Authors: Lightning
“For the price he offered the other night,” Rhys agreed. “And if I win, you will be my mistress.
Willing
mistress,” he added with emphasis. “And,” he added generously, “I’ll still sell him Ridgely.”
Some of Lauren’s doubt disappeared, though the pain remained. She nodded slowly. “But Adrian is never to know of the wager, and I can choose the game.”
His lips curled up slightly at the edges. “Done.”
Lauren felt her throat tighten, her heart become stone. She was committed now. “When?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I will make the arrangements.”
She nodded mutely.
“A little more enthusiasm, my dear,” he said, “or I’ll think it a bad bargain.”
Lauren tried to smile, but she knew it was only a grimace, and his, in return, was the satisfied smirk of a devil who’d just won a soul.
Lauren kept looking at Melissa’s diary, but she couldn’t bear to read it. There were still several legible pages before the entries ended … before Melissa’s death.
At the hand of deserters, she’d been told. Lauren wondered if anyone would ever know, or if there was a clue in the diary. She still had the feeling that Melissa had guided her to it, though she didn’t know why.
But at the moment her own misery was too strong to share anyone else’s. Instead, she put her hand on the diary, as if it were a beloved companion, one that would give her strength, to do what she felt she had to do.
She looked out the window of the town house. The London street was still lively with carriages, the gaslights mixing with dust, extinguishing the stars which were so numerous and bright at sea. That’s where Adrian was now, testing the new ship, preparing to ride his own lightning again. She clenched her teeth against the need that filled her, the need to be standing beside him, to feel the heat of his body, to smell the fine aroma of soap and bay rum. Her body pulsed with the thought of his body. But that was finished now.
If there had ever been any hope at all, she was ending it tomorrow.
But she would be giving him what he wanted above all in the world. And that was the most important thing of all.
She thought of the last time she had agreed to do something her conscience told her not to do, because of Larry.
Dear God, was she going to regret this as much as she ended up regretting that?
But as before, she was committed now. There was no turning back.
Adrian felt the engines of the ship hum beneath his feet. An English captain, an employee of the shipping company, stood next to him as Adrian guided the ship out the mouth of the Thames. Socrates was hovering nearby as he almost always did these last few days.
A United States Navy ship followed them, dogging the vessel’s every movement. But Adrian knew it wouldn’t approach, not unless it appeared that the ship was headed out of English waters. The ship was still under English registry, and was not violating the neutrality laws, yet.
But Adrian knew he would be under close scrutiny, on land and on sea. He would have to plan the ship’s flight from England very carefully. He had already mentally named it
Specter II.
There had been bitter protests lodged by the United States Government when Adrian appeared in London. There were even more heated protests when Union agents discovered he was seeking a new ship, a sleek new steamer.
For the first time, Adrian didn’t feel the old excitement when he thought of running the blockade again. He didn’t want to leave Lauren. He’d asked himself over and over whether Ridgely was worth the risk of death or capture now that he had found her. But now he wanted his ancestral estate as much for her as for himself. Adrian knew instinctively she would love it: the rolling hills, the neat fields, the woods full of game, and the stream full of fish. She belonged there, as he belonged there.
They would be out four days, running the steamer to its maximum speed, making sure of the durability and reliability of the engines, giving the Yankees something to think about.
He already had something to think about.
Lauren had to brave Lisa’s silent disapproval, and even a certain grimness from Sir Giles, when she told them she planned to go riding with Mr. Redding again today.
She cringed inside at the prospect of their contempt if she lost today. They had been so kind.
But she couldn’t lose. And if she won, she would soon be gone. Where, she wasn’t sure, but she knew she couldn’t stay this close to Adrian. Not and keep her sanity.
She was leaning more and more toward telling Adrian everything, and then returning home to Delaware. If that meant prison, then so be it. She was tired of running, both to and from things, heartsick because of the lies and deception that had made every day a nightmare. Anything, she thought, would be better than the accumulation of sins on her conscience.
But first she had to get through today.
Rhys Redding was again exactly on time, looking as dangerous and sardonic as he had on the other two occasions she’d met him. His eyes glinted with anticipation, filling her with dread. This was not a momentous event to him, but a game. A game that could destroy her.
She was wearing her most modest dress today, a blue day dress with long sleeves and a high neck, and she didn’t miss the amusement in his face as he marked the challenge.
He helped her into his phaeton. They drove off at a quick pace, Redding adeptly avoiding the other vehicles in the road. He drove around the park and then to a secluded street where a closed carriage waited, and a strange, rough-looking man took the ribbons of his phaeton. Inside the closed coach, there was a long cloak and a hat with veil, the proper attire, she supposed, for a lady preparing for an assignation.
Rhys Redding had taken care of everything, as promised. There would be no gossip—unless, of course, she lost. The coolness of the day penetrated the coach, and she shivered.
The closed coach drew to a stop. Redding alighted and gave her his hand, smiling slightly as she hesitated. “Come, my love,” he said.
Adrian had twice called her “love.” It had created little curls of warmth inside her then, but Redding’s use only increased the chill. She gave him her hand and stepped out, looking about anxiously.
The sign outside the building where they’d stopped proclaimed it the Lion’s Head, and it sported a great majestic profile of its namesake. Redding led her to a side doorway, holding it open with one hand while guiding her in with the other, as if he knew any small thing would send her skittering away.
An obsequious smile on his face, a rather thin man met them and greeted Redding as one might an old and valued friend, and Lauren couldn’t help but wonder how many times Rhys Redding had been here, and not for a card game. The man nodded at her, his eyes avoiding her face as if he were used to entertaining women who did not wish to be recognized.
“I have your room ready,” he said. “And a bottle of my finest brandy.”
Rhys looked down at Lauren’s veiled face. “Perhaps some sherry for the lady.”
“Of course,” the man said, and escorted them up a flight of stairs and into a room that left no doubt in Lauren’s mind as to the main business of this establishment.
The room was small and luxuriously, if gaudily, appointed. It was dominated by a huge canopied bed. In a corner was a table with two chairs, obviously where cozy, intimate meals were served. A bottle of brandy and two glasses sat on it now, along with a plateful of food.
“I’ll have the sherry shortly,” the proprietor said as he opened the door and prepared to leave. “I hope everything is to your pleasure.”
Lauren felt unclean in a way she had never felt with Adrian, even when they had lain naked in a barn, their bodies warm with each other’s moisture. She knew what Rhys Redding would expect of her if she lost.
And as physically attractive as he was, she knew part of her would die if she had to fulfill her end of the bargain. Her heart and soul and mind were Adrian’s, would always be Adrian’s. Think of Adrian, she urged herself. Think of his joy at once more owning Ridgely. Lauren was grateful for the veil, for tears had gathered, and she was fighting desperately to hold them back.
But even that privacy was taken away from her. As the proprietor left, Redding lifted the cloak from her, and then the hat. His fingers touched her hair and her face. She couldn’t help but flinch, and his hand moved quickly away.
“Are you sure you wish to continue?” His voice was light, challenging.
“If the terms are the same. Adrian gets Ridgely, win or lose.”
“And yet you appear to dislike my touch.”
Lauren looked up at him, afraid the tears in her eyes were visible. “It’s just that …” She couldn’t continue.
He did it for her. “You like Lord Ridgely’s more.”
Lauren stood still, fixed by his unblinking interest.
“Your choice of game, love,” he said after a short silence.
“Poker.”
“Ah, an American game. I’m afraid I know little about it.”
“And I know less about English games,” Lauren replied. “I’ll teach you.”
“Everything?”
“Everything,” Lauren confirmed, quite aware of time going by. The longer she was gone, the more suspicious her hosts would become, and she dreaded the disappointment she knew she would find in their faces.
The play started then. Redding had brought several packs of cards with him, and some dice.
Lauren tried to remember everything Adrian had taught her, how to bluff, how to discard. She did not, of course, confide these finer points to her opponent, but he had an uncanny sixth sense about them. While Lauren won the first few hands, Rhys started to win the succeeding ones. They had agreed that the first to win five hundred pounds would be the winner, the money imaginary since nothing would count except the final result.
Rhys began driving the stakes of each game higher and higher. Lauren felt her body tense, and she was quite aware she was showing more and more emotion, and thus giving away her hand. But as her desperation grew, it became more and more difficult to hide her feelings.
“Three kings,” he said when she thought she’d won with two pairs.
His luck was infernally consistent, and his grin even more so. For someone who claimed to know nothing about poker, he seemed a master at it.
Or else Adrian had lied about her own skill.
An hour went by, and then another, and she was down four hundred and eighty pounds.
“One last game.” He grinned.
“Only if you win, Mr. Redding.”
“I think it’s time you called me Rhys.”
Lauren took a sip of sherry as she studied her hand. She had one pair. She discarded two other cards, only to discover that he was discarding none.
They were at fifteen pounds on the table. If she quit now, his winnings would be only five pounds less than needed, but she had the one pair. Lauren said a brief prayer and bet five pounds on the draw.
Now she had three jacks. She called, and Rhys Redding laid down three aces.
Her heart sank, and she swallowed hard.
“Shall we talk about collection?” Rhys Redding’s tone was lazy, even malicious, as he stood, taking her hand and drawing her to him.
The lifeblood drained from her as his head came down and his lips captured her mouth.
Lauren didn’t fight him, nor did she do anything to help him. Her lips remained still, her body unresponsive, as his hands went to her hair, pulling out the pins that held it up.
His lips were not harsh, but searching, seeking a response that wasn’t in her. His arms held none of Adrian’s gentleness, none of their warm security.
Rhys Redding was simply taking what was his. He made no attempt at anything else.
Lauren felt the chill in her spread, her limbs loose like the appendages of a rag doll … without life.
She had gambled everything. And she had lost.
She had only one satisfaction. According to the agreement, Rhys would still sell Ridgely back to Adrian.
Lauren tried to blank everything else from her mind. She closed her eyes as Rhys’s mouth moved to her neck, to the soft column in the front and then to the back, seeking to excite some reaction. But there was none.
And then she was free, standing alone, and she opened her eyes again. Rhys Redding had moved away, his dark eyes almost black, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“The agreement wasn’t for a corpse, Miss Bradley,” he said, his hand settling over the back of a chair.
“I … didn’t offer feelings.”
“No, you didn’t,” he agreed with the look in his face becoming speculative. “You must care for Adrian Cabot very much.”
Lauren remained absolutely still. She didn’t want to think about Adrian now, or what he would believe when she became Rhys’s mistress.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “this is the second time I’ve won something Lord Ridgely wanted. And I think it’s going to be every bit as unsatisfying as the first gain.”
The words registered slowly in Lauren’s numbed brain. “You … you will still sell him Ridgely?”