Gambling on a Scoundrel Page 11

  "Why don't you leave now," Mme Le Clair suggested, "and I'll follow along later."

  Tempy nodded and hurried toward the door. She had her head down as she swung it open, and when she stepped through it she walked straight into Mr. Hamlin.

  Tempy stumbled back, and Mr. Hamlin grabbed her by her elbows to steady her. When she looked up at him, her face was inches from his. She inhaled the pleasant aroma of his soap and cologne.

  He froze in place and stared at her with a bemused expression.

  "I'm sorry," she said. Her voice sounded slightly husky, so she swallowed before trying to speak again. "I was just leaving. We ran a little late today." She breathed in deeply, feeling momentarily engulfed by Mr. Hamlin, and was surprised that she enjoyed the sensation.

  He cleared his throat, still staring at her. "That's not a problem," he said.

  "Well, then," she said "I should be going." She pulled her arms from his grasp and took a small step away from him.

  He pulled his hands back as though he'd forgotten he still held her. "Good day, Miss Bliss."

  "Good day, Mr. Hamlin."

  As she crossed the foyer toward the main exit, she could feel his eyes on her.

  She rode home feeling quite uplifted by the day's events.

  She spent an hour working on her article for Mr. Dickens. She liked the direction, but something was missing from it. It needed a sharper focus, but she wasn't certain which particular lens she should use. There were a number of aspects that deserved more attention, but she knew that the article would be stronger if she chose a single focal point.

  As she stared at her pages, a thought struck her. If she wanted to "accidentally" meet Ernest, she'd need to arrange a meeting. She smacked herself in the forehead with the palm of her hand. How could she be so foolish?

  Tempy pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and immediately penned a note to Ernest's sister, Emily, asking to meet her for tea the following day. She glanced out the window and saw the postman approaching her door on one of his eight daily mail deliveries. How did people manage to live in the country with only one mail delivery daily? London was much more civilized.

  She hurriedly stuffed the note into an envelope and affixed postage. When she flung the door open, the postman was obviously startled to see her. When she shoved the envelope in his hand, he smiled and handed her the two letters he was holding. One was from her lawyers, and the other was from Millicent.

  Millicent would be returning from her travels in a few days, and the railroad's board of directors was again pressuring her to sell the railroad. She penned her reply, as she always did, emphatically rejecting their request. Father would rise from the dead if she ever sold Bliss Railways.

  A couple of hours later, Tempy received a reply from Emily in which she agreed to rendezvous with Tempy at Pink's Tea Room.

  The next day, Tempy used one of her many circuitous routes to meet Emily. It would ruin her plans if Earl E. Byrd decided to inform all of London about her meeting with Emily. When Tempy arrived at the appointed time, she looked in through the red-mullioned window panes of Pink's Tea Room and saw that Emily was already seated at a table for two.

  "Tempy," Emily said, rising to her feet as Tempy joined her at the table. "It's so good to see you. I've missed you terribly." She gave a sisterly embrace, pressing her cheek against Tempy's.

  After they'd ordered tea, they chatted about a few inconsequential things. Tempy waited for their order to arrive before she broached the subject of Ernest. "I heard that your brother went to a casino last week."

  "Oh, I know. Isn't it terrible? Mother was so upset, especially because he won."

  "Why is winning so bad?" Tempy asked, lifting her teacup.

  "Because now he's keen to return and win again. He calls it easy money."

  "What about your father?"

  "He says it's important for a young man to see more of the world. I think he's just worried about Ernest moving to Paris."

  "What?" Tempy asked, almost spilling her tea. She quickly set it down. "When did he decide to do that?"

  Emily smirked. "Apparently Clarisse's father offered him a position in his bank. Mother's beside herself."

  "And your father wants him to go?"

  "No. I don't believe so. But I think he's wondering if he should have allowed Ernest to have more experiences on his own. He even suggested that Ernest go back to the casino again on Friday night."

  Clarisse would have helped him celebrate his good fortune on that first night. They must have been so excited. Tempy frowned as she imagined them together. "Will he go back to the same casino or try a different one?"

  "Oh, the same one, most certainly. He says he's lucky there. He's quite looking forward to it."

  "And what about you? How do you feel about all of this?"

  "Oh, Tempy. I hate it all. I don't want our family torn apart this way." She let out a deep sigh. "I just wish we had you back and that Ernest would come to his senses."

  She reached out and covered Emily's hand with her own. "So do I. Please tell your parents I miss them."

  ###

  On Friday evening, Tempy's own carriage carried her to Hamlin House for a change of pace, and it dropped her off directly in front of the main entrance. She'd been hesitant to take the chance that Byrd would follow her, but tonight she couldn't risk relying on a cab. She could've very well spend her life trying to avoid being written about. If she did, she might never leave her house.

  One of her footmen opened the carriage door and assisted her as she exited the conveyance. "We'll be waiting just there, miss," her footman said, indicating the space that was being held for her coach. Her quick departure was an important element of the plan, because they needed to ensure that Ernest didn't have the opportunity to waylay her. In order to facilitate that aspect of the evening, Mr. Hamlin had arranged for her carriage to have a spot near the casino entrance.

  Mr. Hamlin had also volunteered to help them with another important part of their plan. Since Ernest needed to believe that other men also found Tempy desirable, Mr. Hamlin had offered to play the role of an enamored suitor.

  A tremor of anticipation ran through Tempy at the thought of having Mr. Hamlin at her side. He was so handsome and worldly. Any woman would be proud to be with him. She'd never seen him with any particular woman, but she could only imagine him with someone sophisticated, like that woman in red.

  Over the past couple of days, Mr. Hamlin had become more intense and brooding, and that made her a little uneasy. Especially when he pinned her with that piercing gaze of his. It had become worse since the discussion about altering her dresses, and she frequently found herself blushing under his examination. He'd quickly look away, leaving her uncertain as to whether or not he'd really been staring at her, but it still caused her to feel self-conscious.

  She'd need to be more in control of her emotions tonight.

  When Tempy entered the casino, she didn't go to the gaming floor. Instead, she headed directly for Mr. Hamlin's private office.

  Mme Le Clair turned to greet Tempy as she entered the room. The woman examined her from head to toe, finally nodding her approval. "You look marvelous, Temperance. You'll create just the right impression." For some reason, Mme Le Clair had taken to calling her Temperance and refused to use the name Tempy.

  Tempy's tension eased at hearing those words. She hadn't realized how much she'd needed Mme Le Clair's approval.

  "Confidence is what will carry you through this," Mme Le Clair said. "It's the key to your success. You look the part, which is half the battle, but you must also act the part."

  Tempy nodded and then squared her shoulders.

  The door knob rattled, causing Tempy to start. She glanced at Mme Le Clair in embarrassment, wondering if the woman had noticed that she wasn't quite as confident as she was pretending to be. Fortunately, her attention was focused on the opening door. Tempy followed her gaze.

  As Mr. Hamlin swept into the room, his elegant black frock coat o
pened slightly to reveal an indigo satin waistcoat with slightly paler swirls of purple dancing across it. The sight of it brought a smile to Tempy's lips.

  Upon seeing the unconventional waistcoat, Mme Le Clair pursed her lips into a moue. She gave it a pointed stare but refrained from commenting. "I'm glad you were able to join us. I wanted to see the two of you together before your little performance begins."

  Mr. Hamlin bowed his head in reply. "Always at your service."

  "Come closer. I want you to stand next to each other," she commanded.

  Mr. Hamlin crossed the room in long strides as he complied with her request, and Tempy took a step back from his sudden approach.

  Mme Le Clair turned a look of censure on Tempy. "Just as I feared. You're quite nervous around the man. How will you convince this Ernest person that your affections belong to Lucien if you behave in such a skittish manner toward him?"

  "I am most certainly not skittish," Tempy said, embarrassed to have Mme Le Clair see through her so easily. "It's simply that Mr. Hamlin is a rather large man. I wanted to give him some room."

  Mme Le Clair's head tilted to one side. "I believe I have identified the root of the problem. Your relationship with Lucien is much too formal. In order for your ruse to work, you must relax around him. Let's begin by having you call him Lucien."

  "Lucien?" Tempy said, feeling the soft word slide from her lips. There was something quite seductive about that name. Something luscious. She smiled at that.

  "Ah, yes. See? This less formal mode of address begins to work its magic already. And you, monsieur, must address her as Tempy. Not Temperance or Miss Bliss. This is very important. You must show the man that your relationship with her is stronger than his."

  "Of course. It will be my pleasure to address her as Tempy."

  He stressed the 'm' in her name, making it sound more like a caress, and Tempy felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up in response. She glanced into his eyes, but when a rush of heat pooled in her belly, she quickly looked away. How could hearing him say her name have such an alarming effect on her?

  "Temperance, you haven't practiced taking a man's arm. Let's take a moment to do that, shall we? Watch." Mme Le Clair stepped closer to Lucien and brushed his forearm with the back of her fingers. He lifted his arm and offered it to her. Her hand slid through the crook of his arm in a smooth, languid motion and then rested lightly on his forearm. "There. An elegant movement with no fumbling or bumping of body parts. Your hand must be as light as a hummingbird on his sleeve." She released her hold on him and stepped away. "You try."

  Tempy had become used to Mme Le Clair's precise instructions, but being this close to Mr. Hamlin...or rather, Lucien, made her self-conscious. As she reached for the arm he offered, she rushed the movement and bumped his arm with her hand, fumbling as she slid it into place on his forearm.

  "Again," said Madame. "And with a bit more grace."

  Tempy dropped her hand away, earning a disapproving look from Mme Le Clair. With an apologetic twitch of her shoulder, she reached for Lucien's arm again, this time managing to make her movement appear much more natural and graceful.

  "Better. Now, try it again, but this time, look up at Lucien with affection. It should appear as though placing your hand on his arm is the thing which you most want to do at that moment."

  Tempy raised her brow at that.

  "Don't look at me that way," Mme Le Clair scolded. "You are playing a role. Do it well."

  Tempy tilted her head as she accepted the good sense of the advice, and then looked up at Lucien as she tried to throw herself into her role. She slid her hand into place and kept her gaze locked on his.

  For a moment, the playacting seemed to fade, and the moment felt real. Right now, she truly wanted to feel his arm under her hand more than anything else in the world. When she realized that she wasn't acting, a chill crossed her shoulders and her hand trembled very slightly on his sleeve.

  "Perfect," Mme Le Clair sighed. "You're quite the clever student."

  Before Tempy could respond, she heard a knock at the door. Boothby opened it.

  "Sir," he said, "the gentleman you asked me to watch for is arriving in his carriage. He should be in the casino momentarily."

  Mme Le Clair took a small step away from them. "It's time. Go. Just as we planned."

  Tempy nodded and took leave of the pair. Outside the office door, she took a deep breath, raised her chin slightly, and glided through the entrance of the glittering casino.

  A shadow followed her. And when she looked back, she saw that Boothby hovered at her elbow.

  He smiled at her. "Good evening, Miss Bliss. If you will permit me, I'll collect your chips from the cashier and bring them to you."

  "Yes, thank you," she said as she continued toward the roulette table. She remembered not to simply walk, but to insinuate herself, just as Mme Le Clair had taught her. In doing so, she was aware that a number of gentlemen watched her openly, and she smiled in satisfaction.

  She stopped at the same spot at the roulette table where she'd stood a week ago. Tonight required that she choose a casino game where she could be noticed and then quickly abandon. Roulette suited her needs perfectly.

  She watched some other patrons gamble for a minute, and then Boothby slid her rack of chips in front of her. She turned to smile her thanks to the young man and was startled to discover she'd been mistaken.

  "Mr. Hamlin," she said in a flustered tone. "Are you in the habit of bringing your patrons their chips?"

  "Lucien," he corrected. "And, no I don't usually take on that task. But in your case, I'm happy to."

  He smiled down at her, and Tempy felt her toes curl in her shoes. My, but that man's smile was devastating. Why hadn't she ever noticed that before? His lips were full and curving, and his teeth were even and straight, except for that one tooth, right next to the front one, that tilted slightly to one side with a rakish air.

  She gave herself a mental shake. It wouldn't do to be staring at the man like this when Ernest walked into the casino. He might think she was infatuated with the illustrious Lucien Hamlin.

  But wait a minute, that was her goal, wasn't it? After all, Tempy's sense of competition had peaked once she'd had a rival for Ernest's affections. Wasn't that the reason Mr. Hamlin...Lucien, was standing next to her?

  Suddenly, Lucien's charismatic smile no longer seemed to belong to her. After all, he was simply playacting for the benefit of an audience. This wasn't real.

  Not real at all.

  She smiled brightly at him. "How shall I place my bet? Do you have any advice?"

  "I'll give you the same advice that has always worked well for me. I find I win every time I follow it."

  She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him expectantly.

  He leaned down so that his mouth was close to her ear, and she felt his breath on her neck. In a quiet rumble, he murmured in her ear, just loud enough for her to hear. "Always remember," he said, his low voice sending vibrations down her spine, "to place your bet on the winning number."

  She inhaled his scent of crisply bleached cotton, men's cologne, and the lingering aroma of cognac. For a moment she felt trapped in a web-thin cocoon by his nearness, unable to move or respond, but then she broke free. His words sank in. "Bet on the winning number? That's your sage advice?" she quipped, wondering if her voice sounded as breathless as she felt.

  "Works every time," he said, in tones still pitched so low that only she could hear him.

  She smiled, still feeling the tendrils of that web of intimacy he'd spun around her. When she glanced away shyly, searching for a safe landing for her gaze, it fell upon Ernest. His mouth was agape as he stared at her.

  "Temperance. What on earth are you doing here?" Ernest demanded.

  Tempy smiled serenely, just the way Mme Le Clair had taught her. She tilted her head to one side and said, "Mr. Lipscomb. How pleasant to see you here. Is this your new fiancée?" She was surprised at how calm she felt. It was as
though a languid haze surrounded her.

  Ernest's gaze flew from Tempy to Clarisse and back again, not quite knowing where to stop. Apparently, he either chose to return his gaze to Tempy or his eyes simply got tired of rattling around in his head. But he didn't seem capable of speaking quite yet, so Tempy decided to fill the silence.

  "You must be Miss Clarisse Beaumont." Tempy paused for a moment, but the young woman didn't reply. Tempy glanced back at Ernest. "I can see why she stole your heart, Mr. Lipscomb. She's quite beautiful."

  "I cannot steal something which is given to me freely," Clarisse said in a clear, French accent. Her stinging words were softened by her beautiful voice and practiced smile.

  "Oh. And she has her wits about her too. I'm impressed," Tempy said.

  "Please, Temperance. Don't make a scene," Ernest said. His eyes were wide and round, as though he expected Tempy to lose control at any moment.

  Tempy waved away his fears with a graceful fluttering of her hand. "I wouldn't dream of it. But please, for your fiancée's sake, don't you think you should refrain from calling me Temperance? I'm afraid it gives the wrong impression."

  Ernest blushed. "I..., I mean..., but of course." He glanced in embarrassment at Mr. Hamlin, clearly unhappy at being reprimanded in front of a stranger.

  Tempy glanced up at Lucien. "Do you two know each other? No? This is Mr. Hamlin. Of Hamlin House."

  If possible, Ernest managed to flush even more deeply.

  "Mr. Hamlin, this is Mr. Lipscomb, a childhood friend of mine, and his charming fiancée, Miss Clarisse Beaumont."

  "Enchanté," Lucien said, lifting the young woman's gloved fingertips to his lips.

  The young woman's eyes glowed. "Vous êtes Français?"

  "Oui. Demi-français."

  "Half French?" Tempy asked, feeling somehow betrayed. "You never mentioned that."

  "I didn't? My mother was French."

  Tempy wasn't certain how she felt about that. After losing Ernest to that little French tart, Tempy had decided to abhor all things French. Of course, Mme Le Clair had begun to sway her opinion. But Madame was only one person. Discovering that Lucien was half French was more than a little disconcerting.