Gambling on a Scoundrel (35 page)

No, she was certain that she'd dreamt the same dream that had been plaguing her almost every night. The one about the ship setting sail without her aboard. But something had been different this time. She just wished she could remember what it had been.

It must have been important.

30 - Lucien is Reluctant

Lucien found himself slamming quite a few doors over the next couple of days. It wasn't as though Tempy's plan for Saturday night came as a surprise, but he still didn't like it.

And there was that debt that
dear Ernest
still hadn't repaid. Lucien didn't want to mention it, but normally he'd never allow a patron to return to the casino with an unpaid debt still lingering on his books. He'd make the exception this time, for Tempy, but he didn't like it.

He'd avoided announcing the sale of his casino to his staff, which was unlike him. Normally he preferred being direct with them, but with everything being so unsettled this week, he wanted one thing in his life to remain the same. At least, for a little while longer. But that would end soon.

He also had to admit that he felt an impending sense of doom about tonight, as though everything was about to fall apart. The idea of announcing the casino's sale seemed like tempting fate.

He focused again on reviewing the tally of the take from the night before, but thoughts of Tempy kept intruding, forcing him to restart his work more than once. That was an unusual occurrence. Normally numbers came easily to him, but today they didn't offer him their usual calming influence.

Why on earth Tempy still wanted to win the love of such a weak-willed man, Lucien had no idea. Those sums simply wouldn't add up either.

With force of will, Lucien finished his final review of the books, and then, with a sigh, he placed the ledger in the cash box. Closing out the books had been one last task he'd wanted to complete himself, but it had taken him longer than anticipated.

Lucien slammed closed the lid of the cash box and then frowned at it. He was frowning quite a lot lately too. That woman made no sense.

But he'd promised to help her. And he would, even if it broke him.

Lucien spun the dial on his office safe to reset the tumblers, focusing his attention on turning the correct sequence of numbers. When he heard the last tumbler click into place, he yanked down the handle and pulled open the safe door. He crammed the cash box inside, but it caught on something. He pulled the metal box back out and reached into the safe to move a smaller, velvety object that must have fallen to one side.

The rectangular velvet box had belonged to his mother, and he hadn't opened it in years. Lucien let out a grunt of surprise at seeing it. He couldn't believe he'd nearly forgotten about it. He withdrew it, clearing a space into which he thrust the cash box. Then he paused.

Instead of closing the safe, he examined the velvet case.

Lucien slid his fingers across its lid and then released the catch. The lid sprang open, revealing glittering jewelry. Things that had belonged to his mother. Even when Father had faced debtors' prison, he hadn't been willing to part with them. After paying back all of his debts, he'd kept the jewels as Lucien's inheritance.

The necklace, earrings, and rings sparkled in the overhead gaslight, reflecting a warm glow as though lit from within. He lifted out his mother's ring to examine it more closely. It had a round diamond with three smaller marquise-cut emeralds on each side, arranged so that they resembled leaves. Father had worked with a jeweler to design the ring, and then he had given it to Mother as her wedding gift. It had meant the world to her.

Lucien slid the ring onto the tip of his index finger. The band was tiny. He had such large hands that it barely slid past the base of his fingernail. Someday, he knew, he'd give this same ring to his own bride. Would it fit her?

He imagined Tempy's small hands and realized that yes, the ring would probably fit. He smiled, pleased at the thought. As he pushed the ring back into its cushioned slot in the case, he froze.

Why had his thoughts immediately flown to Tempy when he contemplated his future wife? That was absurd.

Or was it?

He felt a flash of annoyance with himself. Of course it was. She obviously wanted Ernest. She'd wanted him her entire adult life. Surely that alone should convince Lucien to keep his distance.

But why? Hadn't the man already cast Tempy aside for Clarisse? That voided any claim he might have had upon Tempy's affections.

But there was also the sad truth that Tempy still wanted Ernest, despite his defection. She wanted that stupid, arrogant man who preferred form over substance. Lucien shook his head in disbelief.

Ernest was an imbecile.

But Tempy still wanted him. She wanted everything he represented. His family, his ties to her past, and, yes, even him. What right did Lucien have to deny her that? She was right. She had nobody else left in her life. She'd lost her mother as an infant and her father only a year ago. Even her governess had died unexpectedly in a train wreck. That left her with no one else but the Lipscombs. How could he take that away from her?

Yes, Lucien now had a title, but obviously she cared nothing for that. He had money, but that, too, held no appeal for Tempy since she'd already inherited vast wealth from her father. And Lucien would never be able to compete with Ernest when it came to family or a shared history.

And those things meant everything to her.

Lucien snapped the case closed, cutting the glittering diamonds off from their source of light. While still holding the case, he closed the door of the safe, spinning the lock to scramble the tumblers. Then he placed the velvet box in his carpetbag along with a few other important personal items he'd already packed. He would take his mother's box home and place it in his personal safe. The jewels would remain locked away.

He wondered if they'd ever feel the warmth of a woman's skin in his lifetime.

There was a knock at the door. Boothby pushed it open a crack and stuck his head inside the room. "Mr. Snowden is here. Shall I send him in?"

Lucien nodded as he closed his carpetbag, then stood.

The door opened fully and Boothby ushered John inside. It was hard to resist the man's beaming smile, and Lucien felt the corners of his mouth tug upward despite his foul mood.

"I don't think I've often seen you looking so happy," Lucien said, offering his hand.

John gripped it briefly before releasing it, and then he lifted his walking stick. "I even bought a new cane for the occasion." He twirled the long black walking stick around his fingers.

"Elegant. I like the silver handle and tip."

"And it holds a secret." John stopped his twirling and twisted the knob on the top, unscrewing it. He then upended the cane, and a glass vial slid from within a hollow interior space. "It has a steel tube inside that holds four glass vials."

"Don't tell me you have whiskey in there." Lucien chuckled. "Is that to celebrate your purchase of my casino?"

"You can't call it 'your casino' for much longer. It will be mine after tonight."

"Most certainly," Lucien replied. He'd been both anticipating and dreading this moment all day. Of course, selling was what he'd wanted, but once he signed the papers, there would be no turning back. He'd be stepping off a precipice into a new life, with no real ties to the past. "Have you had your lawyer review everything? Are you ready to sign?"

John nodded. "And more importantly, I'm convinced that there's nothing to that newspaper's allegations about you and your relationship with Miss Bliss. I investigated the man who wrote that article, and I'm not even willing to call him a journalist. He styles himself 'Earl E. Byrd', but its obviously a pseudonym. He's been making a living spreading baseless rumors and gossip for years now. Miss Bliss has been the focus of his scrutiny many times in the past, and his stories seem only loosely based on fact."

Lucien raised his brows. "Really? Do you think there's anything personal behind it?"

"Perhaps. He worked for Bliss Railways for a couple of years, so perhaps he holds some sort of grudge." John's gaze traveled around the room as he spoke, examining everything. "If that's the case, he's kept it well hidden, because I could find no evidence of it. But that's my theory. And I think his grudge has transferred over to Miss Bliss."

Lucien didn't like the idea that someone was intentionally targeting Tempy this way. "When did she become the target of all these articles?"

"Shortly after her father died. That supports my theory that the journalist transferred his vendetta from her father to her."

"Perhaps," Lucien said. "Or perhaps she she's been the target all along. Could someone be trying to make her stop writing?"

John shook his head doubtfully. "None of the articles have mentioned it. Byrd seems to focus more on her status as the 'poor little rich girl'. I'd swear the man never met her. He makes her seem feckless and spoiled. You know Tempy. She's nothing like that."

Lucien scratched the back of his head, perplexed. "It's quite the mystery. You've given me some clues to ponder. I'll look into it further. Perhaps I'll be able to see some clue that's been overlooked."

"Does that mean you're planning to stay here longer?" John glanced around the office. "It doesn't look as though you're ready to vacate the premises. You haven't even packed away any of your personal items."

"There's very little I plan to take with me. Only what's inside that," Lucien said, gesturing toward the carpetbag. "As I said, I'm selling you everything."

John frowned at the bag. "That's not much for a lifetime's work."

Lucien shrugged. "I have a great deal of work waiting for me. I intend to make each of my estates completely self-sustaining. I also have some plans to help improve the surrounding regions. I can't cling to my past. If I do that, I'll never be able to embrace my future."

"You've always had a glib way of speaking, I'll grant you that. You go ahead and
embrace your future
. I suppose I'm doing the same thing, leaving my time in the military behind. It just sounds better the way you say it."

They sat at the desk, and Lucien claimed his customary chair. As he stared at his old friend, he was hit with the sudden realization that the next time they sat across from each other in this room, their positions would be reversed. He also realized that he didn't mind.

Not in the least.

Lucien smiled. "Let's start signing." Now that the moment was upon him, he was eager to conclude business. Once the papers were signed, he could focus on his role in tonight's...well, he could only think of it as a farce. But he had a role to play. He'd be Clarisse's suitor for the evening, leaving Tempy free to pursue Ernest.

And tomorrow, he'd be off to his estate in Somerset, and Tempy would be back in the arms of the man of her dreams.

Just the way she wanted it.

31 - Tempy Seduces Ernest...

The carriage was ready.

She was ready.

Now she just needed to leave.

Tempy adjusted the low-cut bodice on her ice-blue dress. The sparkling rhinestones sewn onto the fabric made her glitter like an ice princess. She rubbed her cold fingers together to try to generate some warmth, but it felt like a fruitless exercise. After all, weren't ice princesses supposed to be cold?

At least her wrap and mantle were warm. Her wrap was of the same ice-blue satin, with a heavy, clattering fringe of rhinestones that moved like an effervescent liquid. Her dark blue velvet mantle covered her from shoulder to toe and hid the glittering ice of her dress from view.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Had the rhinestone pins she'd placed in her hair been too much? Mme Le Clair had been quite insistent about them, so she would bow to the woman's vast knowledge and experience in this area.

She had set herself on this track only a few short weeks ago, rushing headlong on a collision course toward tonight's encounter with Ernest. Millicent was right about her. Once she set her mind to a task, she was determined to complete it. Headstrong. That's what Father had called her. And stubborn to a fault.

Tempy hurried down the front steps of her home and climbed into her carriage. As she settled onto the cushions, she let out a frustrated sigh, irritated with herself for being so nervous. But everything depended on tonight. Her entire future would be determined based on how well she performed over the next few hours. On how well she'd learned to be a glittering, entrancing seductress.

Well, perhaps not her
entire
future. There was, of course, the newspaper article she'd completed and sent to Mr. Dickens that afternoon. No matter what happened tonight with Ernest, she could still be proud of the article published in Dickens's prestigious paper.

Her research had taken her in a different direction than she'd anticipated, but it was a direction that provided an even deeper insight into the problem of gambling than she'd first anticipated. She'd even been able to track down poor Mr. Mall's former fiancée. And, wonder of wonders, the woman had agreed to speak with her, as long as her name wasn't used, of course. No true lady would want her name mentioned in the newspaper.

Tempy smiled as she remembered her governess's admonition. "A gently bred woman should only have her name in the paper on three occasions: at her birth, upon her marriage, and at her death." Tempy had broken that old maxim so many times by using her real name in her newspaper byline that the warning had nearly faded away into dim memory. Mr. Mall's former fiancée's comment had brought the rule rushing back.

For some reason, tonight she wasn't in the mood to compose newspaper headlines, even though they normally helped calm her nerves. Why was that? Usually, creating headlines helped her relax, but tonight's endeavor seemed different.