Almost Perfect (12 page)

Lucien came slowly to his feet, his hands braced on the table. His face was hard, his gray eyes as cold as winter. He leaned toward her.

“Sit down, Mrs. Marston. You will give me the chance to win back what you took from me.”

His tone tore through her. How dare he try to intimidate her! He was no different than Lord Bucksden when the earl had raised a fist to her in her mother’s parlor. Well, she was done with arrogant noblemen trying to use her.

With that, the constraints of good behavior that had held Cassie prisoner for all her life shattered. There was nothing left for her in this world and that left her nowhere to go save into her future. All that mattered now was Eliza’s safety and to have that Cassie needed two hundred pounds. Lucien was just angry enough that he might actually give her what she needed as he tried to prove she was a sharp.

“Go,” Cassie whispered in Eliza’s ear, giving her sister a reassuring squeeze. “Tell Papa what you told me. Also tell him that I’ll have all we need by night’s end. Go back to your game and let no one suspect that anything is amiss.”

Admiration, gratitude and relief filled Eliza’s gaze. She nodded then started back to her new friends. Cassie moved around the table to stand behind the chair across from Lucien.

“You can’t have your rematch, my lord. I’ve won my nightly limit,” she told him, knowing it would goad him in the direction she needed him to go.

“Devanney,” Lucien called to Lord Ryecroft.

Their host sprawled in his chair across from the duchess, his long legs stretched comfortably out before him. He peered over the fanned cards in his hand. “No need to shout, Hollier,” he drawled. “I’m right here.”

“Release me and Mrs. Marston from your nightly limit,” Lucien demanded.

A smile played at the corners of Lord Ryecroft’s lips. His brows lifted in satisfaction. Cassie read the message he sent without effort. Lord Ryecroft liked the fact that Lucien was angry at her. Was she the pawn of every nobleman in England?

“I excuse both you and Mrs. Marston from any limits on your wagers,” the earl said, then looked at Duchess Eleanor. “It’s your play, Your Grace.”

Lucien’s lips bent into a cold smile. “What do you say, Mrs. Marston? Piquet, this time at a pound a point?”

Cassie sat in the chair and began to remove the smaller cards from the deck on the table. “That’s acceptable, but I think we need to sweeten the pot a little. Twenty pounds goes to the one who wins the first partie.” As she looked up at him she felt more powerful and in control than she had in her entire twenty-five years of life. “Tell me, my lord, do you intend to play on your feet?”

Lucien gnashed his teeth as Cassie ended their partie, smiling. “That brings me to a hundred and eighty pounds, my lord. Too rich for your blood yet? Or, should I say for Lord Ryecroft’s treasury?”

Her little jibe only fed what boiled in him. Lucien had needed to borrow coins from Devanney to cover his wagers since she wasn’t willing to play for chits.

“We play until I know how you’re doing this,” he retorted. She’d rue the day she made a fool of him.

“I’m certain I don’t know what you mean, my lord.” As she spoke she gave a taunting cock of her brows. The motion suggested she was as angry at him as he was at her when she had no right to be.

Lucien slammed his fist against the table. “Blast it, how in the hell are you doing it!” he shouted.

Every head in the drawing room turned in their direction. Devanney laid down his cards and came to his feet, shrugging his shoulders to straighten his black coat. “Is something amiss, Hollier?” he asked.

Duchess Eleanor sniffed, the single white plume decorating her gold turban quivering with disdain. She snatched her shawl over her shoulders with one hand, holding her cards close to her chest with the other. “Lord Ryecroft, don’t you dare leave this table,” she warned. “We’re in the midst of a game.”

“Is this your prank?” Lucien demanded of his cousin. “Did you arrange for her to do this to me?”

Devanney frowned in what looked like honest confusion. “Do what?”

“She’s a sharp,” Lucien snapped, only to regret his accusation in the next instant. Once again, he spoke before he had proof. Without proof his accusation meant nothing. How could there be no proof when she was richer by a hundred and eighty pounds of his money?

“I am not,” Cassie cried, sounding like the hapless, helpless widow she should have been. “Lord Ryecroft, I beg you. Come and see for yourself that I’m doing nothing untoward.”

Devanney left his game to join them. The rest of the guests also moved in their direction, their interest piqued. That was, all save Duchess Eleanor.

Folding her cards, the noblewoman turned in her chair. The golden color of her dress and turban made her look sallow and accentuated the dark rings beneath her eyes. But then, who saw the dress or the woman when she wore a king’s ransom in diamonds around her neck?

She eyed Lucien in impatience. “Here’s what comes of associating with riffraff, my lord,” she told him. “They lack all sensibility and honor. Let your losses to that hoyden be a lesson that you should never again mingle.”

If Eleanor thought her snobbery did anything but even further repulse him from a union with poor Barbara she was wrong.

Their expressions hard, Squire Kerr, Percy and Egremont were at the head of the crowd gathered around the table. The beautiful Miss Elizabeth Conningsby, dressed in virginal white when she was likely as depraved as her father and sister, pushed past them, followed by Philana Forster. The old woman looked dour and steely in her usual gray attire.

Cassie looked up at her sister. Their affection was palpable. “Will you go check on Papa, Eliza? He looked quite ill when he left the room a little while ago,” Cassie asked gently. For a moment the girl looked ready to argue then she nodded reluctantly and made her way out of the crowd around them.

“What happens here, Cassie?” Lady Forster demanded. Her wrinkled brow furrowed deeper as she looked between Lucien and her niece-by-marriage.

“Lord Graceton cannot comprehend how I continue to best him at cards,” Cassie--Cassie the Sharp--said.

The old woman’s face cleared. She glanced at those around them then looked at Lucien. Amusement filled her sharp, blue eyes. “Ah, I can understand how you might feel like that, my lord. Unnerved me too, the first time she did it to me.”

Lucien almost gawked. Philana Forster was in on this trick! All the proof he needed was the sly look in the old woman’s eyes.

“Of course,” Lady Forster continued, “I had sense enough to quit rather than throw good coins after bad once I realized I was outmatched.”

Lucien’s outrage roared skyward. Blast it, he wasn’t outmatched!

Devanney laid a hand on his shoulder as if to calm or console. Or, gloat. “I’m here, Mrs. Marston,” he said, “but I’m not certain what use I’ll be to you.”

“I put my repute in your hands, Lord Ryecroft,” Cassie told him, her soft brown eyes wide. She touched a hand to her breast, the gesture delicate and feminine. “I know Lord Graceton is very angry about my winning, but I vow to you on my sister’s life that I’m not in any way manipulating the cards. I pray, watch our play and judge accordingly.”

Then, holding up her hands, Cassie displayed her long sleeves. “Please, if anyone sees the outline of a card, say so. Better yet, extract it from my sleeve,” she challenged. No one commented or accepted her dare.

“Now, Lord Graceton, what would you like to wager?” Cassie asked him, sounding sincere when he knew she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Nothing about her was honest or real.

“One final partie of Piquet, one hundred eighty pounds, winner takes all,” he said and watched in satisfaction as concern flickered in her brown eyes.

She didn’t want to risk what she’d already taken from him, which was more edge than Lucien thought to have. He hoped that in her determination to keep what she’d already won she might grow careless.

“You’ll play for my chit, Mrs. Marston?” Devanney asked her.

The concern in Cassie’s eyes deepened. She glanced around, taking in the faces of her witnesses and nipping at her lower lip in hesitation. It was cold comfort to Lucien that it wasn’t just his chit she didn’t trust. The only sound in the room was the hiss and pop of the fire as everyone waited on her response.

“As you will,” she agreed at last.

“Deal, Mrs. Marston,” Percy commanded, shifting to stand behind Cassie. Although Percy again wore his vibrant pink and green waistcoat, the proud dandy had given way to serious gamester.

The rattle of the cards filled the room as Cassie shuffled the deck. Someone coughed. Percy’s shoes scraped against the wooden floor as he shifted to better see her hands.

She dealt and Lucien picked up his cards. Play proceeded. He took the most points in the first hand.

After repeating the success in the second, he sent Cassie a narrow look. She was sorely mistaken if she thought sending him over the Rubicon and losing all would convince these men she wasn’t cheating. He needn’t have worried. She took the most points in all the remaining hands, leaving him with less than a hundred at the end of the partie.

Lucien tossed his losing cards onto the table. “Well? How is she doing it?” he demanded of Devanney and Percy. His words echoed into the room’s tense silence.

Both men shook their heads. Percy shrugged. “My lord, what can I say? Every card dealt stayed in her hand until she played it. Nothing changed. She simply outplayed you.”

“All I saw was remarkable play,” Devanney seconded. “Hollier, you’re outmatched.”

Lady Forster smiled in triumph. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“Well done, Mrs. Marston,” cried Lady Barbara, looking surprisingly pretty as she smiled. She began to clap. The other young ladies followed her lead, laughing and applauding one of their own sex besting a man.

Squire Kerr looked relieved, as did his companions from last night. Their pride was intact; they hadn’t been played for fools. Egremont held onto his suspicion.

“Are you certain, Percy?” he asked.

“There’s no question of it,” Percy replied, sending Lucien another helpless smile.

“No!” Lucien whispered in disbelief, having sense enough to keep his reaction to himself. He stared at Cassie Marston, knowing both Percy and Devanney were wrong. She was doing something. No one played like she did.

Behind Lucien, Devanney breathed out in a relieved sigh, then gave Lucien’s shoulder a pat. “Now you know what it’s like to play with you, Hollier,” he said, repaying with words the many times Lucien had lightened his purse. “I fear you’ve met your match in our Mrs. Marston.”

The only one unaffected by Cassie’s victory was Cassie. No smile touched her lips. Nor was there a sign of gloating in her eyes.

She came to her feet in a graceful movement. “Many thanks for serving as my witness, Lord Ryecroft,” she said. “Now if I might make one further request. The only thing I have in which to carry this,” the lift of her hand indicated the coins and notes that represented half her winnings, “is a satchel in my chamber. My sister is there. If you could send someone to fetch it for me?”

“But of course, Mrs. Marston,” Devanney said. Every inch the congenial host, he indicated for a footman to do as she needed. “And, I apologize again for giving you mostly coins. We’ve no use for wads of the flimsy here at Ryecroft. The locals won’t take them for their payment, preferring old fashioned silver instead.”

Still stewing in disbelief and utterly certain that he’d been taken, that they’d all been taken, Lucien remained at the table. When the satchel arrived he watched Cassie fill it with her winnings--his coins. She closed the bag over the top of his money and shot him a single short look.

He thought he saw regret in her eyes. If so, he didn’t want it. Instead, he took satisfaction in knowing that by exposing her skill, or whatever it was, he’d ended any chance that Cassie Marston could ever again use it against another honest man. Once the tale of this night made its rounds through society she wouldn’t sit at another card table at anyone’s affair. If she wanted to strip men of coins she’d have to seek out with the young swells in the gaming hells, men who deserved to be parted from their fortunes. Doing that would hardly restore the respectability she’d pretended to lament earlier today.

Cassie gave her filled satchel back to the footman to carry to her chamber, then offered Devanney a deep curtsy. “Again, my lord, you have my gratitude for your assistance.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Mrs. Marston,” Devanney said, daring to continue savoring his cousin’s comeuppance.

Cassie then turned and offered Lucien the same sign of respect. “Lord Graceton, I cannot explain my skill. If it’s any consolation to you, my father wishes it didn’t exist.”

A pretty speech, but meaningless. Lucien made her no response. She sighed, all expression leaving her face. Even then she remained the prettiest woman in the room. How could something so lovely prove to be dross beneath the surface?

“I’m exhausted, my lord,” she said to Devanney. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“I’ll come with you, dear,” Philana Forster said.

“Good night, Mrs. Marston,” Devanney said, laughter still filling his voice. “Lady Forster.”