannot feel right discussing personal business with you.”

“You shall, regardless of how personal it is,” he insisted. “I lent you my assistance tonight. You must agree that gives me the right to know.”

“Virtue is its own reward, not the receipt of information that does not concern one,” Catherine said. She wished he would return to his side of the carriage. Having him so close, with his hands very nearly touching hers again, was playing havoc with her thoughts.