Angel in Scarlet (22 page)

Judy was a wonder with cosmetics and had “done” my face: mauve shadow on my lids, pale pink rouge brushed lightly on my cheekbones and shaded to emphasize them, a darker pink rouge on my mouth, making it seem wider than ever. I had put my foot down about the tiny black satin beauty patch. Flatly refused to let her stick it on. I looked like something, all right, but not like Angela. Their work done, the girls had “ohed” and “ah-ed” and claimed I was a veritable vision of loveliness and I knew they were lying through their teeth just to make me feel good.

They had given me advice, too. Smile a lot, Tess informed me, always be warm and friendly, no matter what they say, you'll get far more tips. Flirt a little, Betty advised, but discreetly. Don't try to cheat them, Judy warned, you're not skilled enough for that and might get caught, just deal your cards and leave the sleight-of-hand to those of us who know what we're doing. If a man asks you to go upstairs with him, be polite and make some excuse, Anne informed me, don't act offended, that'll put him off and be bad for
our
business. Jesus, Sonya said, sending a green kid like her into that nest of rakes. Marie must be out of her bloody mind. Don't worry, kid, we'll keep an eye on you.

The wide silver skirt swayed as I descended the white marble stairs, and I winced as the silver slippers pinched my feet. Wasn't used to walking on heels this high, either. I'd probably fall flat on my face before the evening ended. Marie stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching me with glittering green eyes that clearly didn't care for what they saw. She frowned, curling her thin lips up at one corner. I looked like a fool and both of us knew it. For a moment I thought she was going to send me back upstairs and tell me to forget the whole crazy scheme, but I had no such luck. Marie shook her head, disgusted.

“I guess you'll have to do,” she said.

“I could always put a sack over my head,” I told her.

“I'm in no mood for your smart remarks, Angela!”

“I feel naked. This gown is two inches too low. If I were to sneeze I'd pop right out for all the world to see. The waist is so tight I can't breathe, and these shoes are ruining my feet.”

“What's that perfume you're wearing?” she asked sharply.

“I don't know. Judy dabbed it on me.”

“Judy never did have any taste. Just do your job and try to be incon
spic
uous about it, and don't speak unless you're spoken to. Keep that smart mouth of yours under firm control. Do you understand?”

“I could pretend to be mute,” I suggested. “Maybe I could use sign language. That would be novel.”

Marie looked like she might explode, lips pressed tightly together, eyes flashing green fire, but the door opened then and the first customers arrived and she forced a smile and hurried over to greet them, waxing ever so friendly and warm. She was wearing black velvet and pearls and her hair looked redder than it had when I'd seen her earlier. She had obviously touched it up while I was dressing. I moved over to the table assigned to me and stood there like one of Mrs. Salmon's wax dummies, praying the men who had just come in didn't want to try their hand at Twenty-One.

“Here, kid,” Sonya said. “This'll help.”

She handed me a glass of champagne and I gulped it down like it was water and I felt warm all over, felt dizzy, too, and I plopped down in my chair and before I knew it the room was crowded with men in elegant frock coats and powdered wigs and lace, some of them young, some of them old, some not even wearing wigs. Every chair at my table was taken and I was dealing cards and smiling pleasantly and finding it easy as could be. An old roué with diamond buttons on his waistcoat told me I was a tasty little piece and squeezed my knee under the table. I slapped his hand and told him he was very naughty, and he laughed and lost twenty pounds on the next hand. I dealt the cards and looked regretful when someone lost and smiled when they won and even when they lost a lot they didn't seem to mind.

“Why don't you get one of the other girls to sit in for you for a while,” a handsome young Lord suggested.

“Why should I do that?” I asked sweetly.

“So the two of us can go upstairs,” he said.

“I'd dearly love to go upstairs with you,” I told him, “you have
such
a nice face, but unfortunately I can't.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I'm having labor pains,” I said.

The other men at the table hooted with laughter and the young Lord said I was a caution and grinned and tipped me five whole pounds when he left the table a short while later. The old roue with diamond buttons tipped me big, too, and I reckoned I'd likely be rich before the evening was over. The chandeliers burned brightly, crystal pendants shimmering with rainbow hues, and it was warm as could be, the huge room jammed now, all the tables full and … Lord, men standing around
my
table, watching, laughing, promptly taking a seat as soon as a chair was vacated. They actually liked me, even if I wasn't blonde, even if my cheekbones were too high and my mouth too wide. One of the men opened up a gem-studded snuffbox and offered me a pinch and I shook my head and told him I didn't dare because I might sneeze and wouldn't
that
be a treat for them. This caused roars of laughter that fairly shook the walls.

Marie came over to the table once or twice, a strained smile on her lips, and I could tell she was both puzzled and irritated by my popularity. My table was undoubtedly the busiest in the room, not because I was so clever and witty, certainly not because I looked like a dream, but merely because I was a novelty, a new face. That's what attracted them. Had to be, I told myself. I wasn't that skillful with the cards, even made a mistake now and then, but the men didn't seem to mind at all. There were no clocks in the place—Marie believed it bad for business for the customers to be reminded of the hour—but I knew I must have been at the table for at least three hours when Tess came over to relieve me.

“Time for your break,” she told me. “I'll take over for a while.”

“Just a minute,” I said. “Let me get these bloody shoes back on.”

The men laughed again and told me to hurry back. I struggled into the two tight silver slippers and got up and made them a pert curtsy, and Sir Basil almost fell out of his chair when I leaned over. Couldn't understand why until I remembered my extreme decolletage. “Whoops!” I said, and I straightened up as fast as I could. The shoes pinched my feet dreadfully as I made my way over to the enclosed staircase leading down to the lounge, and my head was aching, too. The glass of champagne that had given me such a lift and made it all so easy to do was causing an adverse reaction now. Another glass would probably fix that, but I'd rather have something to eat.

Passing through the lounge, I stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment. Bennett was at the counter, chopping something up, and he gave me a dour look that expressed his disapproval of the way I looked far better than words could have. I was Bennett's pet, and he wasn't at all pleased to see me garbed up like the blondes.

“It's only for tonight,” I told him. “Sally didn't show and Jen sprained her ankle. Marie said I'd have to fill in. It hasn't been nearly as bad as I expected it to be.”

“Sure,” he said. “I heard some of them chattering in there about what a success you were. Next thing you know she'll have you working the table every night.”

“Not a chance,” I replied. “It's rather fun, but I shouldn't want to do it again.”

“You look like a strumpet,” he grumbled.

“I think that's the
idea.
”

“Any of those high 'n mighty toffs up there give you any trouble, you let me know. I'll come after them with my butcher knife.”

“You're a darling, Bennett. I'm starving. Is there anything to eat?”

“Knew you'd missed your dinner,” he said, “so I saved some cold chicken for you. I baked a chocolate cream cake this afternoon, your favorite with cream icing and cream filling between the layers. Guess you can have a piece of that, too.”

“I
love
your chocolate cream cake.”

“You'll want coffee, too, I suppose.”

“At least two cups. I think I
need
it,” I added.

Bennett knew I adored drumsticks, and he placed four drumsticks on a plate along with several asparagus stalks that just happened to be steaming hot. He poured his special white wine and cheese sauce over the asparagus, then handed me the plate. I got knife, fork and a large linen napkin while Bennett sliced an enormous piece of cake and put it on a smaller plate with another fork. I carried both plates into the lounge and placed them on a table and returned to the kitchen for cup, saucer and the small silver pot of coffee Bennett had prepared for me.

“See that you eat every bite,” he ordered.

“I shall.”

The lounge wasn't at all crowded, only two or three gentlemen standing in front of a sofa, bewailing their losses, and Betty chatting cozily with Blake, the stern-faced, muscular footman who had thrown out the unruly Lord Brock the night before. Like Reed, the other tall footman hired to keep order and guard the money, Blake wore white stockings, dark blue velvet knee breeches and coat, silver waistcoat and a powdered wig. The elegant attire accentuated his tough demeanor and sturdy build. I gave Betty a wave and sat down at the corner table to eat my food, exhausted now, the earlier exhilaration worn off.

The coffee was hot and strong, just the way I liked it, and I sipped it gratefully. The cold chicken was extremely tasty, baked with spices, the meat tender as could be. Fancy folk might slice the meat off a drumstick and then eat it with a fork, but that was altogether too bothersome, took too long, too. I just picked mine up by the handle and gnawed away, tearing the meat loose with my teeth. Only way to eat it if you were as hungry as I was. Bennett was indeed a treasure, I thought, slicing my asparagus and taking a bite. Heavenly, it was, the wine and cheese sauce divine. I could hardly wait to try the chocolate cream cake. It was always scrumptious.

Easing off the shoes, enjoying my food, I thought about the events of the evening and decided that, yes, it had been rather fun, but it wasn't at all my sort of thing. All that attention was flattering, sure, but I'd rather be upstairs rereading Captain Johnson's book on highwaymen. If Marie had any ideas about having me run a table regularly, she was in for a big surprise. I wasn't about to do it again after tonight, even if I
had
already made over thirty-five pounds in tips. Bleedin' fortune, it was, with more undoubtedly to come before the evening was over, but it wasn't really honest money, I told myself. I hadn't done anything to
earn
it, just put on a vulgar dress and joked with a bunch of dissolute gents who had so much money they could throw it away.

I was eating my second drumstick when I got that spooky, unnerving feeling you get when someone is staring at you. The sensation was so strong I could almost feel the eyes on me, and I looked up and saw him standing there across the room. For half a moment I thought I must be hallucinating. He was wearing sky blue satin knee breeches and frock coat, just as he had over eight years ago in the gardens at Greystone Hall, and his white satin waistcoat was delicately embroidered with tiny blue and silver leaves. A fine lace jabot spilled from his throat in a frothy cascade, and lace ruffles dripped down over his wrists, too. He was much older, must be almost thirty now, but he still looked like a bloody prince, even more handsome than I remembered.

Lord Clinton Meredith stared at me, a small frown making a furrow over the bridge of that fine aquiline nose, and I could tell that he was trying to place me, trying to remember where we had met. So far as I knew, he had only seen me once, the afternoon Eppie and I had been sitting on a bench in the green and he had come riding up, but I doubted he would recall that. Still, the sight of me stirred some vague memory, and it bothered him. Maybe he would go away. Maybe he wouldn't come over. I was surprised to find my heart palpitating, surprised to feel my knees grow weak. Bloody hell! No reason to be nervous about seeing Clinton Meredith again, I told myself, no reason at all. He wasn't anything to me, just a spectacularly handsome rake who once, a long time ago, had wanted to seduce me.

Still, I caught my breath as he started toward me. The picture of him and the lovely Lady Laura flashed in my mind. I saw him scooping his hand into her bodice and pulling out her round white breast and squeezing it until the nipple grew bright pink and firm. I saw him pulling her into his arms and kissing her so passionately it was like an erotic engraving come to life. I forced the unwelcome images out of my mind and tried to compose myself. When he reached the table I managed to give him a cool, indifferent glance. I was still holding the drumstick.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I'm Clinton Meredith, and I have the distinct impression you and I have met before.”

“Afraid not,” I replied. “This is my first night here.”

“We didn't meet here—I would have remembered. I have the feeling it was some time ago.”

“Must be mistaken,” I retorted.

“I don't think so. Your face, your—uh—I've seen you before, I'm quite sure of it. That hair, those eyes—yes, I'm sure of it, I just can't remember the circumstances.”

His voice was deep and throaty, as I remembered. Like thick honey, it was, a seductive voice that made you think of bedrooms and bodies and highly improper things. It seemed to caress each word as it came out, I thought, and I knew there weren't many women who could resist a voice like that, not if the man who was speaking looked like Clinton Meredith. Not if he had a full pink mouth and glorious gray eyes the color of smoke and heavy eyelids that drooped down, giving him a lazy, sleepy look. Not if he was over six feet tall and lean and muscular and built like a Greek athlete of old. His pale blond hair was thick, as shiny as silk, the waves pulled back from his face and tied at his nape with a blue silk ribbon. He was dazzling, all right, no question about it, but fortunately I knew him for what he was and was completely immune to that potent masculine allure.