Gambling on a Scoundrel (11 page)

He shook his head, hoping to clear it, and forced himself to focus on the problem at hand. "What precipitated the scene I just witnessed?"

"I was clumsy," she said, quickly depositing the chip in her reticule. Lucien swallowed his disappointment and avoided glancing at her cleavage again. "I took a step backwards and bumped into a man carrying a tray of drinks. It was entirely my fault, I assure you."

"It seems that walking backwards is a problem for you."

She looked at him blankly.

"That's what caused you to fall yesterday at the docks." He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice.

"Oh, no, that wasn't it. You see, I had just seen my fiancé with his new fiancée, and I was in such a state of shock that I tripped."

He shook his head in confusion. "Did you say you saw your fiancé's fiancée? That can't be right."

"It certainly isn't," she said vehemently. "That little French tart is trying to steal my Ernest from me, and I refuse to stand meekly by and allow her to destroy our future together. She doesn't know me well if she thinks I'll..."

He interrupted, sensing a diatribe building. "How does that explain your presence here and the scene I witnessed?"

"Oh. But they're here. Both of them."

"You followed them?"

"No, no. You don't understand. I was already here when they arrived, and I didn't want them to see me, so I hid until I could leave without being noticed. But then I bumped into someone holding a tray, and..., well, you know the rest."

There was another knock at the door and it opened a couple of inches to reveal Boothby.

"Not right now," Lucien said. "I'm busy."

"There's a gentleman by the name of Snowden, sir," Boothby replied through the narrow opening. "Mr. John Snowden. He's asking to see you."

Blast it. Now? The woman's bad luck was beginning to rub off on him. He needed her to leave.

"Is he waiting?"

"He's at one of the roulette tables. He asked that you send for him as soon as you're free."

Lucien sighed. Good. He'd have a moment to move Miss Bliss out of his office. He glanced at her. "This is why I didn't want you here. I have business dealings I need to address with this gentleman, and you are a complicating factor. I need to move this transaction forward smoothly."

She blinked. "Did he say John Snowden?" Miss Bliss asked, her face softening as she said the man's name.

"Why? Do you know him?"

"He was an acquaintance of my father's. I didn't know him well, but he came to our house on business occasionally, and he was always kind to me. He'd recently left the army and had decided to enter the railroad business. I wonder what business he might want to transact with a casino owner."

Lucien stared at her blankly for a moment. This woman, with her odd sense of dress, her unusual interest in journalism, and her obsession with winning back a former fiancé, confounded him. He'd entirely forgotten that her late father had owned Bliss Railways. "I realize that this is an impertinent question, but if you're the daughter of a wealthy man, why do you bother to battle your way through life as a journalist?"

She sighed. "You sound just like my father. Why do people assume that a woman has no desire to do anything meaningful with her life? Men want to accomplish things and nobody believes that it's odd, so why can't women?"

"What about a family? A husband?"

Miss Bliss reddened. "Having a family does not preclude a rich, meaningful life. My mother died when I was young, and my father had little to do with my upbringing. Although I do not plan to pattern my methods of parenting on his example, he allowed me to see that nothing is impossible. It simply takes hard work."

He stared at this unusual woman, startled by her words. How odd to hear something he'd often said coming from the lips of another. Especially from someone so unlikely.

"And society?" he asked, suddenly quite curious. "I'm sure you haven't found it easy to follow this path and still be accepted there."

Miss Bliss sighed. "I haven't. You ask probing questions. Are you certain you want to continue doing so while Mr. Snowden is waiting for you?"

Lucien snapped his jaw shut. How had he allowed himself to become so distracted? This woman was trouble. But maybe..."Perhaps you could help me."

"With what?" She raised one eyebrow. "Closing a deal with Mr. Snowden?"

She was a perceptive thing, wasn't she? "Yes. That's the gist of it." He paused. Did he really want to tell her this? But if she were helping him... "I'm hoping to sell Hamlin House to him."

Her face went slack for a moment, and he could have sworn his announcement surprised her, but she hid her reaction so quickly that he wasn't quite certain he'd seen it. "Tit for tat," she said. "I'll make you an offer. We'll trade something for something. I'll help you woo Mr. Snowden so that you can sell him your casino if you'll agree to help me."

Could she? But what did he have to lose? If she really knew Snowden, as she claimed, then she'd be unlikely to destroy the man's dream of owning a casino. And perhaps she might be of some benefit.

"Deal," Lucien said. He hurried for the door and opened it, finding Boothby standing outside. "Please ask Mr. Snowden to join me, and apologize for keeping him waiting."

10 - Goals Align

Tempy's entire body relaxed, and until that moment she hadn't realized how tense she'd been. Not only had Hamlin allowed her to stay, but he seemed to have revealed his reason for not wanting her here. Could this be the secret Mr. Hamlin had been keeping from her? That he was selling Hamlin House?

When John Snowden's broad-shouldered form stepped through the door, the warm smile of greeting she sent him was sincere. After all, without his arrival, Hamlin may well have ejected her from the building for good.

Mr. Snowden's face registered astonishment at seeing her. "Miss Bliss? Good heavens, girl. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. I haven't seen you in over a year."

"Not since Father's funeral."

Mr. Snowden leaned on his cane as he crossed the room, and the pressure of his weight on it left little divots on the oriental rug as he approached her. She'd forgotten how tall he was.

She gazed up at him as he took her hand in greeting, holding it gently in his massive one. His smile was warm and genuine. There was more gray hair sprouting along his temples than she remembered from a year ago. "I always enjoyed seeing you when you visited Father. How are things going with your railroad?"

She noticed a frown that crossed his face before he disguised it with an unreadable expression. "Well enough," he said with a shrug. "A bit dry. I miss your father's advice. He had a keen insight into that business."

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Lucien asked. "Do you still favor cognac?"

"I can always rely upon you to have a stock of the good French stuff," Snowden said with a nod.

That word again, Tempy thought.
French
. Just as she'd begun to relax long enough to forget about her problems with Ernest and that French tart, that word had jumped up and startled her like a child's jack-in-the-box toy.

She watched as the two gentlemen examined the label on the cognac bottle. They had a similar bearing about them, with their straight backs and broad shoulders. Their elegant evening clothes fit them both perfectly, and they were both relaxed and at ease in Mr. Hamlin's sumptuous office space.

The tall bookcases and large wooden desk were of the same mahogany as the paneled walls. And the red velvet curtains with their gold tasseled trim almost made her feel as though she were performing on stage in one of London's many theaters.

Tempy was pulled from her reverie when Mr. Hamlin halted next to her with a snifter of cognac in his hand. He didn't hold it the same way she'd seen her father hold a glass of wine. Instead, he cradled the bowl of the snifter in the palm of his hand, allowing the stem of the glass to protrude from between his fingers. He swirled the bowl, apparently warming the brownish liquid with the heat of his hand as Father always had. His pale blue eyes were fixed on hers and he wore an expectant expression. Had he spoken to her? "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"

"I was telling Mr. Snowden that this is your first time here at Hamlin House."

"Yes," she said, turning her attention to Mr. Snowden. "And I had excellent luck. I won on my first bet at the roulette table."

"You don't say. Black or red?"

"Eight."

Mr. Snowden's eyebrows arched as he pulled his head back in surprise. "Are you telling me you bet on a single number and won? That's astonishing." He took a half-step closer to her. "Perhaps I should join you for the rest of the evening to see if some of that luck rubs off."

"As much as I would enjoy that, I'm afraid I can't linger here. I already used up all of my luck. I had a mishap with a tray of drinks, and my dress is quite ruined." She turned slightly to show him the streaks of wine down the back of her gown, marring the pink silk.

"I'm sorry to hear that. You would have been a delightful companion." Snowden sounded genuinely regretful.

Mr. Snowden had always been a favorite of hers among Father's work associates. Of course, he was one of the few who saw her as an individual rather than as an extension of her father's railroad empire. That, on its own, endeared him to her.

"It seems that I've caught you at an inopportune moment," Snowden said. "Perhaps Lucien and I can have our chat after he's arranged for your safe return home." He shot Mr. Hamlin a pointed look and then jerked his head toward the door, indicating that Mr. Hamlin should join him over there. For a private talk, of course.

Tempy sighed. Mr. Snowden might have been happy to see her, but her presence in the casino was a different matter. If she were to hazard a guess, she'd say that Mr. Snowden didn't approve of her being here.

She needed to address this problem immediately, otherwise Mr. Hamlin might decide to reconsider the agreement they'd struck. "Mr. Hamlin very kindly invited me to visit his casino so that I can conduct some research for an article I'm writing. He has been most generous." There. Let Mr. Hamlin try wriggle out of their deal now that she'd announced it to Mr. Snowden.

Mr. Snowden's rigid posture relaxed, but only slightly. "I must say, that relieves me. I was afraid you might have turned to gambling since your father's passing. You've a fine mind, and I'm glad to hear you're doing something constructive with it."

"Thank you. That means a great deal to me."

"What kind of research are you doing?"

Tempy paused, not sure if she wanted to reveal the topic of her article. What if Mr. Snowden didn't want a journalist spending time in the casino he hoped to purchase? She glanced at Mr. Hamlin to see if he wanted to intercede, but he was no help at all. All he did was raise his eyebrows as if interested in hearing her response.

It would be best to be discreet. "I'm terribly sorry," Tempy said, "but I don't think it would be prudent to discuss it at this time. But as soon as it is, I'll be quite happy to explain everything to you."

"Oh? Now you've aroused my curiosity, Miss Bliss." He smiled at her indulgently. "I hope it doesn't take us another year before we meet again, but if it does, you'll have to tell me all about your research."

Tempy smiled and nodded.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll let you arrange for Miss Bliss to return home," Mr. Snowden said. He turned toward the door, but hooked his hand around Mr. Hamlin's elbow so that he had to walk with him. Even though Mr. Snowden pitched his voice low, Tempy could still follow their conversation.

Apparently, Mr. Snowden was giving Mr. Hamlin a dressing down for inviting her to the casino. She couldn't hear Mr. Hamlin's reply, but then she heard Mr. Snowden say, "...don't think I won't do everything in my power to defend her honor. Just because her father..." She didn't hear the rest of what he said, but she relaxed slightly. He wasn't worried because she was a journalist, but because she was a single young woman. That was a relief.

Mr. Hamlin patted Mr. Snowden on the back reassuringly, and then Mr. Snowden glanced back and gave Tempy a solemn nod before leaving the room.

Mr. Hamlin waited until the door closed behind the departing Mr. Snowden and then turned his attention to Tempy. He was frowning. "You managed that adroitly."

"Hmm?"

He raised a brow. "Telling John Snowden that I agreed to allow you to do your research here. You created enough of a mystery that he'll be certain not to forget it."

So he
had
noticed. That pleased her. "There's more to it than just the research."

"More to what?"

"There's something more I need from you." She licked her lips. "Don't forget, you already agreed to help me before we negotiated the terms."

"Do you mean that you want something more from me other than access to my casino?"

"Yes." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "It's about my fiancé."

"Isn't he someone else's fiancé now?"

She shot him her most quelling look. "I don't appreciate your flippant tone, Mr. Hamlin."

He raised his hands, palms out and fingers splayed. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that. But how do you expect me to help?"

"I finally came to understand my underlying problem tonight. Men don't want this," she said, her hand sweeping down in a broad gesture toward herself. "They don't want solid responsibility and dependability. They don't want independent thought. They want that." She flicked her hand in the direction of the casino. "They want glamor and excitement. They want risk and the thrill of the chase. And that French woman is the type of person I need to become in order to win Ernest back."

Mr. Hamlin furrowed his brow. "Why do you want to win him back at all? If I'm not mistaken, he's the man you were hiding from in my casino just now, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"From first impressions, he seems a bit easily led, don't you think? Perhaps a bit weak?"

"He certainly is not weak!" Tempy stamped her foot, but the gesture was hidden by her full skirt. "How could you possibly come to that conclusion after seeing him from across a room?"