Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (22 page)

Alex flicked his fingernail over the
edge of the card, causing it to pop back into place. It barely made a sound,
really. And if you had good concentration, you would never even notice the
noise.

No one spared him a glance but
Westonburt. Testing the man’s mettle, Alex flicked the card repeatedly until
Westonburt slammed his fist against the table. The glasses rattled with the
force.

“Do you mind?” he snapped, spittle
flying out of his mouth.

Alex cocked his head to the side. “Do
I mind what?”

“That racket.” Westonburt flicked his
own card in a mimicking gesture and glared at Alex. “I cannot think.”

“Really? So sorry. I didn’t even
realize.”

“Place your bet,” Westonburt said
through clenched teeth.

Alex pushed his chips forward and
waited.

Peter thumped his glass down in front
of him. “I can see I’ll have to get the game going in earnest. I’ll see your
measly thirty pounds, Lion, and raise a hundred.”

“Damnation, man.” Dansby picked up
one of Peter’s chips. “I might actually need that loan before the night is
through, Lionhurst.”

“Of course.” Alex nodded.

“All right, you addle-pate,” Dansby
snapped. “I’ll match you.”

Peter grinned. “Then I’ll let you
slide for calling me stupid.”

“I call ’em as I see them, Lord
Primwitty. You’re a fool if you think your wife isn’t going to notice you
skulking about after losing so much money tonight.”

“She’ll not notice,” Peter replied.

Dansby shut one eye and squinted at
Peter. “She’s blind, then?”

Peter glared. “She won’t notice
because I plan on winning.”

Cameron tossed his chips into the
pile, matching Dansby and Peter’s bets. “Seems we are at cross purposes, Primwitty.
That’s my plan exactly.”

Westonburt dealt
the next card. All joking stopped as each man studied his hand once again.
Westonburt leaned
forward and spread his two cards face up. “Twenty-one,
gentlemen
.”

And so it went for three hands that
Westonburt won two and lost one. On the fourth hand, Cameron, who had lost
every hand, bowed out, shoving away from the table and storming off to weave
around the other card tables in the direction of the door. Alex watched his
brother stride out of the room. He favored his right leg as he went, yet managed
easily to grab a glass of champagne off a tray before quitting the room. A
grand exit by a grand actor. If only Mother would let poor Cam join the stage.

“It’s your deal, Dansby.” Alex held
the cards toward his friend, but Dansby pushed them back. “I’ve lost five
hundred pounds already. I’m out.”

“Do you need a loan?”

Dansby shook his head. “I’ll squeak
by. Just expect me for dinner every night until the end of the month.”

“Off with you, then. Sparring
tomorrow?”

Dansby rose from his chair. “Make it day
after. I’m otherwise engaged tomorrow.”

“Do tell, Dansby,” Peter crooned.

“Never.” Dansby turned on his heel
and strode away from the table.

Alex caught Peter’s gaze and blinked
three times fast and once slow. Time to go in for the kill. “What do you both
say to the winner getting double what we staked?”

“I expect my luck to last,” Westonburt
said, tossing chips worth five hundred pounds into the center.

Alex whistled. “I should hope so. Just
so you know, if it doesn’t, I’ll take property from you for payment.”

“You’re offering
me
some sort of reprieve?
You
,
who’ve won but one hand? I’ve no concern of you. If there’s any competition,
it’s
him
.” Westonburt pointed to Peter.

Peter matched Westonburt’s bet. “Thanks
for the compliment. I hope I can be obliging.”

After dealing, Alex glanced at his
hand. He smiled. Really, he could not have stopped it even he had wanted to,
and he did not. “Pontoon,” he said simply.

Westonburt’s cards fell to the table
in front of him. “Let me see.”

Alex flipped the cards onto the table,
taking extra care to give them the snap he knew his enemy hated. “Don’t forget
you owe me double your stake.”

Westonburt threw the chips at him
from the pile he had accumulated. Alex eyed the remainder and quickly
calculated. Two hands to take the winnings and two more to put the man into
debt of unrecoverable proportions. Funny he did not feel any rush of excitement
for the prospect. Maybe when the game came to a conclusion?

“I’m out,” Peter said, sliding the
rest of what he owed toward Alex.

“But you’ve all those chips left,”
protested Westonburt.

“I like to keep some money,” Peter
replied as he pulled his jacket from the chair and shrugged into it. “I’ll
leave it to the two of you.” He met Alex’s gaze for a brief second, then strode
away from the table.

Alex eyed Westonburt. “Your deal.”

Precisely two minutes later the man
was bust. And so began the downfall. Alex drew the chips toward him. “Bad luck.
Care to play again, or are you now afraid?”

“Your deal,” Westonburt snarled.

In school years ago, the teachers
would marvel at Alex’s ability to see something once and remember exactly where
he had seen it. He could look at a page and tell you everything on it, word for
word. “Special” they had called him. A gift from God. Now he used this so-called
gift. The old cards went to the bottom of the deck without shuffling. Without
having to glance at the cards, he knew every card that was out of play. Pity
every man could not do this.

Four lost hands later, Westonburt
dripped sweat and he shook in his chair. Alex took a long sip of his whiskey,
allowing the liquor to wash over his tongue. Anger was a powerful thing. Tricky
too. It could make a man dominant or very, very careless. Westonburt had used
up his winnings two hands ago.

Alex leaned toward his enemy. “You should
stop. You owe me”―he looked down at the paper where the calculations had
been scrawled, though he did not need to― “six thousand pounds.”

Alex had never seen a man turn green,
but there was a first for everything. He shoved Westonburt’s glass at him. “Let’s
call it a game.”

“No. The next hand is mine. Has–to–be.”

“And if it’s not? Can you pay me in
blunt?”

“I’ll give you my house.”

Alex shrugged. “It’s yours to give,
but I suggest you stop. What will your mother say if you have to make her
move?”

“I’m no mama’s boy. Deal the damn
cards.”

The noise around Alex dulled to
nothing as he concentrated. He heard only the beat of his heart, the hiss of his
breath and the slide of fate as the cards swished across the table. One for the
enemy. One for him.

Westonburt pulled out a handkerchief
and wiped it across his glistening forehead. Alex watched him. Strange, but he
felt oddly cold. Just to make sure things went smoothly, Alex leaned in to
tighten the line. “I hate to see a man lose his house. Perhaps you should
quit.”

Westonburt glared daggers. The man
would not quit. He was backed against the wall. Alex had hold of his enemy’s
Achilles’ heel. Westonburt felt inferior, the weakness shimmered in his eyes. Westonburt
wanted to prove he was the best. Whatever the cost. Reason was gone, and in its
wake, disaster remained.

“I’ll buy another.”

“A mere thousand again?” Alex asked.

Westonburt’s gaze snapped to his. A
bead of sweat slid down the man’s forehead and dropped onto the table. “Make it
three.”

Alex flipped the card. “You’re bust,
and you owe me twelve thousand.” Where was the feeling of joy from the first
strike?

Westonburt tore at his cravat. “A
three,” he spat. “I was sure it would be a three.”

The man was clever, but not quite
clever enough. Alex picked up what would have been the next card dealt and
flipped it over. A three. He allowed a slow smile to curve his lips. “It seems
you’re unlucky tonight.”

Westonburt’s hand
clamped down on Alex’s arm. “You bloody sod.”

“Do you mind?” Alex slid his gaze to Westonburt’s
fingers. “You’re mussing my coat, and my valet will have a fit. He is not a man
I care to anger. Irish, through and through.”

“You played me for a fool,”
Westonburt growled.

“Did I? Seems to me you did that all
on your own. Now, I suggest you unhand me, unless you now care to test my
skills as a boxer, in which case, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“I’ll test you anywhere you like.”

“Out there.” Alex jerked his arm
away, motioned toward the terrace and stood to accommodate his enemy.

Before he could take a step, a hand
clamped on his shoulder and pressed him down. He glanced up into Sin’s shadowed
faced. Sin motioned him to sit back down. Alex hesitated for a moment, caught
between anger and good sense. Robert’s voice rang in his head.
No man worth
his salt acts without thinking
, though apparently, Robert had forgotten his
own worth. Alex dropped the rest of the way into his seat while appraising
Westonburt. Judging by the man’s open mouth, Sin’s sudden appearance had
dumfounded him as well.

Sin leaned in with both elbows on the
table. “Though I love a good boxing match as well as the next chap, I promised
my mother I would keep all my gentleman friends in line tonight. It seems she
had some concern about my old chums all coming together in one house to greet
me. Some dribble about us busting up the hunting lodge before I left for
Europe.”

“We are not friends,” Westonburt
hissed through clenched teeth.

“And here I thought we’d gotten off
to such a fine start,” Sin replied casually.

“How? By you helping your friend to
swindle me?”

“I did not swindle you,” Alex said. “Vingt-et-un
is a game of bluffing. I bluffed. You failed to see it. Now you owe me twelve thousand
pounds. I’ll take it in cash or property, but I want it by day after tomorrow.”

Alex leaned back in his chair,
watching Westonburt’s color deepen and the man’s hands curl into fists on the
table. What must it feel like to lose your home? Bloody awful. Alex had a
twinge of pity for a moment, but shook it off with Lissie’s memory.

“I’ll have my man deliver the
paperwork giving you ownership by noon day after tomorrow.” Westonburt’s words
came out in jerky spats.

“That’ll do nicely. I’ll give you a
week to remove your belongings.”

Westonburt shoved back his chair and
stood. “I won’t forget what you’ve done, Lionhurst. I always repay my slights.”
Westonburt turned to leave; then he stopped. Slowly, he faced Alex once again. “You
already knew that, didn’t you?”

Yes, Alex wanted to say and grind the
man’s stupidity in his face, but it was far better to let Westonburt wonder. The
doubt would eat at the man’s soul in a way the truth could not. And Alex had
personal experience with what doubt could do. “Are you referring to trying to
buy into my company?”

“Of course.”

“And how did you repay me for my
supposed slight?” Alex asked, rising to face Westonburt. Would the man admit
the truth?

“Watch yourself,” Westonburt snarled,
then stormed off.

Alex slumped into his seat. He was
tired of revenge, yet the game was not over.

“Care to talk about it?” Sin asked
while motioning a servant to bring two more drinks.

“About what?”

Sin took the two glasses from the
waiter who now hovered at the table. “Why your revenge isn’t bringing you any
joy?”

Alex stared into the shadows of the ballroom.
Why hadn’t his first success with revenge brought him pleasure as he had
thought it would? “Damn,” he murmured. The only thing that had brought him any
happiness tonight was when he had danced with Gillian. Not the game, nor the
winning of it.

Sin reached over and gripped Alex’s
shoulder. “May I tell you what I learned in Paris?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Sin chuckled. “You know me too well.”
His fingers curled tightly around Alex’s arm. His piercing gaze clouded. “Revenge
is never as sweet as you imagine.”

Alex studied his old friend. “What
happened to you in Paris?”

“Nothing I’d like to see happen to
you. I have no doubt Gillian will have an offer from Sutherland soon.”

Alex nodded, his heart constricting.

“Don’t let her leave for America and
take your only chance at happiness with her.”

Was Sin right? Could they actually
make each other happy? Could he be happy? He hadn’t thought so. But with her,
things were different. He felt different. Like he had before Robert’s death. “I
have to go.”

“I hoped you might,” Sin said.

Alex left Sin sitting there and
strode out of the room toward the ballroom. He had to see her. He didn’t know
what he would say or if he would say anything, but he had to see her.

* * * * *

Harrison pushed his way through the
crowd, fixed on getting the hell out of there before he killed someone. Lionhurst
would pay for what he had done. Or maybe the man would simply meet with a
dagger in his back one dark night. As Harrison walked, he noticed people
staring and snickering. Was it directed at him? He ran his hands through his
hair, over his coat, straightened his tie, and then he finally let them drop to
his sides where he clutched at the material of his britches.

They couldn’t know what a fool he had
been. Not yet. He paused midstride. How would he explain losing the house to
Mother? What would he say? Damn her. That’s what he would say. She could go rot
on the side of the road where she belonged.

After all the years of making him
feel less than worthless, she was now the worthless one. If she was very good
and begged, he might let her come and live with him in the house Kingsley would
be giving him. The marriage couldn’t happen soon enough. How many weeks? Four! Bloody
hell. No, three. Three weeks. He sighed with relief.

Three weeks. That left him two weeks
to live where? Paying Lionhurst what he owed him would take everything. Kingsley
was going to have to give him some money to live on until the marriage.

All he had ever wanted was to be one
of them, but these people in this room had never accepted him. But one person
had. Allysia had accepted him, maybe loved him. He stopped, grabbed a glass of
champagne off a passing servant’s tray and downed it. He wanted to drink her
memory away. He had not killed her. Even so, he woke at night drenched in sweat,
remembering how she had begged him to break off his engagement to Lady Gillian.
He could not get Allysia’s desperate voice out of his head.

He spotted Lady
Gillian across the ballroom floor, dancing in the American’s arms. Anger surged
through him, and he quickened his pace to reach her. The little fool did not
understand the power he wielded over her family. His secret made him invincible.
There was no better moment than now to remind his forgetful fiancée exactly who
she was engaged to. And he knew from experience just how to teach a woman a
lesson she would never forget.