Gambling on a Scoundrel (12 page)

Mr. Hamlin gave that Gallic shrug again, with his hands splayed wide and his lower lip jutting out just a bit. She was beginning to dislike that shrug. It was much too
French
. "Perhaps I was mistaken, but the woman he was with seemed to be taking the lead."

This caused Tempy to pause. To her knowledge, Ernest had never even been to a casino before tonight. "I think it must have been her idea to come here, so he brought her," she said slowly. "Which serves to prove my point. Men will do anything for a woman like that. Like
her.
"

"Not every man," Mr. Hamlin said, sounding a little defensive.

Her temper flared. Why did men always feel they had to defend one another against women? Even men who were complete strangers?

"Ernest will. And since that's what he wants, that's the type of woman I need to become. We made a deal, Mr. Hamlin. I help you sell your casino to Mr. Snowden, and in return, you help me. And helping me means allowing me into your casino, and it also means helping me become more... well, more like
her
."

Mr. Hamlin thrust his chin out. He was going to refuse, she could tell.

"Or, if you prefer, I could find Mr. Snowden right now and let him know that you're trying to manipulate him. It might not prevent him from ever purchasing your casino, but it would certainly cause him to take some additional time in making his decision, don't you agree?"

His only response was a slight tightening of his jaw.

"Or perhaps I could write an article..." she mused.

He flushed. "You surprise me. I had no idea you could be so unscrupulous."

She arched one brow at him. "'All's fair in love and war,' Mr. Hamlin. And this is both."

11 - Patron Problems

"I don't like being manipulated this way."

"It's not my fault you assumed too much. If you'd bothered to finish negotiating with me before you accepted the bargain, you wouldn't be in this situation."

That made him pause. She was right. He'd assumed too much when he'd made the deal, and that was unlike him. After all, her obsession with her former fiancé was no secret. "Fine," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Fine?"

"I've noticed that you have a habit of parroting my words." He held up his hands in surrender. "Yes, fine. I formally agree to your bargain since I already unknowingly did so."

Miss Bliss clapped her hands together in a flutter of applause. "Oh, thank you."

"Let's get you home. I'm sorry, but I have a casino to run and some of my responsibilities can't wait." He opened his office door and spoke briefly with Boothby. A moment later the young man returned with Miss Bliss's cloak and the news that a hackney had been procured for her.

"Tomorrow then?" she said.

He nodded his agreement, and she left.

Clearly, Miss Bliss wanted to begin work on this transformation of hers as soon as possible. The entire scheme seemed far-fetched, but Lucien would do his best to fulfill his part of the bargain. And to that end, he had an idea.

An excellent one, for that matter.

Lucien returned to the casino floor with a spring in his step.

Meeting that woman, he had to admit, had been a stroke of luck. Their deal would be mutually beneficial. Snowden clearly doted on the young woman, and she seemed to genuinely like him as well. Now Miss Bliss would be extremely unlikely to write anything that might harm his casino since doing so would hurt Snowden as well.

It only took Lucien a moment to locate young Boothby again. He'd come to rely on the abilities of this young man more and more of late. "She's gone."

"I should mention that she either said or did something earlier in the evening that upset one of the patrons. You can probably guess which gentleman it was."

"Our not-so-favorite earl?" Lucien guessed, referring to the Earl of Sherwood.

"None other."

"I'll bear that in mind. Over the next week or two she'll be visiting here rather frequently. Keep an eye on her, especially when the earl is around."

Boothby nodded. "One more thing. The Viscount of Avignon would like a word with you."

Lucien nodded. The young viscount probably wanted to arrange to use one of the casino's private rooms. Any member of his staff could handle that for him, but Lucien had found that most members of the peerage expected the owner of an establishment such as his to be at their beck and call. It fed their pride. "Is there anything else?"

Boothby hesitated. When Lucien cocked an eyebrow at him, he flushed. "Actually, it's Mme Le Clair, sir. She hoped you'd be able to speak with her tomorrow morning and she asked me to make arrangements."

An easy smile slid across Lucien's face. It was wonderful to see his new plan fall into place as though by fate. "Of course. As a matter of fact, she's exactly the person with whom I hoped to speak." Lucien studied Boothby's reddened face. "There isn't anything wrong, is there?" He glanced around the room to see if he could catch sight of Mme Le Clair.

"She's not here. She sent a note. I think she's hoping for your guidance in a personal matter. Shall I send her a message that you'll see her?"

"Of course. Tomorrow morning would be best." He paused, considering his next words. "I've known Mme Le Clair for many years and count her among my friends."

Boothby took a deep breath, visibly relaxing. "Thank you, sir. I didn't want to impose."

"It's no imposition at all. I'm sure she went through you simply because she wanted to ensure that her message wasn't overlooked." With a nod of dismissal, Lucien turned to go in search of the privileged young Viscount of Avignon.

After arranging for the young peer and his party to have the use of a private room, Lucien made his rounds on the casino floor, shaking hands with a number of patrons as he observed the workings of his casino and made small adjustments as needed.

Lucien noted the sour expression of the face of the Earl of Sherwood and the way he continually drummed his fingers on the bar. That did not bode well. The man had already created some sort of a scene with Miss Bliss, and based on his level of tension, Lucien could tell that another eruption was likely to occur.

Lucien murmured his concern to one of his footmen, and a few moments later a waiter brought the earl a tray of his favorite hors d'oeuvres, compliments of the house. The waiter lingered, ostensibly to ensure that everything was to the earl's liking, but more to fawn over the man and thereby soothe his easily bruised ego. Lucien had discovered years ago that the Earl of Sherwood loved this sort of treatment.

When the earl smiled, Lucien knew that the intervention had worked. He turned his attention back to observing his patrons, searching for the telltale signs of forthcoming problems so that he could avert them.

Dear Ernest and his new fiancée seemed to be on the winning side of things tonight, but Lucien wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The ones who won the first time tended to come back again soon. It was better for them if they lost the first night, and better for Lucien if they won. The odds were always on the casino's side, and eventually he'd recoup all of his losses.

An hour or two later, the crowd was beginning to thin, and the people who remained were in one of two categories. Either they wore jubilant expressions, or they appeared resigned to their losses. There were more of the latter than the former.

Fortunately, nobody appeared overly despairing. When John Snowden approached, Lucien was pleased to note that the man had had a successful evening.

"Is this how you plan to fund your purchase?" Lucien asked with a grin that mirrored Snowden's. "By winning your blunt from my casino? How do you expect me to be able to afford to sell it to you if you break the bank?"

"Funny. You're a funny man," Snowden said, thumping him on the back with the flat of his hand. "I have eyes in my head. You might lose a bit off me tonight, but you've mostly been winning. The house always wins."

"Aye. The trick is to keep everyone coming back for more of the same."

12 - Meet Boothby's Friend

The next morning, Tempy paced through the empty casino. She'd been careful on her way here, changing cabs part way here to throw off anyone who might be following her. The gas chandeliers that had been blazing with light last night were now dim. It was as though day and night had traded places here.

She tried to identify the exact location on the rug where she'd knocked over the tray of drinks last night. Nothing remained to mark the incident. Someone must have scrubbed the spot clean.

Tempy moved over to the table where she'd seen a group of men huddled the night before, shouting out strange phrases. It was a crabs table. Crabs was an odd word. Did it have something to do with the crabs one found in the ocean? She'd noticed Ernest standing there as well when she'd departed last night. She'd spent the morning reading about various casino games, so now she knew a bit more about crabs.

Tempy tried to make sense of the markings on the green covering on the table. One of her reference books mentioned that the Americans called the game craps instead of crabs. Why would Americans want to rename it? Especially to such an unpleasant-sounding word. Not that crabs was a particularly pleasant name either. Tempy mentally shrugged off the question. Despite reading about the game, she wasn't sure if she wanted to try her luck at it. She'd need to watch others play it first. But she'd have her chance over the next couple of weeks.

She took a couple of sideways steps to move to a different spot along the edge of the table and then stopped. Here. This was where she'd noticed Ernest standing last night when she'd left the casino. She placed her hand in the spot where she'd seen his resting on the edge of the long table.

Had he won or lost? Had Clarisse celebrated with him, or commiserated?

When the couple had arrived, Clarisse had been elegantly dressed, drawing the attention of every man in the room, just like the woman in red Tempy had observed. How did they both manage to command that kind of attention?

Tempy heard a door open in the otherwise quiet building, and then footsteps approached. Tempy turned and immediately recognized the young footman with the ruddy complexion from the previous evening. His name was Boothby. She smiled in greeting as she took a step toward him.

"Mr. Hamlin is ready to see you, miss," Boothby said, coming to a stop in front of her. But instead of turning and leading the way, he stood there without moving, in that way servants had when they had something they wanted to say. Their manner allowed you to either question them or ignore them. And Tempy could never resist asking a question.

"What is it, Boothby?" she asked. The young man stared at a distant point over her shoulder. Was he frowning slightly? It was difficult to tell in this dim light.

"Mr. Hamlin has another guest in the room with him, and he plans to introduce her to you." He paused before continuing awkwardly. "She's not the sort of woman ladies normally meet."

"But Mr. Hamlin plans to introduce us anyway?" she asked, her curiosity snapping to attention.

His eyes widened as he met her gaze. "N-not that it is my place to criticize Mr. Hamlin's actions," he stammered. "I would never do anything of the sort. But I wanted you to know that the woman you're about to meet was a close friend of my mother's."

"Of your mother's? But why would meeting her be so unusual?"

"You'll understand soon enough, miss. But she's a good woman, despite what others might think of her. I just wanted you to remember that when you meet her."

She nodded. "I'll bear that in mind. Thank you." She would have said more, but Boothby spun on his heel and began to lead the way to Mr. Hamlin. She fell in behind the young man, trying to puzzle out his words.

Upon entering the office, Tempy virtually ignored Mr. Hamlin and immediately focused her attention on the woman. Since Tempy knew that she was Boothby's mother's friend, she'd expected to meet a working-class woman who was in her mid-forties. But this woman appeared to be younger than that, perhaps in her thirties. And she was most certainly not in the working class.

She was striking, but not beautiful, or at least, not in the traditional sense. Instead of having the light brown hair and pale skin associated with most English beauties, this woman had thick dark hair and a full figure with a narrow waist. But more importantly, she commanded attention in the same way that the woman in the red dress had last night. This woman's attire made her stand out, not because it drew attention to itself, but because it accentuated her every asset so perfectly. Her gown was well-made and conservative, but on her, it looked slightly more seductive than it would on any other woman.

Or did the aura of seduction come from the woman herself? In a flash, Tempy realized
what
this woman must be, and she nearly stumbled over her own feet. She was a member of the demimonde. She wasn't quite a courtesan since she didn't accept payment from gentlemen, but instead she was supported by a wealthy lover. As long as she was discreet, she remained marginally acceptable. And as long as she didn't mingle with the young single women of society, their mothers wouldn't ostracize her.

Here was a woman who understood how to manipulate a man. A demimondaine. And quite a successful one too, judging by her appearance.

This was exactly the sort of woman Tempy needed to meet.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Bliss," Mr. Hamlin said. "I'd like to introduce you to Madame Le Clair."

The fact that the woman was French startled her. Clarisse Beaumont was French, and Tempy had suddenly developed an intense dislike for everyone from that country. But in this situation, she was willing to make an exception.

Tempy smiled broadly as she moved closer to the woman and offered her hand. "It's a pleasure."

Mme Le Clair hesitated for a moment, and then took Tempy's hand briefly in her own. She quickly withdrew it as though scalded. "
Enchantée
," she said, her eyes darting around the room and looking everywhere except at Tempy.