‘Alice, you’re a wonder!’
‘I am, indeed,’ Alice teased. ‘Now, come on, get yourself moving, girl.’ She turned to leave.
‘Just before we go through...’ Sara put a hand on her arm. ‘The gaming evening at Dryden’s, the one I told you about last week.’
‘It is still on, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Sara smiled and gave a nod, but there was a slight look of unease in her eyes. ‘It’s just...well...I was talking to Fallingham about it last night and it seems that he’s invited Razeby.’
Razeby.
Just his name made Alice’s heart skip a beat.
Sara screwed up her face in an expression of awkward apology. ‘Sorry!’
‘What’s to be sorry about?’ Alice gave a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter to me whether Razeby’s there or not. I’ve already told you, it’s fine between us.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Alice reassured her.
‘I hope so, or it’s going to be an awfully uncomfortable evening.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that, honestly.’ Such confidence. Truly worthy of her best performance upon the stage.
Sara smiled her relief.
‘Now come on.’ Alice slipped her arm through Sara’s. ‘Kemble will be wondering where on earth we’ve got to. Better make sure you dazzle him with that new hairstyle of yours.’
Sara gave a giggle as the two of them hurried from the dressing room towards the Green Room, to dazzle and sparkle, to tease and entice. But beneath all of Alice’s air of glamour and charm was the constant knowledge that tomorrow would bring Dryden’s and a night spent gaming with Razeby.
Chapter Eight
D
ryden’s Gambling Palace was busy. It was a luxurious affair that rivalled Watier’s, with tables to cater to every taste and every pocket. The top room had a chandelier reputed to have real diamonds amongst its glass. Entry was by invitation only and the stakes could stretch to match the highest in all of London.
The room was spacious, airy, the walls papered in plum-coloured paper embellished with real gold patterning. The floor was tiled in marble imported from Italy, black and gold to match that of the blinds that masked the windows. There were no footmen, only the prettiest girls dressed up in footmen’s livery who served free drinks to the men who came here to game.
Along the full length of one wall was a bar that housed any drink a man might desire, whatever the time of day. On the opposite side was an enormous Palladian-style fireplace of black marble. The walls themselves were hung with expensive works of art depicting Rubenesque women and wondrous exotic landscapes. But no clocks. Not a single one.
A champagne fountain flowed in the centre of the room, the filled glasses from which were being served and replenished all around. There was a faro table in one corner, casino in another, and tables for
vingt-et-un,
hazard and piquet in between. In the furthest corner a whist table catered for the more elderly gentlemen or the few ladies who ever dared enter this hallowed place. Women of the
demi-monde
were a different story.
Alice stood with Sara looking over the men seated round the
vingt-et-un
table. Razeby was not here and Alice felt a curious mix of both relief and disappointment at his absence.
‘Do you play tonight, ladies?’ drawled Monteith.
‘I’m here only as Fallingham’s good-luck charm,’ said Sara, stepping up close behind the chair at which Fallingham was already seated and resting her hands upon his shoulders in an intimate fashion. Alice watched while the viscount lifted one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it. The display of charm and affection reminded her too much of Razeby, making her feel awkward. The smile felt stiff upon her mouth.
‘Somehow, gentlemen, I feel my luck is in tonight whatever chances to happen upon this table,’ Fallingham said in a playful tone.
Sara’s smiled deepened and Monteith and several of the men smiled in that knowing way.
Alice swallowed her discomfort and glanced away.
‘And what about you, Miss Sweetly?’ Monteith raised an eyebrow. ‘Which one of us lucky gentlemen will be fortunate enough to have you act as our charm this evening?’ There was speculation and interest in his eyes, in Frew’s, and too many of the other men’s. She knew what playing the part of any of their lucky charms in this place would entail and she would be damned if she would do that, no matter that she wanted to prove that Razeby meant nothing to her. Flirtation was one thing, an illusion of sparkling enticement, but an illusion just the same. She could not go so far as to let any of them actually touch her.
‘Oh, I’m my own lucky charm,’ she said smoothly. ‘I play tonight, Your Grace.’
She saw the stir of interest around the table, the way they liked that idea.
Monteith smiled, as if amused by both the double meaning of her words and her challenge. ‘Do you need anyone to...refresh your memory as to the rules?’ He put it so delicately, but she knew what he was thinking, that she had no idea how to play a serious game of cards.
‘No, thank you, Your Grace. I think I can remember them.’
They smiled at her indulgently.
As if she could ever forget. Razeby had taught her the trick behind stacking the odds in your favour of winning in
vingt-et-un
—the way to count and memorise the cards. It was a game that they had liked to play often. A game that they had played not for money, but for the removal of their clothes. Razeby always said that the excellence of her memory made her a natural at it—either that or a desire to have him stripped naked before her.
The last time they had played it had been only three weeks ago and they had ended up making love on the dining-room table on top of the forgotten scattered cards. The memory made her heart skip a beat and brought a slight blush both of anger and embarrassment to her cheeks. She thrust it away and took her seat beside Fallingham.
The
vingt-et-un
dealer, dressed in the smart black-and-gold livery of the gaming house, sat in the middle of the other side of the table. There were empty chairs on either side of him, one of which would not have been empty had Razeby been here. She felt a slight sense of pique at his absence, part of her wanting him to see this proof of how little he had affected her.
‘The house rules apply. Are you ready to begin, gentlemen...and Miss Sweetly?’ The dealer smiled politely at her.
There was common agreement.
‘Then we shall commence.’
Alice kept her eyes on his hands as he dealt a card to each of them and himself last of all, before dealing a second card in a repeat of the process.
‘Not too late, am I, gentlemen?’
The smooth velvet voice stroked all the way down her spine. A voice she knew too well, which the mere memory of could set her skin a-tingle and her heart racing. Alice froze in that moment, her heart skipping a beat before setting off at a thunderous tilt. She forced herself to breathe, to stay calm, to focus. And only then did she raise her eyes to look at Razeby, at the very same minute his eyes met hers.
There was the tiniest of moments—that catch of time, that ripple of tension. And then he bowed smoothly. ‘Miss Sweetly.’
‘Lord Razeby,’ she replied politely, as if all of the previous six months had never been. Round the table every pair of eyes looked not at the cards upon the table but at Alice and Razeby.
She had prepared herself for seeing him this time, she reminded herself. And she
was
a very good actress. She breathed, calmed herself, smiled.
‘Miss Sweetly decided to play tonight,’ Monteith said, the unnecessary explanation a subtle message to Razeby, as if Alice would not understand.
Her eyes met Razeby’s, a silent comment upon Monteith’s transparent and wasted subtlety passing between them. She remembered what she had come here to do and she smiled at him, a smile that only he would understand.
He knew her challenge. Accepted it by selecting the chair directly opposite her to take his seat.
‘I hope you have deep pockets tonight, Razeby,’ she said.
All the men laughed, not appreciating the full depth of her tease.
But Razeby did. ‘Perhaps not deep enough,’ he said. She could see it in his eyes as they met hers, knew it for certain with his next words. ‘Maybe we should lower the minimum stake on account of Miss Sweetly’s playing.’
There were murmurs of assent as the men around the table mistook his meaning. They all thought it was because, otherwise, she would be out after the first few hands.
‘Afraid, Razeby?’ She arched an eyebrow, and held his gaze boldly, all the while letting the small smile still play around her mouth.
‘My concern is all for you, Miss Sweetly.’
She smiled at that, a smile of genuine amusement, and only then released his gaze, so that she could place a counter onto the green baize.
Bullford looked at the size of her stake, then leaned to her, a look of concern on his face. ‘I say, Miss Sweetly, you have played before?’
‘Once or twice. But, I admit, not usually for money,’ she said carelessly, and could not resist flitting a glance at Razeby. His eyes were on hers, deep and intent. He was remembering all the times they had played when it had not been for money.
Bullford lowered his voice a little. ‘Razeby is considered something of a shark when it comes to
vingt-et-un.
Perhaps he did not tell you.’
She smiled at Bullford in a wickedly flirtatious way, knowing that Razeby was watching, then leaned in closer to him as if they were two conspirators. ‘I thank you for the warning, my lord.’ Then to Razeby, ‘I hear you have something of a reputation when it comes to
vingt-et-un.
’
‘I make no such claim.’ His voice was soft, his manner subdued, his eyes sharply watchful.
‘If you do not wish to play, Razeby...’ The same words with which she had teased him on a hundred nights before.
‘I do want to play, Miss Sweetly.’ His eyes darkened ever so slightly as he gave the same reply he always had done.
Like two players in a script full of secret meanings to which only Razeby and Alice held the key.
She felt the tension tighten between them.
His eyes flicked to the dealer. ‘Deal me in.’
Two cards came his way.
His eyes held Alice’s. ‘I hope you know what you are doing, Miss Sweetly.’
‘Oh, I know all right, Lord Razeby,’ she said softly. ‘You needn’t worry about that.’
‘In that case...let us play.’ He smiled.
And she returned the smile. A real smile. It was impossible not to. Despite everything.
* * *
After fifteen rounds, only four of them remained in the game—Monteith, Devlin, Razeby and herself. Monteith and Devlin were almost out of counters. The pile of counters in front of Alice was only marginally larger than that in front of Razeby. Men had wandered over from the other tables to watch the play so that a small crowd now surrounded them.
The sixteenth hand was dealt.
For all her laughter and sparkle and feigned joviality, all evening Alice had been watching the cards very carefully, memorising who held what, the cards that had gone from the pack and therefore, by default, those that remained. It was an easy enough task when she could hold the whereabouts of three packs in her head at any given time.
Razeby was rolling a counter within his hand. ‘Fifty pounds.’ He threw a pile of ten counters into the centre of the table.
She swallowed at the enormity of the bet.
Monteith glanced down at his three remaining counters and shook his head. ‘Too high. Out.’
All eyes moved to Alice. She stayed calm, relaxed, still. Leaned back in her chair and met Razeby’s warm brown eyes.
His gaze seemed to stroke against hers as he waited with everyone else for what she would do.
She smiled. ‘Fifty pounds.’ She matched the stake with ten counters of her own.
Monteith gave a chuckle. ‘You do not frighten her, Razeby.’
She did not let herself think of the sums of money with which they were playing. Enough to last a poor man a lifetime. If her mother knew just how much money was on that table being gambled away...! Alice pushed the thought away, focused her mind. Money or clothes, in the end the game was just the same, if she kept her nerve.
Razeby did not so much as raise an eyebrow. He stayed cool, impassive. Just the hint of a smile upon his face.
Devlin met the stake. But when they turned over their cards Devlin lost his counters and was forced to bow out of the game, leaving only Alice, Razeby and the dealer to play the seventeenth hand.
The dealer dealt each of them their two cards.
It was Alice who was to set the stake this time. She met Razeby’s gaze. Their eyes held, each knowing the other’s strengths and weaknesses in this game. A test of nerve, a test of so much more.
Never let them see how much they’ve hurt you.
She smiled, hearing the words from so long ago in her head. Hurt just made you stronger. She did not let her gaze drop from his, held it as boldly as she had done that first night in the Green Room before he had been hers, and she, his. Held it and did not let it go.
‘All in, two hundred pounds,’ she said, and pushed all of her counters forwards.
The gasp rippled round the table.
‘Good Lord,’ she heard Fallingham mutter.
Beside her, Bullford produced a handkerchief and mopped at his brow.
The whole room was tense, poised for the next step. They stared at Razeby to see what he would do.
His eyes met hers again.
The attraction, the affinity that had always been between them was still there, stronger than ever. Powerful. Dangerous. Beguiling.
‘As you will, Miss Sweetly,’ he murmured, and pushed all of his counters in to match hers.
Not a single voice spoke, not a glass sounded. Even the serving maids stopped where they were and stared to see what would happen.
The dealer’s voice broke the silence. ‘Lord Razeby...’
Razeby looked his cards. ‘Stick.’ He smiled at her.
‘Miss Sweetly?’ the dealer prompted.
She lifted her own, glanced down at them. ‘Twist.’
The dealer dealt her a third card.
‘Twist again.’
A fourth card came her way.
‘And again if you’d be so kind, sir.’
There was a murmur of voices all around.
The dealer looked at Razeby. ‘Please show, Lord Razeby.’
There was a craning of necks to see as Razeby laid his cards down on the table.
‘Queen of hearts, king of hearts. Twenty,’ the dealer’s voice intoned.
There was an irony in both cards. She wondered if Razeby realised it, too. That deep dark look in his eyes was so full of meanings that she could not tell.
‘Please show, Miss Sweetly.’
Everyone looked at Alice as she laid the five cards down on the green baize: ace of hearts, two of hearts, three of spades, five of diamonds, queen of diamonds.
‘Five-card trick,’ said the dealer.
The buzz of excited voices spread throughout the room around them, followed by a silence as the dealer turned over his own cards. A ten and a seven. He added another from the pile—the six of clubs. ‘Bust.’ He cleared the cards with one smooth movement of his hand. ‘Miss Sweetly wins.’
‘Congratulations, Miss Sweetly.’ Razeby was magnanimous in defeat, his dark gaze lingering on hers.
‘Thank you, Lord Razeby,’ she said with an innocence that belied the look in her eye.
‘Alice, I cannot believe your luck tonight!’ Sara exclaimed and hugged her, and the gentlemen clamoured excitedly all around.
‘I say, Miss Sweetly!’ Bullford was beaming by her side.
‘Congratulations, Miss Sweetly.’ Devlin was shaking her hand.
‘Well done!’ Frew took her hand next. ‘You have a lucky streak to rival Razeby’s.’