Gambling on a Scoundrel (15 page)

Tempy had become used to Mme Le Clair's precise instructions, but being this close to Mr. Hamlin...or rather,
Lucien
, made her self-conscious. As she reached for the arm he offered, she rushed the movement and bumped his arm with her hand, fumbling as she slid it into place on his forearm.

"Again," said Madame. "And with a bit more grace."

Tempy dropped her hand away, earning a disapproving look from Mme Le Clair. With an apologetic twitch of her shoulder, she reached for Lucien's arm again, this time managing to make her movement appear much more natural and graceful.

"Better. Now, try it again, but this time, look up at Lucien with affection. It should appear as though placing your hand on his arm is the thing which you
most
want to do at that moment."

Tempy raised her brow at that.

"Don't look at me that way," Mme Le Clair scolded. "You are playing a role. Do it well."

Tempy tilted her head as she accepted the good sense of the advice, and then looked up at Lucien as she tried to throw herself into her role. She slid her hand into place and kept her gaze locked on his.

For a moment, the playacting seemed to fade, and the moment felt real. Right now, she truly
wanted
to feel his arm under her hand more than anything else in the world. When she realized that she wasn't acting, a chill crossed her shoulders and her hand trembled very slightly on his sleeve.

"Perfect," Mme Le Clair sighed. "You're quite the clever student."

Before Tempy could respond, she heard a knock at the door. Boothby opened it.

"Sir," he said, "the gentleman you asked me to watch for is arriving in his carriage. He should be in the casino momentarily."

Mme Le Clair took a small step away from them. "It's time. Go. Just as we planned."

Tempy nodded and took leave of the pair. Outside the office door, she took a deep breath, raised her chin slightly, and glided through the entrance of the glittering casino.

A shadow followed her. And when she looked back, she saw that Boothby hovered at her elbow.

He smiled at her. "Good evening, Miss Bliss. If you will permit me, I'll collect your chips from the cashier and bring them to you."

"Yes, thank you," she said as she continued toward the roulette table. She remembered not to simply walk, but to insinuate herself, just as Mme Le Clair had taught her. In doing so, she was aware that a number of gentlemen watched her openly, and she smiled in satisfaction.

She stopped at the same spot at the roulette table where she'd stood a week ago. Tonight required that she choose a casino game where she could be noticed and then quickly abandon. Roulette suited her needs perfectly.

She watched some other patrons gamble for a minute, and then Boothby slid her rack of chips in front of her. She turned to smile her thanks to the young man and was startled to discover she'd been mistaken.

"Mr. Hamlin," she said in a flustered tone. "Are you in the habit of bringing your patrons their chips?"

"Lucien," he corrected. "And, no I don't usually take on that task. But in your case, I'm happy to."

He smiled down at her, and Tempy felt her toes curl in her shoes. My, but that man's smile was devastating. Why hadn't she ever noticed that before? His lips were full and curving, and his teeth were even and straight, except for that one tooth, right next to the front one, that tilted slightly to one side with a rakish air.

She gave herself a mental shake. It wouldn't do to be staring at the man like this when Ernest walked into the casino. He might think she was infatuated with the illustrious Lucien Hamlin.

But wait a minute, that was her goal, wasn't it? After all, Tempy's sense of competition had peaked once she'd had a rival for Ernest's affections. Wasn't that the reason Mr. Hamlin...Lucien, was standing next to her?

Suddenly, Lucien's charismatic smile no longer seemed to belong to her. After all, he was simply playacting for the benefit of an audience. This wasn't real.

Not real at all.

She smiled brightly at him. "How shall I place my bet? Do you have any advice?"

"I'll give you the same advice that has always worked well for me. I find I win every time I follow it."

She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him expectantly.

He leaned down so that his mouth was close to her ear, and she felt his breath on her neck. In a quiet rumble, he murmured in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear. "Always remember," he said, his low voice sending vibrations down her spine, "to place your bet on the winning number."

She inhaled his scent of crisply bleached cotton, men's cologne, and the lingering aroma of cognac. For a moment she felt trapped in a web-thin cocoon by his nearness, unable to move or respond, but then she broke free. His words sank in. "Bet on the winning number? That's your sage advice?" she quipped, wondering if her voice sounded as breathless as she felt.

"Works every time," he said, in tones still pitched so low that only she could hear him.

She smiled, still feeling the tendrils of that web of intimacy he'd spun around her. When she glanced away shyly, searching for a safe landing for her gaze, it fell upon Ernest. His mouth was agape as he stared at her.

"Temperance. What on earth are you doing here?" Ernest demanded.

Tempy smiled serenely, just the way Mme Le Clair had taught her. She tilted her head to one side and said, "Mr. Lipscomb. How pleasant to see you here. Is this your new fiancée?" She was surprised at how calm she felt. It was as though a languid haze surrounded her.

Ernest's gaze flew from Tempy to Clarisse and back again, not quite knowing where to stop. Apparently, he either chose to return his gaze to Tempy or his eyes simply got tired of rattling around in his head. But he didn't seem capable of speaking quite yet, so Tempy decided to fill the silence.

"You must be Miss Clarisse Beaumont." Tempy paused for a moment, but the young woman didn't reply. Tempy glanced back at Ernest. "I can see why she stole your heart, Mr. Lipscomb. She's quite beautiful."

"I cannot steal something which is given to me freely," Clarisse said in a clear, French accent. Her stinging words were softened by her beautiful voice and practiced smile.

"Oh. And she has her wits about her too. I'm impressed," Tempy said.

"Please, Temperance. Don't make a scene," Ernest said. His eyes were wide and round, as though he expected Tempy to lose control at any moment.

Tempy waved away his fears with a graceful fluttering of her hand. "I wouldn't dream of it. But please, for your fiancée's sake, don't you think you should refrain from calling me Temperance? I'm afraid it gives the wrong impression."

Ernest blushed. "I..., I mean..., but of course." He glanced in embarrassment at Mr. Hamlin, clearly unhappy at being reprimanded in front of a stranger.

Tempy glanced up at Lucien. "Do you two know each other? No? This is Mr. Hamlin. Of Hamlin House."

If possible, Ernest managed to flush even more deeply.

"Mr. Hamlin, this is Mr. Lipscomb, a childhood friend of mine, and his charming fiancée, Miss Clarisse Beaumont."

"
Enchanté
," Lucien said, lifting the young woman's gloved fingertips to his lips.

The young woman's eyes glowed. "
Vous êtes Français
?"

"
Oui. Demi-français
."

"Half French?" Tempy asked, feeling somehow betrayed. "You never mentioned that."

"I didn't? My mother was French."

Tempy wasn't certain how she felt about that. After losing Ernest to that little French tart, Tempy had decided to abhor all things French. Of course, Mme Le Clair had begun to sway her opinion. But Madame was only one person. Discovering that Lucien was half French was more than a little disconcerting.

Tempy sighed, remembering to use the practiced pout that Mme Le Clair had taught her. "I suppose this will force me to reexamine my opinion regarding all things French. Perhaps they have some merit to them after all."

Lucien's eyes twinkled at her back-handed compliment, but Miss Beaumont's eyes narrowed at the slight.

Lucien cleared his throat. "Tempy, there's someone I'd very much like you to meet. If you'll do me the favor of accompanying me, I'd like to introduce you to the Earl of Penworth."

This had been their prearranged signal to leave. Mme Le Clair had been worried that Tempy might overstay the moment once she had the upper hand, and she had insisted that Lucien remove her from the situation at the appropriate time. Tempy nodded very slightly to let him know she recognized the signal and then smiled broadly to Ernest. "I do hope you'll excuse us."

"Certainly," Ernest said, looking appropriately impressed at the mention of the influential young earl.

Lucien held out his arm and Tempy slipped her fingers around it, gazing up into his eyes as she did so. Her hand rested delicately upon his arm, and she allowed him to escort her away from the stunned couple. Tempy glided as she moved. She did not saunter or rush. She insinuated. But inside, it was all she could do not to howl her triumph at that moment.

Even though Tempy didn't glance back, she could easily overhear Clarisse's hissing, scolding tones and Ernest's murmured sounds of protest. A slow smile of satisfaction spread across her face. What she'd give to hear the tongue-lashing Ernest must be receiving right now.

14 - More Lessons?

Lucien glanced down at Tempy and liked what he saw. Especially the smile on her face. It was slow and seductive and eminently satisfied. Even though she maintained a sedate and steady pace as she crossed the casino, he could feel the exhilaration radiating from her. It almost made her float across the room. Lucien wondered if her feather-light hold on his arm was the only thing that kept her tethered to the ground.

"Try to contain your jubilation," Lucien murmured. "You're vibrating with it." He glanced back at the couple. "They're watching us."

"Then I'll turn that to our advantage," she said, beaming up at him.

The jolt that hit Lucien took him by surprise, but he was even more startled by the surge of envy he felt for that pretty-boy, Ernest Lipscomb.

Suddenly, they were standing directly in front of the Earl of Penworth. Lucien greeted him with a smile and introduced Tempy, but then he dropped out of the conversation and used the moment to observe Mr. Lipscomb.

Lucien had to admit, Lipscomb had a style about him that certain women preferred. That combination of an athletic build and glossy blond hair often attracted women like bees to clover, and apparently Tempy had developed a fondness for that man's variety of honey. But there was something about him that Lucien didn't like. Some weakness of will that showed in his overly pretty features.

Or perhaps the twinge of envy he'd felt a few moments ago was affecting his judgment. Either way, he no longer wanted to be in the same room with the man.

At an appropriate lull in Tempy's conversation with the earl, Lucien made their excuses and led her away. She never looked back at Ernest Lipscomb and his detestable "French tart," but Lucien could sense that her attention was focused on the couple.

"Our friend will be anxious to hear about what just transpired," Lucien said as he made his way toward his office door.

Tempy nodded and looked up at him again, delivering another one of those gazes that hit him like a thunderbolt. If Mme Le Clair could see her now, she'd be proud of what she'd created.

As they crossed the casino floor, Lucien took one last opportunity to glance back at Mr. Lipscomb. The man was watching their progress across the room with a strange expression on his face. He appeared both confused and deflated, and his attention was fixed upon Tempy.

Just as he knew she'd hoped.

So why couldn't he feel more pleased with her success?

Lucien turned the cool brass knob of his office door and pushed his way inside. Mme Le Clair awaited them, looking triumphant. Her telltale flush and broad grin were dead giveaways.

"I couldn't resist. I watched it all from the doorway," she announced. She took both of Tempy's hands in hers. "You were perfect. I couldn't be more proud of you."

Tempy appeared to glow under her praise. "Do you really think so? That's what I thought too, but I wasn't certain."

"A complete triumph. You have him so off balance he has no idea what's happening to him. He's exactly where you want him." Madame tilted her head to one side in a contemplative gesture and gave Lucien a conspiratorial look. "We should celebrate. Whiskey?"

"No," Lucien said. "Champagne." He called for a bottle and was pleased when Boothby returned within moments, carrying a silver tray. On it were three champagne flutes and a rather large silver wine cooler. The wine cooler was a tall, urn-shaped container with two ornate side handles, and it was filled with ice. Nestled in its embrace was a dark green champagne bottle.

Boothby offered to pop the cork, but Lucien shook his head and began twisting the wire holding the cork in place.

"Will you be needing anything else?" Boothby asked.

Lucien grinned at him as the cork popped from the bottle and went flying toward the ceiling. It bounced off with a soft sound and fell to the carpet where it rolled to a stop at Tempy's feet. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us," he said, and waved Boothby from the room.

Lucien poured champagne into the glasses and passed them to the ladies.

He watched as Tempy held her glass up to the light, examining the lines of bubbles rising to the top of the glass. Had she never had champagne before this? He cleared his throat. "We should toast."

Tempy's face brightened. "Yes. A toast. But to what?"

Madame raised her glass. "To success."

"Success," Lucien repeated, and touched the rim of his glass against the others. The crystal emitted a bright ringing sound as the champagne flutes bumped against each other.

Both he and Mme Le Clair took sips from their glasses, but Tempy quickly drained hers.