Regency Reputation: A Reputation for Notoriety / A Marriage of Notoriety
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And he was no fool.
She’d already decided to give him her true name. Her maiden name.
She extended her gloved hand. ‘I am Celia Allen, sir.’
It pleased her to be Celia Allen again. The surname was common enough and her father minor enough that no one would connect the name to Lord Gale’s widow.
He took her hand, but held it rather than shake it. ‘Miss Allen or Mrs Allen?’
She pulled her hand away. ‘Miss Allen.’
Rhys felt the loss of her hand as if something valuable had slipped through his fingers. With this first glimpse of her face, he wanted her more than ever.
She reminded him of a deer with her long regal neck and alert-but-wary eyes that were the colour of moss at twilight. She seemed wrong for the city. She was meant for the country, for brisk walks in fresh country air. The bloom in her cheeks, the hue of wild raspberry of her lips looked out of place in London.
But he was becoming distracted.
And much too poetic.
He could almost hear Xavier’s voice in his head, admonishing him to keep his focus on the gaming house. He would tell his friend later about employing her—not of almost kissing her—both had been too impulsive to meet the approval of his friend.
Not that Rhys cared if his zealously protective friend approved of his employing Miss Allen. Or of wanting her in his bed.
He fixed his gaze on her again. To call her Miss Allen seemed wrong to him. He had no wish to be so formal with her.
‘Will you object if I address you as Celia?’ he asked. ‘You may call me Rhys.’
She coloured.
Her discomfort made him wonder. A woman of the theatre would expect the presumption of intimacy of using given names.
She paused before answering. ‘If you wish it.’ She met his eyes. ‘Not in the gaming house, though.’
Clever of her. ‘Of course not. You are exactly right. No one must know you are in my employ. They will suspect us of manipulation.’
‘Manipulation?’ Her lovely brows knit in anxiety.
‘I hire you because your presence in the gaming house encourages patrons—men—to gamble. You are not expected to do anything different from what you were doing before.’
She nodded.
He leaned closer and put his hand on her wrist. ‘That is not my only reason for hiring you, however—’
A knock at the door interrupted. She slipped her hand away and Rhys straightened in his chair.
MacEvoy entered with the tea tray, managing to give her an un-servant-like look-over. Undoubtedly Rhys would hear Mac’s assessment of the lady later.
‘Shall I pour?’ She looked rattled. ‘How do you take your tea?’
‘No milk, no sugar.’ He’d accustomed himself to drinking tea that way from times when he could not afford milk and sugar. It pleased him that he did not need those inconsequential trappings of wealth.
He gestured to MacEvoy to leave.
MacEvoy closed the door behind him and Celia handed Rhys his cup of tea.
He lifted the cup and took a sip.
Perhaps it was for the best that Mac had interrupted him. His desire for her was making him move too quickly. When he got close, he sensed her alarm, another clue that his theory about her identity might be wrong.
He changed the subject. ‘I should explain something else about your employment here.’
She gave him her attention.
‘Some time ago, before I owned this gaming house, a woman came here in disguise to play cards. It is where I got the idea to set up the place as a masquerade.’ He waved that tangent away. ‘But no matter. About this woman. She created a stir. Men were taking wagers on who would be the first to unmask her.’ He paused. ‘And who would be first to seduce her. Men came and gambled merely for the chance to win the wager.’
She paled. ‘You wish me to offer myself as some sort of prize?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No, indeed. I am merely warning you. Some men who come to gamble may ask more of you than merely to partner them in a game of whist.’
Her eyes narrowed in calculation. ‘Like that man who so distressed you last night?’
Westleigh, she meant.
His voice hardened. ‘Yes. Men like him.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I will be near if any men ill treat you. Do not hesitate to alert me or Xavier. We will protect you.’
She put her hand on her heart and glanced away.
He took another sip of tea. ‘You are a good card player. And that is all that is required of you. None the less, your feminine allure will attract admirers.’
‘Feminine allure?’ She looked surprised.
How puzzling. Did she not know she was alluring?
‘You are a beguiling mystery. A lovely young woman who knows how to play cards. You will—you do—attract men. Men will want to partner you, play against you, sit next to you.’ He gave her another direct look. ‘But they must not cross the line of proper behaviour. If they do, you must let me know.’
She became absorbed in stirring her tea. Finally she answered. ‘If such a thing should happen, I will let you know.’
He became even more convinced he’d been wrong about her being an actress. If not someone connected to the theatre, who was she?
‘May I know more of you, Celia Allen?’
She turned wary again, like a deer about to bound away. ‘There is nothing else I can tell you.’
He must not push her further. He would learn about her in due time, he resolved. Even though he knew solving the mystery of her would not diminish his desire.
She placed her teacup on the table. ‘The terms of payment are what we agreed upon last night?’
He nodded, regretting the conversation turning businesslike. The desire to taste her lovely lips grew more difficult to resist. ‘One pound per night, plus all your winnings. I stake you one hundred pounds, which you will return if you win. I will forfeit if you lose.’
She stood. ‘I will try not to lose.’
‘I know you will try not to lose. You are a true gamester.’ He rose with her. ‘Chance sometimes does not favour us, though, Celia. You will lose. At hazard or faro, at least, but those losses will come directly to me, so I do not credit them. Play all the hazard and faro you like. At whist or vingt-et-un I suspect you are skilled enough to win most of the time.’
‘I hope I do not disappoint.’ Her lips formed a tremulous smile. ‘For both our sakes.’
That was another thing. Why did she need money so urgently?
She pulled on her gloves. ‘I will try to come to the gaming house as many nights as I am able.’
What might keep her away? She was one mystery after another, even without her mask.
‘Good.’ He adopted her businesslike tone. ‘When you arrive, stop at the cashier. He will be instructed to provide you your stake.’
‘Is there anything else?’ she asked. ‘I must leave now.’
‘One thing more.’ He extended his hand. ‘We must shake on our agreement.’
Slowly she placed her hand in his. He liked the feel of her long graceful fingers and strong grasp.
He drew her closer to him, just short of an embrace. ‘I am glad of our partnership, Celia Allen,’ he murmured, his lips inches from hers.
Her eyes widened. The deer wished to bolt, he feared.
He released her and she started towards the door.
‘Will I see you tonight?’ he asked.
She reached the door and turned. ‘If I can manage it.’
He let her walk out on her own, but when he heard the front door close, he stepped to the window and held the curtain aside to watch her.
She paused for a moment on the pavement, as if getting her bearings. Seeming to collect herself suddenly, she walked down the street with purpose.
He watched until he could see her no more.
‘I’ll solve the mystery of you, Miss Celia Allen,’ he said aloud. ‘And I will see you in my bed.’ He dropped the curtain. ‘Soon.’
Celia gulped in air and tried to quiet her jangling nerves. Taking one more quick breath, she hurried away.
God help her, being with Rhysdale excited her even more than the prospect of gambling without losing her own money. What was wrong with her?
She’d had no experience with men—other than Gale, that is. Rhysdale looked as if he wanted to try to kiss her again, but she could not be sure. He’d called her alluring, but had he meant it?
Gale had poured on pretty compliments at first, when he’d been courting her. He’d obviously not meant them. How was she to know if Rhysdale spoke the truth?
She paused.
Why was she even thinking this way?
Her task was not to become enthralled with the handsome owner of the gaming house. He was blowing her off course, robbing her of the power to think straight. She must never allow another man any power over her. Not emotionally. Certainly not legally. Never would she marry again and become the property of a man, legally bound to his every whim.
Once had been enough.
Rhys represented a different sort of bondage, one that captured her thoughts and senses. She had no idea how to cope with the temptation to allow his kiss, to allow what was simmering below the surface to burst forth and consume her.
All Celia needed to do was return to the gaming house and play cards, but that presented another temptation. Rhys’s offer encouraged precisely what she should battle. She should eschew the cards and games, not throw herself into playing them. How did she know she would be able to escape when Rhys’s employment ended? Would she be able to stop gambling then, or would she become like her father, compelled to return to the tables against all good sense? Gambling might not be content to have merely killed her father and mother and ruined her young life; it could destroy her future, as well.
She started walking again, though her vision was blurred by the storm of thoughts inside her.
There would be no future at all for Adele unless Celia accepted this risk.
Adele was everything to her. The daughter she could never have, even though only a few years younger.
Rhysdale had given Celia this chance to secure Adele’s future and Celia must embrace it.
She quickened her pace.
All she needed to do was remain resolute. Resist temptation. Play cards and nothing else. What did she care what Rhys or any man thought?
He’d suggested that men might become attracted to her while she played cards with them. What utter nonsense. If anything, it was the mask and nothing more. The novelty of a disguised woman who liked to play cards.
Rhysdale, though, had seen her face. He’d still thought her alluring.
A frisson of pleasure raced through her. She closed her eyes and again stopped walking.
She was back to Rhysdale. He could so easily invade her thoughts.
How pitiful she was. The first time a man showed her any kindness she turned as giddy as a girl fancying herself in love with Lord Byron after reading Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.
Had Rhysdale been the reason she agreed to his proposition? Was he, not money, the reason she agreed to face the gambling demons again?
Chapter Six
That evening William Westleigh, Viscount Neddington, searched Lady Cowdlin’s ballroom as he had done every other entertainment he’d attended this Season.
He’d thought she was a vision when he first gazed upon her. Pale skin flushed with youth. Hair a shimmer of gold, its curls looking as artless as if she’d just stepped in from a breezy day. Lips moist and pink as a summer blossom.
She’d turned him into a romantic in an instant. He’d felt both exhilarated and weak when she’d allowed him to assist her in selecting wine at the musicale, but he’d lost her in the crowd afterwards.
He needed an introduction to her. If she appeared tonight—if he found her again—he’d beg someone to do the honours. He’d try his damnedest to dance with her and share supper with her.
Thinking of her was a welcome respite from worry over the finances, the estates, the welfare of his sister and mother. Those matters were largely out of his hands and under the control of his father at the moment.
Unless his father fulfilled the bargain they’d made with Rhysdale, they were about two weeks from disaster.
He walked the rooms of this ball three times without finding her, but it was early yet and guests continued to arrive.
‘The Lord Westleigh and Lady Westleigh,’ the butler announced.
Ned twisted away. He was too angry at his father to witness his joviality, as if he had not caused his family the extreme stress that currently plagued them. How his mother could walk at his father’s side foxed Ned.
Of course, she did not yet know how severely her husband had squandered their fortune.
If only the beauty he encountered at the musicale would walk in, Ned could momentarily free himself from thoughts of their troubles. He glanced around the room once again, looking everywhere but in the direction of his father.
The butler’s voice rang out again. ‘Lady Gale, Dowager Lady Gale and Miss Gale.’
Ned turned to the door.
It was she!
She stood a little behind two other ladies, one tall and as young as herself and the other certainly the dowager. This family was unknown to him, but the name Miss Gale now pressed into his mind like a hot iron brand.
She was as lovely as he remembered, this night donned in a pale pink gown that had some sort of sheer skirt over it that floated about her as she moved. Her lovely blonde hair was a mass of curls on top of her head and was crowned with pink roses.
As she and the other two ladies made their way to greet the host and hostess, she paused to scan the ballroom and caught him staring at her. He bowed to her and she smiled, ever so slightly, but enough for his hopes to soar.
Hope that he could find someone to present him to her. Hope that she was unattached. Hope that her smile meant she felt the same strong attraction to him that he felt towards her.
Ned kept her in view and occasionally he caught her eye again. But he’d seen no one of his acquaintance talking or dancing with her. The time neared for the supper dance and he was determined to partner her.
He marched over to the hostess. ‘Lady Cowdlin, may I beg a favour?’
‘A favour?’ She patted his hand. ‘Tell me what I might do for you.’
‘There is a young lady here …’ He paused. ‘I need an introduction.’
‘Who is it, my dear?’ She smiled.
‘I believe she is Miss Gale.’ He inclined his head in her direction.
‘Ah, I knew her mother. A lovely lady.’ Lady Cowdlin gave him a knowing look. ‘I understand, Neddington, that Miss Gale is worth five thousand at least—’
As if he cared a fig about that.
‘But she is not very grand. Her father was only a baron, you know. This is her first time in town and Edna—her grandmother—wants her to marry her cousin who inherited the title.’
That was not welcome news. ‘Who is her cousin? Do I know him?’
‘Luther Parminter. He is the son of her father’s cousin. I am certain you have seen him around London. Of course, now he is the new Baron Gale. He inherited, you see.’
Ned knew who the man was, but could not even count him an acquaintance. Now must he think of him as a rival?
Lady Cowdlin took his arm. ‘Come with me. Let us make this introduction forthwith.’
She brought him directly to where Miss Gale stood next to her grandmother’s chair. Lady Gale stood nearby.
Lady Cowdlin spoke to the dowager. ‘Ma’am, may I present this young man to you and the other ladies.’
The dowager looked up.
‘This is Lord Neddington.’ She turned to the younger Lady Gale, who looked upon him with a quizzical expression. ‘Lady Gale and Miss Gale.’ She nodded towards Ned. ‘Lord Neddington.’
Ned bowed. ‘Madams.’ He looked into the eyes he’d longed to see up close again. ‘Miss Gale.’
She lowered her long thick lashes and curtsied. ‘Lord Neddington.’
‘May I perform any service for you ladies?’ He glanced at Miss Gale. ‘Bring you some wine, perhaps?’
She coloured and looked even more lovely.
‘That is kind of you, young man.’ The Dowager Lady Gale smiled.
‘None for me, thank you,’ the younger Lady Gale said.
‘I will return directly.’ He hated to leave Miss Gale’s presence.
Ned quickly found a servant toting a tray of wine glasses. He took two and returned to the ladies.
When he handed a glass to Miss Gale, their fingers touched and his senses heightened.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she murmured.
He took a breath. ‘Are you engaged for the supper dance, Miss Gale?’
She lowered her lashes. ‘I am not.’
‘Adele,’ the Dowager Lady Gale broke in. ‘I have asked your cousin to claim you for that dance.’
‘But, Grandmama …’ she murmured.
The younger Lady Gale spoke up. ‘He did not ask Adele, though, Lady Gale. Let her decide.’ She turned to Miss Gale. ‘You do not want to sit out at a ball when you could dance, do you?’
Miss Gale smiled. ‘Indeed not.’
Lady Gale faced him. ‘Then it is settled.’
Ned peered at this woman who had just helped him engage the dance. He had the oddest notion that he’d seen her before.
Ned bowed. ‘I will return for the pleasure of dancing with you, Miss Gale.’ He walked away, hoping the supper dance would be announced very soon.
Celia noticed the change in Adele as she danced with Lord Neddington. The girl gave evidence of enjoying every dance and every partner, but never had such a dreamy look crossed her face as when she glanced at this man.
‘He is likely a fortune hunter,’ Celia’s mother-in-law commented.
‘Her dowry is respectable, nothing more,’ Celia responded. ‘Perhaps he just fancies her.’ That he visited gaming hells was Celia’s prime worry. She’d recognised him immediately.
‘Hmmph.’ The dowager frowned. ‘You ought not to have encouraged that young man, in any event. You know I am determined she should marry her cousin.’
Celia probably should not have encouraged Neddington. She’d done so only to oppose her mother-in-law. And because she’d seen the look in Adele’s eye, how much she wanted to dance with the man.
‘Luther shows very little interest in Adele, Lady Gale,’ Celia said.
Luther was the more likely fortune hunter.
Celia would not see Adele forced into a marriage, but could she allow Adele to marry a gambler? She had seen Lord Neddington at the gaming hell more than once. She could never recall seeing him play more than once or twice at hazard. He spoke to Rhysdale on occasion.
Rhysdale.
Rhys, he’d asked her to call him, although could she really think of him in such intimate terms? Her heart skipped at the mere thought of speaking his name aloud. Her name on his lips came back to her, as well as his smile and the way those lips touched the edge of his teacup.
And had almost touched hers.
She placed her hand over her heart.
She would see him tonight after the ball. And once again yield to the temptations of the gambling den, with no need to wager her own money. She felt a dangerous excitement at the prospect of playing cards with a hundred pounds to wager. Think how much she could win!
The Dowager Lady Gale’s voice broke through Celia’s thoughts. ‘You should have refused Neddington the supper dance. Now he will spend supper with her. That is entirely too much time.’
Her mother-in-law had a point.
Celia gazed in Adele’s direction. Adele was glowing with pleasure each time the figures joined her with Neddington. His face was filled with admiration.
Was this how young love appeared?
Celia had been given no chance to experience a youthful romance. She could not bear to take such joy away from Adele.
She turned to her mother-in-law. ‘Do not interfere, Lady Gale. Allow your granddaughter the pleasure of supper with an admirer.’
Lady Gale’s nostrils flared. ‘I’ve half a mind to fetch her to me for supper.’
Celia seized her arm with just enough pressure to make her point. ‘You will do no such thing. Do you hear me clearly?’
Lady Gale shrugged. ‘You are indeed a wretch, are you not?’
‘Interfere with Adele’s life and you will see what a wretch I can be.’
Celia’s conflicting wishes for Adele waged inside her. Let the girl choose her suitors. Let her fall in love with whom she wished. But not a man who would be cruel or thoughtless or more enamoured of gaming than of a wife and children. Celia had endured all of those.
Later that night Celia’s lady’s maid helped her get out of her ballgown and prepare to dress for the Masquerade Club. Celia sat at her dressing table, pulling pins from her hair so that they could fix it to fit under the new turban Younie had fashioned, to go with a new mask of white silk adorned with tiny seed pearls taken from one of her mother-in-law’s discarded gowns.
There was a knock on the door and Adele entered. ‘Celia, I saw the light under your door.’
Celia grabbed the new mask and hid it under her table. ‘I am still awake.’
Younie, new gown in hand, quickly retreated to the dressing room.
Adele flopped onto Celia’s bed. ‘I cannot sleep!’
Celia brushed out her hair. ‘What is the matter?’
Adele stretched and sighed. ‘Nothing is the matter! Everything is wonderful!’
‘What is so wonderful that you cannot sleep?’ Celia asked, although she was certain she knew.
‘I had such a lovely time at the ball. The best ever!’ Adele sat cross-legged. In her nightdress with her hair in a plait, she looked as young as when Celia first met her six years ago.
Celia smiled. ‘And to what do you attribute this pleasure?’
Adele wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I—I think I met someone I really like.’
Celia turned back to the mirror. ‘Lord Neddington?’
Adele’s reflection showed surprise. ‘How did you know?’
Celia kept brushing her hair. ‘A lucky guess, I suppose.’
‘He is so wonderful!’ She flopped back onto the bed. ‘And so handsome.’ She sat up again. ‘Do you not think he is handsome?’
‘I do,’ Celia agreed. ‘Very handsome.’
‘And very gentlemanly,’ Adele continued. ‘It was he who helped me procure the wine for you and Grandmama at the musicale. And tonight he fixed me the nicest plate at supper and gave me the choice of sitting with my friends. He was so agreeable, do you not think?’
‘Indeed.’ Celia had watched Neddington carefully and had seen nothing to object to in his manner towards Adele. It was his activity after the society events that concerned her.
Adele bounded off the bed and paced. ‘I do not know how I can sleep. Do you think he will call? I hope he will call. But I’m afraid Grandmama does not like him. Do you think she will send him away if he calls?’
Celia rose and hugged the girl. ‘She would not be so impolite.’ Celia would see to it.
Adele clung to her. ‘But she wants me to marry Cousin Luther and I do not even know him!’
‘Leave your grandmother to me. She will not interfere in your wishes.’ She loosened her hold on Adele and made the girl look into her eyes. ‘But know that neither your grandmother nor I would let you marry a man who was unsuitable.’
‘Lord Neddington is very suitable!’ Adele cried.
Celia hugged her again. ‘Indeed he seems to be, but you must not put your hopes beyond tomorrow. Merely hope he calls and, if he does, see if you still like him so well.’
‘I will like him tomorrow and the next day and the next,’ Adele cried. ‘But will he like me?’
Celia kissed her on the cheek. ‘Any man would be a fool not to fall heels over ears in love with you. But you should go to sleep now so you will not have dark shadows under your eyes tomorrow.’
Adele’s hands went to her cheeks. ‘Oh, my goodness, yes! I must look my very best.’ She kissed Celia and hugged her tightly. ‘Goodnight, Celia. I hope you sleep well.’