Gambling on a Scoundrel (7 page)

"Think nothing of it," he said. "I'm glad I was there to help." With the sunlight shining into the carriage, Lucien could see that her eyes were green, just as he'd guessed. Green with little flecks of gold. "Our mutual friend highly recommends you, and I trust her judgment."

"You can't know how much that relieves me. You've been quite kind."

He waved her continued apologies away. "I didn't know where you lived, so my coachman is taking us to my casino. Would you prefer an alternate destination?"

"I'd prefer my own home," she said, and then rattled off her street name.

As soon as she said it, Lucien realized he'd already known where she'd lived. Everyone knew about the Bliss residence and the enormous statue of a train that Mr. Bliss had erected in the green space across from it.

Lucien opened the small window and leaned his head out. "Higgs, we'll take the young lady home." After repeating the location, he pulled his head back inside and closed the window. "We'll have you there in five minutes. I didn't realize you lived in Mayfair. Your street is in a nice area."

"Yes. I've always found it so." She shifted in her seat to look out her window, and he watched her profile as she chewed at her bottom lip. She frowned and glanced at him. "Why do men cheat?"

"What?"

"I said, why do men cheat?" She stared at him, clearly expecting an answer.

"Because they like to win, and because they are greedy. Is that what your article is about?"

She looked at him blankly. "What? No. Not that kind of cheating. The other kind."

The other kind? "You mean, men whose affections wander?"

She nodded.

"Ah. I suspect this has something to do with that letter you snatched from the table yesterday. Is that what brought you to the docks today? A man who you believe cheated you?"

She looked away and turned a deep shade of pink. "No! It has nothing to do with any of that." A haughty look curled her upper lip into a charming sneer, as though her face was unaccustomed to making that sort of expression. She couldn't maintain the look for long, however, and her features soon smoothed out. "I need you to answer my question. I'd like a man's point of view."

Lucien shrugged in that Gallic way he'd perfected. It had never failed to annoy his grandfather. With fingers splayed, eyebrows raised, and lower lip jutting out just slightly, he communicated his disavowal of any knowledge regarding the subject at hand. "Perhaps he was bored. Perhaps he wanted to feel better about himself. I don't know the man."

"There is no man. This is purely an academic question."

"Ah." It was obvious that she was lying, but Lucien saw no reason to argue the point.

Miss Bliss leaned closer to the window. "We're almost there. I recognize this street." She noticed her reticule on the seat and picked it up, giving him a grateful smile as she slid its string handle around her wrist. "I didn't get to thank you for allowing me to visit your casino."

"Think nothing of it," he said, pleased that he could offer her this bit of assistance. "As I explained to Millicent, it's no problem to have you visit and interview the staff when we're closed."

"Closed?" Miss Bliss's voice squeaked. "But that won't do at all. I need to observe your patrons. How can I do that if I come in when you're closed?"

He shook his head. "That's as far as I'm willing to bend. I can't allow you to bother my patrons. They come to Hamlin House to relax and enjoy themselves and I don't want a reporter vexing them."

"Oh, but Mr. Hamlin. It isn't like that at all," she said, twisting the fabric of her reticule with white-gloved hands. "If you'd allow me to explain, I'm sure you'd change your mind."

Lucien didn't like the expression on Miss Bliss's face. She looked desperate, and that couldn't be good. The moment the carriage pulled to a halt, Lucien opened the door.

He'd rather not be trapped inside the carriage with this woman in her current emotional state. He had the distinct impression that he'd just dealt Miss Bliss an unexpected blow, and it left him feeling like a cad.

Lucien jumped down from the carriage and turned to face her through the open door. "This happens to be a particularly inopportune time for a reporter to visit." He took her hand and helped her step down from the carriage.

As Miss Bliss's foot touched the pavement, she stumbled slightly, and Lucien immediately wrapped his arm around her waist so that she wouldn't fall. As soon as she seemed to be steady on her feet, he withdrew his support.

The door of her stately home flew open and a man who appeared to be her butler hurried outside. Relief washed through Lucien. The sooner he could transfer the care of Miss Bliss to those who could help her, the better.

Despite his obvious concern for his employer, the butler shot Lucien an expression of shocked disapproval. Apparently he wasn't accustomed to seeing his mistress arrive home in the company of a strange man. That only served to confirm Lucien's impression of her as an ingénue.

"Please assist Miss Bliss," Lucien said brusquely, taking a step back to distance himself from her. "She had a fall and hit her head. She might be concussed."

The butler paled and rushed forward to offer his arm for support but Miss Bliss hardly seemed to notice him as she kept her gaze pinned on Lucien.

"Please, Mr. Hamlin. You don't understand," she pleaded. "If I can't visit your casino, I won't be able to write my article."

Lucien frowned as he shook his head. "Under different circumstances I might have allowed you access, but it's not possible right now."

"But you're the owner," she said, looking confused. She pressed her hand against her forehead as though she were suffering from a headache. "Surely you could allow me to visit. You're in charge of everything that happens there."

"That's the point, Miss Bliss. I
am
in charge." He bowed slightly and touched the brim of his hat. "Good day, Miss Bliss."

Although he'd done the right thing for his casino, that didn't keep him from feeling as though he'd kicked an innocent child. It took a great deal of fortitude for him to ignore Miss Bliss's continued pleading and climb back into his carriage, but he did.

As the carriage moved down the street, the sound of her voice faded in his ears, but it continued to echo in his heart, leaving him feeling like the worthless cur his grandfather had always believed him to be.

7 - Mr. Dickens

Tempy's breathing became labored and it rasped in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. The ground slid under her feet as she hurried down the hill.

Gravel.

Now she could hear it crunching and rattling as bits of it skittered downhill ahead of her, racing her to the large expanse of water below.

The steamship was there, preparing to depart. She knew her father was already on board. Why hadn't he waited for her at the house? Why had he left without her?

Tempy could barely make out his figure as he stood on the deck of the ship and gazed uninterestedly at the shore.

At her.

Still running toward the ship, Tempy threw her hands up and began waving frantically, trying to draw his attention.

At first, Tempy was afraid her father didn't notice her, but then his gaze drifted up to focus on the hill.

On her.

Thank goodness. Father wouldn't let the ship depart without her.

But then she noticed a flurry of movement among the dockworkers. With a jolt of panic, Tempy realized that they were casting off the lines that kept the ship tethered to shore.

"No!" shouted Tempy. "Wait for me!"

Despite her shouts, nobody else on board the ship turned to look at her. Her father's gaze didn't alter. He continued to stand without moving, watching her run toward the ship.

Tempy pushed herself to move faster. She was desperate to narrow the gap. Desperate to reach her father. But her burst of energy didn't help. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn't close the distance between them.

A glimmer of water appeared between the ship and the shore.

It was leaving.

Leaving without her.

"Father, don't go!" Tempy's voice was the only sound that existed, and it seemed to reverberate around her. It grew, becoming a boom that should have left everyone aboard ship deaf.

But her father turned his head away from her, as if responding to another person's voice. She saw a flicker of motion next to him and then Ernest was there, standing with her father, with his bright blond hair fluttering in the breeze.

"Stop!" she shouted. "Don't leave me here all alone!" But this time, her voice didn't seem to have the same strength. It was as if the air itself swallowed the sound, muffling it in a featherbed.

Her father gestured in her direction and Ernest spotted her. He grinned broadly and waved at her.

He waved goodbye.

Then Ernest's family gathered around him, all waving cheerfully at her.

How could they look so happy? So excited? "Don't go!" she shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "I want to go with you!"

Ernest's sister, Emily, looked confused for a moment. Had Tempy's pleading words reached her? Emily seemed on the verge of saying something to Ernest, but her mother pulled her away. Emily turned her back on Tempy and allowed Mrs. Lipscomb to draw her inside the ship's cabin.

The breadth of water between shore and ship grew larger and larger. By the time Tempy reached the water's edge, no one was there. The workers had all disappeared. In fact, the dock had disappeared as well.

The ship was shrinking in the distance. Tempy couldn't make out the faces of the people standing on deck any longer, and when she looked around, she realized she stood alone on the shore of an uninhabited island.

"Help!" Tempy cried. "Won't someone help me?"

Tempy heard the splash of oars and turned to see a stream she hadn't noticed before. It emptied out into the ocean not far from where she stood. There was a man in the little boat. Actually it was little punt, like the ones she'd ridden along the Thames.

With a glimmer of hope, Tempy ran toward it, but she wasn't fast enough because the stream became a river as it reached the ocean and the little punt picked up speed. It almost seemed to fly past her, and in just a moment it was bobbing in the ocean, just yards away from her.

"Help me!" she called to the oarsman.

At the sound of her voice, the man turned to look at her, and Tempy was shocked to recognize Mr. Dickens.

He'd help her. Of course he would.

"Mr. Dickens, I need your help," she said as politely as possible. "Could you please row me out to that ship? My father and my fiancé are on it, and I need to join them."

Mr. Dickens smiled broadly. "I can do even better," he called back. "I'll lay a path for you."

He reached into the bottom of the boat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Licking his forefinger, he plucked the top sheet from the stack and carefully laid it on the surface of the ocean. He then grabbed the oars, pulled on them to move the boat a little farther away from her, paused, plucked another sheet from the stack, and laid it on the water. "There you go!" he shouted, clearly very pleased with himself. "I'll lay the path and you can walk there yourself."

Tempy stared at the rectangle of paper floating on the flat, waveless ocean. "But how? Won't I sink?"

"Sink? Why would you sink?" Mr. Dickens asked as he let another sheet of paper drift down and land on the water.

She would, wouldn't she? She reached out her foot to test the solidity of the paper, and the white sheet sank beneath the water. "It won't hold me."

"You have to commit," Mr. Dickens said, speaking slowly as though talking to a rather slow child. "Just step on."

Tempy inhaled sharply and held her breath for a moment. She slowly released it as she closed her eyes and placed her foot on the paper...

and she sank like a stone to the bottom of the ocean.

Tempy's eyes flew open as she took a gasping breath of air. She was in her room. In bed...not under the ocean. Even now, she realized that the heavy weight of the water pressing against her was fading.

Or rather, it was now centered on her chest.

She focused on a spot just a few inches above her breastbone where Osiris, her cat, was perched on her chest, his two front feet poking into her ribs just below her heart. He peered into her face with what seemed to her to be a self-satisfied cat smirk and bumped his forehead against hers.

She pulled him against her and pressed her face in his soft white fur. He permitted her embrace for only a moment, and then pulled away.

"I suppose you think it's time for me to wake up and pet you."

Now that his mission of waking her was complete, Osiris ignored her. He walked away, tail held high, and jumped to the floor.

Tempy sighed and then noticed that her face was wet. She must have been crying, she realized, and vaguely recalled something about trying to walk across the ocean on sheets of paper.

What an odd dream. And Mr. Dickens had been in it.

Tempy sat bolt upright in her bed. Mr. Dickens! She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was nine o'clock, she saw with relief. She flopped back against her feather pillows. She wasn't late. The meeting wasn't until eleven, which meant she had plenty of time dress and review her notes.

Her thoughts wandered back to yesterday's encounter with Mr. Hamlin, like a tongue worrying at a sore tooth. Yesterday her thoughts had bounced back and forth from Ernest's behavior on the docks to Mr. Hamlin's refusal to allow her to speak to any of his patrons. Whenever one topic became too painful or frustrating to ponder, she'd switched to the other, but she hadn't been able to find a resolution to either problem.