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Ned peered at this woman who had just helped him engage the dance. He had the oddest notion that he’d seen her before.
Ned bowed. ‘I will return for the pleasure of dancing with you, Miss Gale.’ He walked away, hoping the supper dance would be announced very soon.
Celia noticed the change in Adele as she danced with Lord Neddington. The girl gave evidence of enjoying every dance and every partner, but never had such a dreamy look crossed her face as when she glanced at this man.
‘He is likely a fortune hunter,’ Celia’s mother-in-law commented.
‘Her dowry is respectable, nothing more,’ Celia responded. ‘Perhaps he just fancies her.’ That he visited gaming hells was Celia’s prime worry. She’d recognised him immediately.
‘Hmmph.’ The dowager frowned. ‘You ought not to have encouraged that young man, in any event. You know I am determined she should marry her cousin.’
Celia probably should not have encouraged Neddington. She’d done so only to oppose her mother-in-law. And because she’d seen the look in Adele’s eye, how much she wanted to dance with the man.
‘Luther shows very little interest in Adele, Lady Gale,’ Celia said.
Luther was the more likely fortune hunter.
Celia would not see Adele forced into a marriage, but could she allow Adele to marry a gambler? She had seen Lord Neddington at the gaming hell more than once. She could never recall seeing him play more than once or twice at hazard. He spoke to Rhysdale on occasion.
Rhysdale.
Rhys, he’d asked her to call him, although could she really think of him in such intimate terms? Her heart skipped at the mere thought of speaking his name aloud. Her name on his lips came back to her, as well as his smile and the way those lips touched the edge of his teacup.
And had almost touched hers.
She placed her hand over her heart.
She would see him tonight after the ball. And once again yield to the temptations of the gambling den, with no need to wager her own money. She felt a dangerous excitement at the prospect of playing cards with a hundred pounds to wager. Think how much she could win!
The Dowager Lady Gale’s voice broke through Celia’s thoughts. ‘You should have refused Neddington the supper dance. Now he will spend supper with her. That is entirely too much time.’
Her mother-in-law had a point.
Celia gazed in Adele’s direction. Adele was glowing with pleasure each time the figures joined her with Neddington. His face was filled with admiration.
Was this how young love appeared?
Celia had been given no chance to experience a youthful romance. She could not bear to take such joy away from Adele.
She turned to her mother-in-law. ‘Do not interfere, Lady Gale. Allow your granddaughter the pleasure of supper with an admirer.’
Lady Gale’s nostrils flared. ‘I’ve half a mind to fetch her to me for supper.’
Celia seized her arm with just enough pressure to make her point. ‘You will do no such thing. Do you hear me clearly?’
Lady Gale shrugged. ‘You are indeed a wretch, are you not?’
‘Interfere with Adele’s life and you will see what a wretch I can be.’
Celia’s conflicting wishes for Adele waged inside her. Let the girl choose her suitors. Let her fall in love with whom she wished. But not a man who would be cruel or thoughtless or more enamoured of gaming than of a wife and children. Celia had endured all of those.
Later that night Celia’s lady’s maid helped her get out of her ballgown and prepare to dress for the Masquerade Club. Celia sat at her dressing table, pulling pins from her hair so that they could fix it to fit under the new turban Younie had fashioned, to go with a new mask of white silk adorned with tiny seed pearls taken from one of her mother-in-law’s discarded gowns.
There was a knock on the door and Adele entered. ‘Celia, I saw the light under your door.’
Celia grabbed the new mask and hid it under her table. ‘I am still awake.’
Younie, new gown in hand, quickly retreated to the dressing room.
Adele flopped onto Celia’s bed. ‘I cannot sleep!’
Celia brushed out her hair. ‘What is the matter?’
Adele stretched and sighed. ‘Nothing is the matter! Everything is wonderful!’
‘What is so wonderful that you cannot sleep?’ Celia asked, although she was certain she knew.
‘I had such a lovely time at the ball. The best ever!’ Adele sat cross-legged. In her nightdress with her hair in a plait, she looked as young as when Celia first met her six years ago.
Celia smiled. ‘And to what do you attribute this pleasure?’
Adele wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I—I think I met someone I really like.’
Celia turned back to the mirror. ‘Lord Neddington?’
Adele’s reflection showed surprise. ‘How did you know?’
Celia kept brushing her hair. ‘A lucky guess, I suppose.’
‘He is so wonderful!’ She flopped back onto the bed. ‘And so handsome.’ She sat up again. ‘Do you not think he is handsome?’
‘I do,’ Celia agreed. ‘Very handsome.’
‘And very gentlemanly,’ Adele continued. ‘It was he who helped me procure the wine for you and Grandmama at the musicale. And tonight he fixed me the nicest plate at supper and gave me the choice of sitting with my friends. He was so agreeable, do you not think?’
‘Indeed.’ Celia had watched Neddington carefully and had seen nothing to object to in his manner towards Adele. It was his activity after the society events that concerned her.
Adele bounded off the bed and paced. ‘I do not know how I can sleep. Do you think he will call? I hope he will call. But I’m afraid Grandmama does not like him. Do you think she will send him away if he calls?’
Celia rose and hugged the girl. ‘She would not be so impolite.’ Celia would see to it.
Adele clung to her. ‘But she wants me to marry Cousin Luther and I do not even know him!’
‘Leave your grandmother to me. She will not interfere in your wishes.’ She loosened her hold on Adele and made the girl look into her eyes. ‘But know that neither your grandmother nor I would let you marry a man who was unsuitable.’
‘Lord Neddington is very suitable!’ Adele cried.
Celia hugged her again. ‘Indeed he seems to be, but you must not put your hopes beyond tomorrow. Merely hope he calls and, if he does, see if you still like him so well.’
‘I will like him tomorrow and the next day and the next,’ Adele cried. ‘But will he like me?’
Celia kissed her on the cheek. ‘Any man would be a fool not to fall heels over ears in love with you. But you should go to sleep now so you will not have dark shadows under your eyes tomorrow.’
Adele’s hands went to her cheeks. ‘Oh, my goodness, yes! I must look my very best.’ She kissed Celia and hugged her tightly. ‘Goodnight, Celia. I hope you sleep well.’
‘Sweet dreams,’ Celia murmured as Adele rushed out of the room.
Celia breathed a relieved sigh and looked towards her dressing room door. ‘It is safe to come out, Younie.’
Her maid appeared in the doorway. ‘That was a near go, wasn’t it?’
‘Indeed.’ Celia retrieved the mask from beneath her dressing table. ‘We’d best wait until we are certain she is sleeping.’
Celia arrived at the Masquerade Club later than she’d ever done before. Would Rhysdale—Rhys—be angry at her for being late?
She rushed inside, undeterred by the doorman, who seemed to recognise her even with the new gown and mask.
Rhys stood in the hall, as if waiting for her. Her breath caught. He wore an impeccably tailored but conservative black coat and trousers. With his dark hair and glowering expression he looked as dangerous as a highwayman.
‘You are late,’ he said.
‘I had difficulty getting away.’ She handed her shawl to the footman and tried not to sound defensive.
Rhys walked her out of the hall and she prepared to hear him ring a peal over her head as soon as they were out of earshot.
But he said nothing. When they stepped up to the cashier’s desk, Rhys withdrew. The cashier was the same man who had served the tea in Rhys’s drawing room and the only other person connected to the gaming house who had seen her face. He obviously knew precisely who she was, even masked, because he counted out the exact number of counters Rhys had promised her.
As she turned to make her way to the game room, she caught Rhys still standing in the doorway. She forced herself to lift her chin and meet his gaze head-on.
His eyes shone with admiration, much like Neddington’s had done when looking upon Adele. ‘The new gown is effective.’
Celia felt an unfamiliar rush of feminine pleasure and immediately forced herself to sober. She would not melt at mere compliments.
Her smile was stiff as she clutched her reticule, the counters safe inside. He stepped back for her to pass, but he followed her into the game room.
The room was crowded and she recognised many gentlemen who a couple of hours before had been dancing in Lady Cowdlin’s ballroom.
Xavier Campion approached her with his disarming smile. She sensed something unpleasant beneath it.
‘Madam.’ He bowed. ‘Do you fancy a game of whist?’
She glanced at Rhys, who frowned.
‘I came to play,’ she answered, unsure if she should accept Xavier’s invitation or not.
‘I will partner you if you wish,’ he said.
She glanced back to Rhys, but his back was to her and he was conversing with a group of gentlemen.
‘Yes, Mr Campion. Do you have some opponents in mind?’
He smiled again as he took her arm. ‘It is Xavier, remember. Let us go in search of some worthy opponents.’ His grip was firmer than was necessary. He leaned towards her and murmured in a tone that seemed falsely convivial. ‘I understand you are in Rhys’s employ. How did you manage that, I wonder?’
She did not miss a beat. ‘He made me the offer and I accepted. How else might it have been accomplished?’
‘He is my friend,’ Xavier said through gritted teeth. ‘I will not have him trifled with.’
Celia lifted her chin. ‘Rhysdale seems capable of selecting his own employees. Ought I to tell him you think otherwise?’ His concern was ridiculous. ‘Or perhaps he has asked you to protect him from me?’
Xavier’s eyes flashed. ‘He does not need to ask. I protect all my friends. Do you tell tales on all of yours?’
‘I do not.’ Celia paused. ‘But, then, you are not my friend, are you?’ She shrugged from his grip. ‘I have changed my mind, Mr Campion. I believe I will try my luck at hazard.’
She left him and did not look back.
It made her feel wonderfully strong. A man had tried to intimidate her and she’d held her own against him.
The hazard table was crowded with mostly men. Celia faltered a bit, then remembered Rhys said she was equally as alluring as his mysterious masked woman who had played here before.
She’d just stood up to a man; perhaps she could also be a little bit alluring.
‘Pardon me.’ She made herself smile in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner. ‘Might a lady play?’
The gentlemen parted. One was the man who had so disturbed Rhys the previous night. Her skin turned to gooseflesh. He, too, had been at Lady Cowdlin’s ball.
What did such a gentlemen say to his wife to explain going out again after a ball? Did the wife pace with worry as Celia’s mother had done?
‘You are welcome to play, my dear.’ The gentleman flicked his eyes quickly over her person. ‘Have you played before?’
Disgust roiled through her. She remembered Rhys’s warning.
She dropped any flirtatious affectations. ‘I am accustomed to card games like whist and piquet and vingt-et-un. I’ve not tried a game of dice before.’ But tonight she had money she could afford to lose.
The croupier at the hazard table was a pretty young woman with curly red hair. ‘Do you play, miss?’
The gentleman rose on his heels in self-importance. ‘I will assist the lady, if she so desires.’ He scooped up the dice. ‘I will stake you for this first round.’ He put a pound counter on the table and placed the dice in her hand. ‘Call a number between five and nine.’
‘Nine,’ she called, the date her father died.
‘Nine,’ he repeated.
Around the table there was a flurry of side-betting accompanying her call.
‘They are betting on your chances to win,’ he explained. ‘If you roll a nine, you will win. If you throw a two or a three, or an eleven or a twelve, you will lose. Now shake the dice in your hand and roll them on the table.’
She shook the dice and threw them down. They landed in the middle of the green baize, one landing on three, the other, on five.’
‘Eight!’ the croupier called.
