Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (16 page)

“It was given to me this morning in an act of generosity.” She didn't say more, impatient now to return to Grandmother and Nan. “Thank you for your time. I need to go.”

The woman clasped her hand, her touch cool and smooth as she lifted Angelica's wrist and examined the jewelry until the bracelet caught in the open weave of the lace table covering. No matter how she wriggled her wrist, one charm, the silver key, remained tightly entwined with the threads. Worried she might tear a hole in the tablecloth, Angelica deferred to the gypsy who gently unwound the charm all the while holding Angelica's hand in a firm grasp.

“You are so troubled, child. Let me help you.” The woman released Angelica's hand and picked up the drawstring bag, muttering about the pretty charms on the bracelet and other words in her native tongue.

“Is that Spillikins?” Angelica found a slight smile recalling the familiar game she'd played with Helen countless times. Spillikins consisted of several long thin sticks in a bag. Players emptied the contents onto a flat surface and attempted to pick up the sticks in size order without disrupting the overlapping pieces. Helen was an excellent player, whereas Angelica always became impatient and ruined her chances by removing the pieces in a careless hurry.

Without answering the question or providing an explanation, the gypsy set aside the mirror and emptied the pouch upon the table, a series of cards falling out in a disorderly pile. “Nothing like your parlor game, I assure you.”

The gypsy's knowledge of the favored pastime seemed oddly misplaced, but then again the woman had likely traveled across the continent and thereby met a wide assortment of gentry who were amused by her charade and provided a wealth of information. The explanation made sense, at least, as much sense as Angelica could surmise considering the circumstances.

The gypsy methodically sorted the cards on the table and Angelica watched, transfixed by the woman's intensity. Would the answer to her problems, any one of them, lie in the assortment of unrevealed pictures spread across the lace? The back of each card bore an identical design, a border in an ornamental key pattern, while the background, a bright yellow color, displayed stars in an assortment of sizes. It wasn't until the gypsy had five cards lined vertically across the table that she resigned her hands to her lap and looked sedately into Angelica's anxious face.

“What happens now?” Angelica whispered, not sure if some type of veneration was due the ritual.

The gypsy glanced up with a twinkle in her eyes, one small hand passing over the cards as if divining their meaning before she dropped her concentration to the line, her expression ever changing.

The wait seemed unbearable and likewise ridiculous, the sudden development of trust and hope she endowed to the cards unfounded and out of character. In truth, hadn't everything she'd done of late been so? Dancing with a line of villagers? Abandoning propriety in fashion and custom? Requesting a kiss from a stranger and, most cherished, spending an evening in the arms of a charming and terribly handsome man. With no effort she envisioned Benedict's rugged profile in her mind's eye, the feel of his silky hair forever on her fingertips. Their lives were intertwined now. Spending time with him had provided everything she'd wished for, a memory to treasure forever, except she found herself wanting something else now.
Wanting more
. But
more
was impossible.
More
was a dream and dreams were for fools. She almost laughed aloud. Wasn't she a fool sitting here in a gypsy's tent at a country fair?

“Clear your mind of but one thought. Let your focus be solely intent on your heart's desire.”

The woman's voice echoed in her ears and again a shiver rippled through her. Angelica did as instructed and conjured Benedict's image, the smell of his shaving soap, the brush of his whiskered chin against her cheek, and a resolute calm settled over her.

“I'm ready.” She whispered her reply although the last of her nervousness leaked out through her fingertips where she played idly in her lap with the charms on her bracelet.

The booth grew silent, terribly so. Almost as if nothing existed beyond the thick concentration of the two within the interior, a hallowed noiselessness that subdued the outside world, quashing all other sound until the only thing Angelica could hear was the steady rhythm of her own heart. With this quiescence achieved, the gypsy rested her fingers on the first card in the row and gently revealed the face.

The card showed a number two along with a vivid drawing of a woman dressed in ceremonial blue robes, a large headpiece and throne depicted in the background.

“The High Priestess. Aah, we start with a very positive energy. This card depicts you and the forces that tie you to the moon. Femininity and inspiration mix with strong physical desires. You are a complex woman with strong yearning for bodily pleasure.”

Uncomfortable and more than a little shocked, Angelica remained silent though a guilty flush threatened to reveal she knew exactly to what the gypsy woman referred when she spoke of bodily desire. Did she somehow look changed? She doubted so, but while the world may not know what had transpired on the beach, the cards revealed her physical curiosity and attraction to Benedict.

“Let's see what the second card offers.” The woman paused as if suffering a beat of regret and then flipped the square.

Angelica hemmed her bottom lip anxiously, only to gasp when a skeleton, drawn in thick harsh strokes of pen and ink, appeared on the card.

“Do not despair over the Death card. Death can mean many things.” The gypsy ran her fingertip over the skeleton's bones from skull to toes.

“I don't understand. I know death as the end of all things.” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper, afraid to talk too loudly for fear of invoking an unpleasant result.

“A shallow understanding although you speak some truth. The end of all things can represent the abandonment of ideas, abolishment of plans, or release from a disruptive relationship.” She tapped her short fingernail against the card. “Of course, Death would like nothing better than to see us fooled. This card may represent exactly what you fear, death in its truest form.”

Suppressing another shudder, Angelica withdrew from the table as if to avoid the gypsy's words but, not offended, the woman released a raspy laugh and turned the next card.

“How interesting that Fate shows us The Sun after revealing the darkness of Death. Sun represents vitality, new life, freedom, and joy.”

Angelica stared at the golden orb painted on the card, its rays extending to the very edges. The tattoo on Benedict's chest matched the image closely. Was it her imagination or a trick of wishful thinking? Though he never spoke of it, she perceived Benedict was troubled on a different level than he showed the world. She'd like for him to find new life if that would make him happy, and of course freedom too. Perhaps the image on the card was no coincidence, but more her heart's desire.

“We've two cards left.” Without pause, the woman revealed the fourth card. “The Fool.” She laughed again and reached across the table to stroke the back of Angelica's hand. “Do not look displeased. The cards are having great fun at your expense.”

“What do you mean?” Was the jester on the card, dressed in purple costume with his painted grin, symbolic of her? All at once she wished to leave the booth and return to Grandmother. Good heavens, how much time had passed?

“Be calm. The Fool is not what you perceive. His card is one of positivity and purity. We are all fools at birth in need of instruction and pure of heart. The message here is to keep your eyes wide open, look where you are going, and learn from your past. Don't allow others to dictate your choices. You must determine your own path or become the fool.”

A truer description of her father's expectations didn't exist. If only the cards told her how to avoid his predestined dictates. Despair winnowed through her, settling her eyes on the last card. What would it reveal? Between the disturbing shivers that occasionally skittered down her spine and the frenetic rhythm of her heart, her fortitude was stretched taut.

“The Hierophant.”

The gypsy stated the title with such finality, Angelica abandoned the card and shot her eyes to the woman's face. “Is this bad?” Her simplistic question hardly encompassed the mass of emotions ricocheting through her chest as she waited for an explanation. How foolish. She attempted to persuade herself to ignore the entire experience, yet a niggling voice inside insisted she stop thinking and listen to the wisdom the gypsy had to share.

“The Hierophant represents many things. See here.” The old woman tapped the drawing where an enrobed holy man sat in a tall chair, a large key-shaped staff in one hand, and smaller keys at his feet. “Notice how his hand is raised in a blessing of benediction.”

Angelica's eyes grew wide at the last word, her breath locked tight inside.

“And do you see how one hand is raised to the heavens and the other points below to hell? The Hierophant is a builder of the bridge to happiness, creator of a balance between two worlds. The keys to all one's choices lie at his feet to remind us the decisions we make dictate our future.”

Stunned silent, Angelica stared at the card as if she could divine how the message impacted on her life. Was the holy card representative of her father's devotion to religion? Was the mention of a benediction coincidence in its resemblance to Benedict's name? And why was she still thinking about Benedict? Their shared intimacy was exactly what she'd requested. A one-time experience for her to carry into the future. He'd likely forgotten all about her by now. How foolish to think he'd be idling away his time by remembering their moments on the beach.

Confused and more than a little disenchanted, Angelica rose from the barrel, offered a tentative smile to the gypsy woman and fled the booth. She exited into a bombardment to her senses, the fair crowded and lively, in contrast to the quietude within the stall. For several breaths she stood motionless in an effort to right the world. When she finally trusted herself to continue with the evening, she glanced across the lane to realize she faced the lemonade stand. Good heavens, how had she missed it?

Seeking the warmth and reassurance of her grandmother's company, she made brisk strides to the vendor, purchased two cups, and hurried to the sand ring across the grounds.

Chapter Thirteen

Hazard. The name of the game warned participants of its lethal threat, its definition a precursor for risk, danger, and expenditure of some kind whether that be monetary or, at times, a piece of one's soul. Winners gained everything, losers lost all, the game able to seduce even the most skeptical fellow all luck could change on the next roll and wager.

Kellaway enjoyed the rush of tossing the dice, lucky beyond comprehension, his skills honed to an expert level and his strategy flawless, so when he walked into any St. Giles hell, smarter men backed away from the table and squandered their money on alternate games of chance. The contrast of the outside world—a tangle of narrow alleys and dangerous corners filled with drunks, thieves, and unfortunates—with the plush interior of the hell where liquor and coin flowed freely evoked a wry realization that he belonged to neither, a dissenter on both levels.

He surveyed the crush inside Dante's with a keen eye, having chosen the establishment due to the information supplied by his mother and Laurence's habits. Tonight the crowded room was a nuisance. Faro tables were three people deep, liquor flowed freely to ensure men emptied their pockets, and the haze of cigar smoke hung in the air, heady and thick. He cut Jasper a glance across the room, an observer to a heated game of Loo, and waved him over with a subtle nod. Kell spied Laurence across the room, the scarlet handkerchief his mother had planted in the artist's breast pocket an indication he'd found his mark. Shadowing the man would prove little effort. Kell stood above most other gentlemen, his height an advantage.

Twenty minutes later he settled beside Laurence at the nearest Hazard game. The other two participants abandoned the table upon his arrival as if he'd invited the plague to buy in. Kell couldn't contain a satisfied smirk. He'd been away, but his reputation remained intact, an excellent advantage and unfortunate circumstance for Laurence who knew no better. He doubted their paths had ever crossed. Kell played at the tables in the back of the club where wagers reached staggering heights of twenty thousand pounds hinged on one roll of the dice. He entered and left discreetly through the back entrance and rarely mingled with the crowd at the front of the house.

Now wagers were placed and the gambling commenced, Jasper a background presence and reassurance events would not escalate to an unmanageable level if Laurence proved a sore loser. Kell signaled for a brandy, a flash of titanium hair catching his eye and distracting him from play, the dice clenched in his fist. The club offered a variety of entertainment and the ladybirds in this establishment were shrewd and plentiful. He'd sampled many, enjoyed few, and at present desired none, yet the half glimpse he'd caught of long blonde hair brought with it an instantaneous remembrance of his mermaid on the beach, a strong reminder to finish up business with Laurence and return to Brighton. He wanted nothing more than to find her again and sink into her promised oblivion. The lady showed an uncommon ardor and passion for intimacy he'd thought singular. Something about the manner in which she expressed her desire struck a chord within his soul, unlike the brash propositions of his mistresses or blatant physical requests of those he took home for an evening's respite. One taste had whetted his appetite for more.

But now was not the time for erotic fantasies. The sooner he finished the task this evening, the faster he'd bring his desires to reality.

He tossed the dice into the cup and established the main, pleased to see Laurence wager with the house. Kell threw in and nicked. Laurence lost, cursed, and placed more money on the painted table. It was almost too easy. Hazard might be a game of chance, but Kell had played so often and for so long, the dice were kind, happy to once again be in the control of a respectful friend. He nicked several more times, enjoying the exasperation in the artist's eyes when he repeatedly upped the wager in confident belief Kell's luck would run out and he'd recoup his losses, only to be proven wrong again.