Gambling on a Scoundrel Read online

  Here was a woman who understood how to manipulate a man. A demimondaine. And quite a successful one too, judging by her appearance.

  This was exactly the sort of woman Tempy needed to meet.

  "Thank you for joining us, Miss Bliss," Mr. Hamlin said. "I'd like to introduce you to Madame Le Clair."

  The fact that the woman was French startled her. Clarisse Beaumont was French, and Tempy had suddenly developed an intense dislike for everyone from that country. But in this situation, she was willing to make an exception.

  Tempy smiled broadly as she moved closer to the woman and offered her hand. "It's a pleasure."

  Mme Le Clair hesitated for a moment, and then took Tempy's hand briefly in her own. She quickly withdrew it as though scalded. "Enchantée," she said, her eyes darting around the room and looking everywhere except at Tempy.

  "I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you," Tempy said. "I have so many things to ask you."

  "Are you certain you want to speak with me?" she asked. Her French accent was faint. "If this were to become known, there could be dreadful consequences for both of us. People would assume the worst."

  Tempy waived away the woman's concerns. "I'm sure it wouldn't be catastrophic."

  Mme Le Claire fixed her with a cold gaze. "Never underestimate the cruelty of England's upper classes. Once your reputation is ruined, you'll have no way to recover. It would be like trying to put spilled milk back into a pail."

  "That's why I arranged for you to meet in my office," Mr. Hamlin interjected. "Your reputation is safe here, and you can ask Mme Le Clair anything you want to know."

  "I understand that it would be reckless to be seen together, but I promise I'll be discreet," Tempy said.

  "Still, this might not be wise," Mme Le Claire said.

  "Where should I begin?" Tempy muttered, more to herself than to the others. "There's so much I want to learn. Not only for my article, but for myself."

  "Your article?" Mme Le Clair asked, stiffening. "Are you referring to a newspaper article?"

  Tempy nodded. "I'm writing about the effects of gambling and casinos on women."

  "I couldn't possibly allow you to use my name in an article such as that. I'm known for my discretion, and I refuse to allow my name to appear in print."

  "Oh, my, of course," Tempy said. "I never meant to suggest that I'd mention your name. Everything would remain anonymous. I want to inform my readers, not titillate them with gossip."

  Mme Le Clair shook her head. "I don't think I can take that risk."

  "I promise, I won't put you at risk," Tempy said, reaching out to touch the woman's forearm. "Don't you see? We're both taking a chance by meeting with each other. After all, if I were to break my promise and reveal you as a source, I would be opening myself up to criticism as well. Oh, please, Mme Le Clair. I need your help. I can't do this without you."

  The woman paused, looking doubtful. "You mentioned that you needed my help not just for the article, but for yourself. What did you mean by that?"

  Tempy felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and she turned away, putting a couple of paces between herself and Mme Le Claire. This was humiliating, but how could she get the help she needed if she wasn't willing to ask?

  She glanced at Mr. Hamlin, embarrassed to have him witness the exchange.

  When their eyes met, a look of comprehension crossed his face. He had been leaning against the edge of his desk as he observed them, but now he stood up straight, saying, "If you ladies will excuse me, there are some matters to which I must attend." He walked out the door, closing it behind him with a click.

  "Lucien has a talent for discretion," Mme Le Claire murmured.

  "That's good to know," Tempy said, and began pacing the length of the room. She wondered, briefly, at the woman's use of Mr. Hamlin's given name, but quickly squelched her curiosity since the question was irrelevant. "My personal life has been through a tremendous amount of upheaval recently, and Mr. Hamlin is aware of much of it." She glanced over at Mme Le Clair as she passed her. "I'm determined to make some changes in order to repair things."

  "What sorts of changes?"

  "Changes in myself." Tempy caught her lower lip between her teeth as she searched for the right words. "I've decided that I need to undergo a transformation in order to become the type of woman my former fiancé finds desirable. This," Tempy glanced over her shoulder as she made a gesture indicating her entire self, "won't do." As she neared the fireplace, she felt the heat emanating from it, and spun around to retrace her path toward a cooler part of the room.

  "What is it you wish to become?" Mme Le Clair asked, as her gaze followed Tempy's movements.

  "Someone elegant and in control. Someone more like you," Tempy said, gesturing toward the other woman. "Someone who knows what a man wants, or even better, knows how to tell him what he wants. That's what his new fiancée can do." Tempy increased her pace, taking longer strides. Moving this way helped keep her nervous energy under control.

  "So you want to learn the tricks of a courtesan, do you? And you think I can teach them to you? That's a rather ambitious goal. And I don't think it's one I'm suited to help you with. I think you may have misunderstood who, and what, I am."

  Tempy blushed. "I'm sorry. For someone who makes a living with words, you'd think I could speak more clearly. I'm sorry if I offended you. I did not assume you were a courtesan. But you have a lover, don't you? A wealthy one?"

  Mme Le Clair didn't say anything, but continued to stare at her coldly.

  "I'm sorry again. That was rude of me. But this is what I mean. It's why I need your help. I am unpolished and unable to make a man find me appealing, and I want to change. If you'd be willing to work with me...to help smooth out the rough edges..."

  "First of all, you must stop pacing," Mme Le Clair said, pressing her fingers to her temples as she closed her eyes. "The way you dart about the room makes me feel as though I'm watching a game of lawn tennis, and I've always found that particular entertainment tedious."

  Tempy stopped short, her insides vibrating with excitement. Was Mme Le Clair on the verge of agreeing to help her?

  The woman let out a sigh and stared at Tempy. "That can be your first lesson. A lady always appears calm and restful. She never paces about. At least, not where a gentleman can see her."

  Tempy's eyes widened. "You'll do it?"

  The woman nodded. "But only as a favor to Lucien."

  "Thank you," Tempy said, and rushed toward Mme Le Clair. "You don't know what this means to me."

  "Slowly, slowly," Madame said, recoiling slightly. "You aren't in a footrace. A lady needs to appear to insinuate herself across the floor."

  Tempy paused for a moment. How did one "insinuate" oneself? Then she began walking again in an exaggerated glide. "Like this?"

  "That's slightly better," Mme Le Clair said, lifting her chin, "but don't move in such an obvious manner." She nodded when Tempy modified her stride. "Keep your shoulders even. Don't bob them from side to side."

  Tempy made the adjustments, trying to eliminate any bounciness from her gait while simultaneously insinuating herself across the room. She looked around, but didn't see a mirror anywhere in Mr. Hamlin's office. She'd have to do something about that.

  "Better." Mme Le Claire sank gracefully into a chair by the fireplace and focused her attention on Tempy in a rather intimidating manner. "Walk toward the door, turn, and come back to me."

  Tempy followed the directions and watched Mme Le Claire for her reaction. "Is that better?"

  "Yes, but keep your head level. You'll need to practice this at home. Place a book on your head and make sure it doesn't fall off. I assume you wish to progress quickly. Shall we meet daily?"

  Tempy came to a halt and nodded, hardly believing her luck.

  "I can't stay at the moment," Mme Le Claire said, "but I can return later this afternoon to resume your lessons. At that time, we will create a schedule for when we will meet over the next week." Then Mme Le Cla
ire rose gracefully from her chair and insinuated herself across the office and out into the foyer. Tempy followed.

  At the front doors of the casino, Mme Le Clair stopped and turned to face Tempy. "One final point, Miss Bliss. I am giving you my time, and in return, I expect hard work and strict obedience from you. I am providing my assistance to you as a favor to Mr. Hamlin, so don't abuse my good will. If you do as I say, you should have this young man of yours falling over himself to get back into your good graces. Once he's there, you can decide what you want to do with him."

  For the first time in days, hope lifted its forlorn head, like a tired old dog hearing its master's return after a long absence.

  This might actually work. She might finally have a real chance at winning Ernest back.

  13 - An Ernest Encounter

  Nearly a week later, Mr. Hamlin's normally tidy office was strewn with items from Tempy's wardrobe, and it looked as though a disorganized dressmaker had taken up residence in the room.

  At Mme Le Clair's request, Tempy had sent most of her dresses to the casino so that they could examine them together. When Tempy had suggested that Mme Le Clair simply come to her house, the woman had just sighed her annoyance at the suggestion and then ignored it.

  Now, Tempy gazed into the tall mirror next to the office door that Mr. Hamlin had added for her use. After a week of lessons with the demanding Mme Le Clair, Tempy already noticed a difference in the reflection facing her. Gone was the simple hair style she'd had for years. At Madame's insistence, Tempy had hired Mary, a highly recommended lady's maid, through a London employment agency. Mary was particularly adept at arranging Tempy's hair.

  In the past, Tempy would typically run her brush through her hair and pull it back, pinning the locks up in a simple bun. But over the past three days, her routine had changed. Now she sat at her vanity each morning and allowed Mary to tease, braid, and curl her hair into one of many new, more fashionable styles.

  On their first day together, Mary had demonstrated a few different ways she could arrange Tempy's hair, trying out various looks to see what they both found pleasing. Experimenting had taken some time, but Mary assured her that it was essential. She'd also used some sort of special rinse on Tempy's hair. It had smelled horrible at the time, but now when Tempy looked in the mirror, her hair seemed to have more depth and a variety of subtle shadings of color. Who knew something that smelled so vile could have such a transformative effect upon her appearance?

  This morning, Mary had plaited two sections of Tempy's hair starting at her temples and then pulled them back to encircle a bun at the back of Tempy's head. Mary's fingers were deft, and she was finished within two minutes. It would have taken Tempy just as long to create her simple bun that shed loose hairpins all day.

  Now, Tempy shifted her weight so that she could see Mr. Hamlin's reflection in the mirror. He sat at his desk, and the rather sour expression he had been wearing all morning was still in place. For some reason, he'd decided to stay in his office to review some ledgers, but she'd noticed that he was having some difficulty keeping his attention from wandering. She frequently caught him watching them.

  Mme Le Clair raised her chin, looking down her nose at Tempy's wardrobe. "Although the quality is excellent, these dresses are all much too frilly. Perhaps if we were to adjust the necklines a bit, some of them might do, but really, you need some new gowns."

  Mr. Hamlin threw his pen onto his desktop and shoved back his chair as he rose to his feet. "I must protest. I find Miss Bliss's gowns to be quite attractive. I've seen her in a number of them, and I can find no fault."

  Mme Le Clair shot him a stony glare. "I hardly think that you, with your limited knowledge of the subject, are in the position to be judging women's attire, but that's beside the point. We are attempting a transformation, and one of the speediest ways to accomplish it is through a new wardrobe."

  Mr. Hamlin strode around his desk to stand face-to-face with Mme Le Clair, and Tempy continued to watch the exchange, wide-eyed, from across the room. "It may merely be my own limited opinion," he said, "but I believe that Miss Bliss possesses qualities that are rare in a woman and quite desirable. It's an enormous mistake for her to paint over an original work of art simply to replace it with something else that is more commonplace. She doesn't need to pretend to be like you. She already has assets that can't be duplicated."

  Tempy blushed deeply at those words. Assets? What on earth was he talking about? Her money?

  "Mr. Hamlin!" Mme Le Clair's voice swelled with indignation.

  "I was referring to her youth and her belief that she can conquer the world," he said, holding his hands up to ward off her wrath. Unfortunately, he smiled, ruining any possibility that Mme Le Clair wouldn't take offense. "Why must young women always be completely unaware of the attraction these simple things hold for men?" He rounded on Tempy. "Why do you want to pretend to be jaded by the world? You need to revel in your wholehearted enjoyment of new experiences. Wear it like a flag. Don't pretend to be yet one more bored young aristocrat. Hamlin House is full of those."

  "I beg to differ, Mr. Hamlin," Tempy said, striding across the room to face him. "If youth and an unjaded attitude toward life are so desirable, then why do men seek the company of courtesans? Hmm? Why don't they simply stand outside the doors of a finishing school and whisk away the first girl who walks through them?"

  "That would be rather crass, wouldn't it?" His eyes caught Tempy's for a moment, but then he looked away.

  Mme Le Clair laughed. "But that's simply the nature of men. They have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel guides the man to marry one type of woman, and the devil entices him to desire the other. If he can ever find that one unique woman both his angel and his devil agree upon, then he will be content."

  Tempy stifled a snort of laughter. "You're telling me that what men really want is to find an innocent seductress?"

  "That's ridiculous," Mr. Hamlin said, losing some of his aplomb. "Of course they don't."

  Mme Le Clair ignored him. "Yes. Exactly that. Yet they deceive even themselves. I think all of the rules the modern Englishman must follow in this age have only served to repress his passions, leaving him in a sort of perpetual torment."

  Mr. Hamlin snorted. "I can't believe you are teaching her such drivel. I can't listen to any more of this." He shook his head as he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Mme Le Clair smiled. "You are already beginning to elicit a reaction in men."

  Tempy's eyes widened and she glanced at the office door. "You mean..."

  "Yes. Mr. Hamlin. I think he finds you intriguing. And that's exactly the effect we want you to have upon men. I think it's time to reveal you to your Ernest. But only a peek. Just enough to make him curious. In fact, we need to make him burn with curiosity. It will be essential for us to keep the meeting brief."

  Tempy glanced at the closed door, thinking about Mme Le Clair's offhand comment. Was she right? Was Mr. Hamlin intrigued by her?

  "What do you think of the idea?" Mme Le Clair prompted.

  Tempy glanced back at her and noted a curious expression on the woman's face. "About having Ernest see me?" She shook her head. "I don't know. Do you really think I'm ready?"

  "Most certainly."

  Tempy's chest tightened at the thought, but she nodded anyway. "Then I'll rely on your judgment. I just hope I don't do anything foolish."

  With a satisfied smile, Mme Le Clair nodded. "You'll be fine. Here," she said, and then picked up one of Tempy's dresses. "This one should do." She took advantage of Mr. Hamlin's departure and draped the dress over the surface of his desk. It was pale pink with rows of rosettes along the neckline and dotting the skirt. "Lucien does, however, make a good point about appearing innocent and unjaded. It can be quite enticing."

  Mme Le Clair took a pair of sewing scissors and began snipping away the satin roses dotting the neckline. "Yes. Much better." By the time she was done, she had also removed
some of the ruffles and flounces, giving the dress a more elegant look.

  "Let's discuss cosmetics," Madame said. "Too much is worse than none at all. You only need a touch."

  Apparently, she had arrived that day armed with a variety of bottles and jars, all in slightly different shades. First she put a touch of pink on Tempy's cheeks. Next, she chose a color just a shade darker than that of Tempy's lips and applied it with a small brush. As the final touch, she used a short, stiff brush to darken Tempy's eyelashes.

  "There," Madame said, stepping back to examine her handiwork. "One last thing." She turned away to search through her containers, opening and closing them as she searched for the item she wanted.

  Tempy took the opportunity to look at her face in the mirror and was startled. It was her, but not quite her. She still looked like herself, yes, but it was as though someone had created a new, crisper version of her face. She thought of the photos she'd seen, by that photographer, Lady Clementina Hawarden, and of her examples of both sharp and blurred images. Somehow, Mme Le Clair had merged those two ideas and had created a version of her face that looked both softer and clearer.

  "Here we go," Mme Le Clair said, approaching Tempy with a large, soft-bristled brush. It was about an inch in diameter, and the soft bristles were about two inches long. There was powder on it, and before Tempy realized what Madame was doing, she had plunged the brush into Tempy's cleavage.

  "Oh!" Tempy jumped.

  "I'm sorry," Madame said, grinning, "but I couldn't think of a good way to tell you what I intended to do. You'll notice that the slightly darker powder helps to deepen your cleavage just a bit without being obvious."

  Tempy did see. "It all comes down to choosing the right colors, doesn't it?" She glanced at the clock. "We need to leave and let Mr. Hamlin have his office back. It's getting late."

  Mary, Tempy's new maid, began to bustle around the room, packing the dresses back in the trunks so that they could be sent home.