A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (22 page)

Anthony walked back to his room in an odd state of detachment. Norwood had called him a cheat in front of everyone, including Celia. At one time Anthony would have risen to the bait and gotten into a fistfight with Norwood or called him out, but not now. He was just tired. No matter what he did or said, or didn’t say and didn’t do, he was wrong.

He used his unnatural memory and talent with numbers, and he was labeled a cheat. He found ways to support himself when his father threw him out, and he was named a speculator. He invested money for women whose husbands gave them little, and he was called a seducer. He stopped it all, and he was a fortune hunter. Even with Celia, he had done everything wrong. She had looked just as shocked as the rest when Norwood uttered his slander. Her expression had been the last blow; he couldn’t watch her, too, recoil from him in disgust. Not after he had begun to hope…to believe she was on the verge, perhaps, of accepting him….

He had probably been wrong about that, too, though. Anthony was tired of pretending not to notice how the women watched him with fascinated speculation, how the men watched him with suspicion, and how the dowager duchess watched him with barely concealed hostility. Who was he to think Celia would choose him and his sordid reputation over—against—the advice and protests of her family and friends? He knew it had been a mistake to come. Before this party he had been content with what he had. Now he felt as though he had suffered some great loss, when in reality it had all been nothing more than a phantasm of his hopes and desires, teasing him with what he would never have.

Franklin was waiting for him. Word must have spread like wildfire through the servants’ quarters. Anthony removed his coat and waistcoat, then stripped off his cravat. He told Franklin to pack first thing in the morning; they would return to London on the morrow. His valet bowed, and Anthony told him to go off to bed. He didn’t want anyone about tonight.

Wrapping his dressing gown around him, he walked to the window. The drapes were still open, revealing the moonlit lawns and stables of Ainsley Park. Anthony leaned against the wall, looking out. He had looked forward to coming here as a young man. Whatever David Reece’s faults, the man had been a good friend to him, an arrogant, proud, lonely lad with nowhere else to go once the earl had told him not to return to Lynley Court. Anthony supposed he ought to have been grateful Lynley paid the bills for his education, but he had vowed then never again to take anything from Lynley. The earl didn’t want him or need him, and Anthony wouldn’t need or want anything from the earl, ever again. And he hadn’t, not even when he’d been in dire financial circumstances and reputed to be the most scandalous man in London.

At Ainsley Park he had been almost accepted, even after David had left school. But eventually he had not been welcome here, either. This time there was no doubt what was behind it. He had never done a single improper thing toward Celia, but he knew the duchess hadn’t wanted him around her daughter, just on general principles. Anthony supposed he couldn’t fault her for it. His reputation had already outgrown him.

Ah, well. He had long ago learned there was no point in agonizing about it. Norwood’s outburst had perhaps been a blessing, for it gave him an excuse to leave. It would give Celia a kind way out as well….

A sharp knock on the door broke into his thoughts. For a moment he didn’t move, but the knock came again. It was probably Percy, or perhaps even Ned, wanting to assure him—away from public view, of course—that they didn’t believe he was a cheat. His friends were like that.

He went to the door and opened it, mildly surprised to see Celia standing there. “I’m sorry,” she burst out. “Lord William is a buffoon.”

He flicked one hand, falling instinctively into an attitude of careless disregard. “Oh, it’s no matter. He’s a bit in his cups, no doubt.”

“But he called you a cheat,” she exclaimed, “with no basis, and no one knew what to say or do, and I am so sorry you were so rudely spoken to at my house party.”

A reluctant smile crossed his face. “Thank you for your concern.”

Instead of easing, her expression only grew more worried. “May I come in?”

He hesitated only a moment, then pushed the door wide. She slipped past him, and he closed the door.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice quivering. “I don’t understand why you never defend yourself when—”

“How should I defend myself?” He leaned against the door. “Demand he prove it? Protest my innocence? Did Norwood look inclined to take my word as a gentleman?”

She bit her lip, acknowledging the point. “But you said not a word.”

Anthony sighed, pushing away from the door and crossing the room. He ought not to have let her in; a few soothing words and he could have sent her on her way. “I’m leaving in the morning. It didn’t seem worth the fuss.”

Celia grew more agitated. She paced the room, her skirts swinging around her. “I thought—I know—Of course it is your right not to say anything when someone insults you. Even when it alarms and distresses others. But I wish—I do wish you could trust me enough to explain why you don’t seem to care when others malign you.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not a matter of trust. It simply doesn’t matter.”

“To me it does. I think it is the key to understanding you.”

Anthony raised his head and stared at her. Celia stared back, her eyes pleading with him. He looked away.

She drew in a breath, then turned and walked toward him, and for a moment he braced himself. But instead she went to the desk and took a deck of cards, then went back across the room, right to the bed, where she climbed up and sat. She shuffled the cards and looked pointedly at him, then at the bed. Reluctantly he sat, sitting just on the edge opposite her.

“Play me for the reason,” she said. “If I win, you tell me. If you win, I shall cease asking.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Celia tossed a card at him. He caught it and laid it on the coverlet between them. “Are you afraid I’ll beat you?”

“Terrified,” he replied.

“I’m not so bad at cards,” she told him, riffling the deck. “David taught me several tricks.”

“You’d probably better not use them. They’re bound to be highly suspect, and of doubtful assistance.”

“Pooh.” She tossed more cards at him. “I thought you would have more backbone than that. You refuse to answer my questions and shun my challenge. I thought you liked a challenge. What are you afraid of?”

Anthony ignored the cards in front of him. “Celia, I don’t want to play cards with you.”

“Don’t change the subject. What game do you favor?”

He sighed and looked away. “No.”

Celia heard the underlying steel in his voice and put down the cards. “Why not? You play with Norwood and the others, even when you don’t wish to.”

“Yes, and none of them come away pleased.” He didn’t meet her eyes but flipped a fold of his dressing gown back and forth in his fingers.

“Because you win,” she said.

“Because they think I cheat.” He tilted his head back and looked at her from beneath lowered eyelids. “You know that.”

Celia gathered up the scattered cards. “You can’t cheat at this,” she said, dealing. “It’s pure chance.”

“At the beginning,” he murmured.

“What does that mean?” He shrugged, and she leaned forward. “You can trust me, you know,” she said softly. He looked at her again, his golden eyes cynical. “I wouldn’t tell a soul, even if you told me you were cheating. Not that I think you are.”

For a long moment he just looked at her. Celia almost held her breath; this was a turning point, she realized.

She had heard the whispers, that he was a cardsharp and a cheat. She had never believed them, not really, but it did seem odd that he was so successful at the tables when other people—including David—seemed to lose as much as they won. What was Anthony’s secret? Could he actually be cheating? Celia didn’t believe it, but…Would he tell her? Did he trust her that much?

“I can count the cards,” he finally said.

Celia frowned. “Count them? You know how many there are.”

“I can count them by suits and numbers,” he said. “As they are played.”

It took her a moment to realize what he meant, and how that would help win. “Can you really? No, you are teasing me,” she said. Anthony pushed himself up against the headboard and took the cards from her, then dealt a round of
vingt-et-un
for four. Under his long fingers, the cards seem to fly to their places like trained birds.

Then he began flipping cards, as if four players were playing, but all hands shown. At the beginning, he explained, he just watched and played on instinct; often he lost money, but he was careful to wager only small sums. But as the deck in his hand grew smaller, his wagers grew larger; he could remember which cards had been played, and—more importantly—which cards had not been played.

“For instance,” he said, “I should not play on this”—he waved at one hand of cards on the coverlet—“because I know there are still five face cards unplayed; they are still in the deck. My chances of drawing one, and ruining my hand, are much greater.”

Celia frowned, looking at the piles of cards. After a moment’s counting, she realized he was right. “And you know it, just like that?”

“Yes, more or less. See what happens.” He laid out another circle of cards atop the previous one, and Celia’s lips parted as a jack of hearts landed on the hand in front of Anthony. A queen also turned up. Two of the four cards turned over were face cards. She looked at him, her mouth still agape.

“That’s amazing.”

He pulled a face. “No, it’s not.”

“It is,” she insisted.

He gave her a twisted smile. “That little skill got me thrown out of three schools as a boy. Everyone was certain I was cheating. I was too young and full of myself to let them win, and I suppose I gloated, too. A mathematics lecturer declared I couldn’t beat him, but like a fool, I did. He was so annoyed he wrote to my father, and that was the end of that school. All school, in fact.”

“But why didn’t you tell your father?” Celia protested. “Wasn’t he upset that you were falsely accused?”

Anthony slouched against the bolster and fixed his gaze on the card deck still in his hand, face down. “There’s the answer to your question, my dear. He didn’t care why or how I had beaten a lecturer at cards. He only cared that I was accused, and therefore disgraced him.” He held up the remaining cards, and without looking at them, said, “Ace of spades, queen of hearts, jack of hearts, a nine, two sevens, an eight, and a two.” With a flick of his wrist he tossed down the cards, face up. Each card he had named spilled across the counterpane. Celia let out her breath.

“Amazing,” she whispered again.

Anthony gave a disgusted snort. “The hell it is. I didn’t even try to win tonight; truthfully, I tried to throw the game to Percy. He’s just such a clodpole at cards he never took advantage.”

“I shall never play whist with anyone but you ever again.”

“I don’t like whist.”

“You should,” she said. “We could win everything David and Mr. Percy own.”

“I don’t play to beggar other people.”

“But David deserves it,” she muttered. “So you’re going to leave in the morning because you can do something no one else can.”

“I’m going to leave in the morning because I don’t want to be called a cheat again. And because…” He hesitated. “Because I don’t want to bring you down with me.”

“You’re abandoning me, too?” she exclaimed. His face darkened even more.

“I’m releasing you from an awkward position.” His words were clipped. He swung his feet to the floor and put out his hand to help her down, too. “Come. You should go.”

Celia stayed where she was. “Why did you write those letters to me?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. “To lift your spirits.”

“Is that all?”

Anthony sighed. “Celia, you shouldn’t be here. I was wrong to allow you to come in.”

“Is that the only reason?” she pressed. He wasn’t looking at her, and the pulse in his throat beat rapidly. “Just tell me,” she said quietly. “If that was the only reason, then I should thank you; it did raise my spirits.” He turned his back to her and walked to the window alcove, hands on his hips. Celia got off the bed and followed him. “Was that the only reason?” He didn’t reply. She touched his arm. “Anthony…”

He turned. In an instant he caught her face in his hands, his mouth descending on hers in a punishing kiss. With two steps he bore her back into the wall behind her. Celia melted into him, meeting his unspoken desire with her own.

She reached for him. He caught her wrists and pinned them to the wall beside her head. His mouth moved down her throat, sucking lightly at her skin. Celia sagged backward, held up only by his hands at her wrists and the weight of his body pressed into hers. Yes, she thought in exultation,
yes…

“Celia,” he breathed, catching the lobe of her ear between his teeth for a second. “Stop me.”

She thrashed her head from side to side. “No.”

He rested his forehead in the curve of her neck and moaned. “You must.” He moved against her, his knee sliding between hers with a slow, delicious rhythm. His lips brushed the hollow at the base of her throat. Celia closed her thighs on his, pushing her hips into him. She didn’t need to hear the answer to her original question. His body was telling her what he wouldn’t say out loud.

With a strangled curse Anthony jerked away from her. For a moment he stood there, hands in fists at his side, chest heaving, eyes dark. They stared at each other, then Celia threw herself at him. She clutched handfuls of his shirt, resisting when he tried to set her away. She pressed her lips to his throat, and he froze. When she took his arms and pushed him back into the opposite wall of the alcove, he let her. “Celia,” he said helplessly. “Please.”

“Shh.” She put her fingers on his lips and gazed up at him steadily. “You don’t have to say anything.”

After a moment he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back in surrender. His arms, taut and flexed in her grip, relaxed. Cautiously Celia released him, but he didn’t move. Anthony stood tamely in front of her, at her mercy. Her heart skipped a beat and a tingle rippled across her skin in anticipation.