Gambling on a Scoundrel (3 page)

"You've never been there?" Millicent asked. "You really must visit. It's quite lovely."

Oddly, Mr. Hamlin said, "Yes, you must," while at the same time shaking his head "no." She suspected that his body was showing her his true opinion on the subject. He wore a slightly pained expression. Apparently, he really didn't want her to visit Hamlin House, but he was too polite to contradict Millicent's suggestion.

Well, that was too bad. For him.

"Thank you, Mr. Hamlin. I believe I'll take you up on that generous offer." She continued to watch him as he frowned, but he said nothing.

An awkward silence fell over the table. Perhaps it would be best not to push Mr. Hamlin further on the subject of visiting his casino. It was apparent that he'd already regretted his polite agreement, since she'd used it as an invitation.

Tempy chose to make a tactical retreat from the topic and glanced at Millicent. "You mentioned you're leaving London...," she prompted.

Millicent nodded. "There's an issue at one of the steel mills, and I need to meet with my manager there. Apparently, there's some trouble with their coal supplier, and I need to intervene."

"What type of problem?" Tempy asked. "Is it with transporting the coal? If so, perhaps I can speak to someone at Bliss Railways."

"No. It has to do with the quality of the coal. They aren't sending us what we need in order to heat the furnaces to the correct temperature. But thank you, though. You've been quite generous in helping me smooth over problems in the past."

Tempy glanced at Mr. Hamlin and then back to Millicent. "Forgive me for asking, but it appears that you've known one another for a number of years. How is it that we haven't met before this?"

"Oh," Millicent said, looking slightly chagrined. "I must admit, I've broken a promise to your father by introducing the two of you. He didn't approve of having his young daughter exposed to..., now how did he put it..., 'the more scandalous aspects of society.'"

Mr. Hamlin arched his eyebrows. "I'm scandalous, am I?"

"You're quite the scoundrel," Millicent teased. "Don't you read the newspapers?"

"Lies. All lies." He glanced at Tempy as he said this, giving her a pointed look.

His expression confused her for a moment, but then, with a flash of comprehension, she suddenly grasped the source of his antagonism. The man must be worried about what a journalist might write about his casino. "I assure you, Mr. Hamlin, that not all newspapers are the same," Tempy said.

"That's the only reason I'm sitting here, Miss Bliss. Well, that and my respect for Mrs. Kidman. I've never found myself lambasted in
All the Year Round
for owning a casino. I hope that continues to be the case."

Tempy felt a fiery blush rush to her cheeks and raised her chin. "Mr. Dickens doesn't print a scandal sheet. You have no cause for concern on that account."

Mr. Hamlin frowned at her response. "But you understand why I might worry, don't you?"

"Of course. But I can assure you that you and your casino will not be the focus of my article. I'm interested in the ways that gambling affects women and families in general. Not you or your casino in particular."

He still didn't look convinced. The chill emanating from him was almost palpable. He must have been the victim of a great deal of bad press in the past.

Again, Millicent made an attempt to soothe the growing tension. "Speaking of bad press, have either of you ridden on the new horse tram on Victoria Street?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Tempy said, switching to the new subject with relief. "I tried it only a few days ago and found it most convenient. Why are so many people against it?"

"It's mostly due to the fact that the rails they laid on the street stick up above the road surface and cause problems for every other vehicle," Mr. Hamlin said.

Millicent frowned. "They should use one of the newer tramway track designs that cuts grooves in the street and then places the rails inside the grooves. Then everyone else who uses the road wouldn't be so terribly inconvenienced. One of my steel mills produces them, and they've been quite successful."

"Oh, no," Tempy interrupted. "All of this talk about 'track' just reminded me." She pulled a small watch from the pocket of her dress. "I have an appointment with Mr. Dickens and then I need to speak with Father's lawyers. They want me to sign some business papers concerning the railway." She pushed the button on the edge of her watch and the cover popped open. "I'm late," she said, and rose to her feet. "I do hope you'll excuse me. I look forward to visiting your casino."

Mr. Hamlin quickly stood up as well, and Tempy had the distinct impression that he wanted to say something more, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded.

"It was a pleasure," Hamlin said, and for a moment she wondered if he might actually mean it. There was something in his expression that hadn't been there before.

Tempy blushed slightly as she made her good-byes, keenly aware that his gaze still lingered upon her.

2 - Poor Little Rich Girl

Lucien watched Miss Bliss as she hurried toward the door of Pink's Tea Room. A strand of her chestnut brown hair had fallen from its tight bun, and her hat was a little lopsided. She'd probably lose it in a stiff wind. Even so, she was a pretty little thing, although not the type he normally would have noticed. And intelligent too. But compared to the glittering women who walked into his casino each evening, she was a mousy little ingénue. So why did he find her so intriguing?

Miss Bliss posed an interesting conundrum. She'd seemed upset about something when he'd first arrived, but whatever it had been, she'd recovered. Even so, there was something about her that seemed fragile. It made him want to protect her.

And he didn't like that. Stray feelings such as these were bound to land him in trouble.

It wasn't until he felt the touch of a hand on his forearm that he realized he was still standing and staring after Miss Bliss.

He slowly sat back down. "Tell me. Who, exactly, is that young woman?"

Millicent's face froze, and then became expressionless. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm asking you."

She arched her eyebrows in a quizzical look that oozed innocence.

"She's the daughter of that railroad man who died last year, isn't she?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Lucien sighed with exasperation. "Isn't she the 'poor little rich girl' from the newspapers?"

Millicent scowled at him. "I'm surprised at you, repeating such a hurtful epithet. And after you've been shredded by the newspapers so mercilessly in the past. It's not her fault that idiot, Earl E. Byrd, has decided to harass her through the newspapers. I shouldn't have to tell
you
not to believe everything you read." She picked up her teacup and took a sip, but her hand trembled slightly.

"Are you saying that the stories he prints about her are false?"

"They all have a grain of truth about them, but he paints her in a most unfavorable light. You'd never recognize his version of events if you'd been there in person."

Lucien frowned. "I suppose she and I have something in common in that respect." He continued to stare at Millicent, trying to detect any deceit. Was she trying to play on his sympathies? "So you have no other motive in introducing us?"

"I've been entirely aboveboard with you. And I'm not sure I know what you're driving at with these questions. I wanted her to meet you because she needs your help to write that article."

Lucien leaned against the back of his small chair. It was a fussy piece of furniture with a tiny, round seat. It might not be well suited to a large man, but at least it didn't feel as though it might break. "I've already agreed to allow her to visit my casino, despite my reservations. She can come by early one day before we open and I'll explain how the casino operates. I'm certain she'll gather enough information for her purposes."

Millicent frowned at him, and that little divot appeared between her eyebrows that only came out when she was especially annoyed. "You know as well as I do that she needs more than that," she said, setting down her teacup without making the slightest clatter. "She has to be able to speak with your patrons, or at the very least, to observe them."

"Absolutely not," Lucien said, surprised that she'd press him on this point. "I can't have reporters coming in and interrogating guests in my establishment."

Millicent held up her hand to halt his flow of words. "That's not what I'm proposing. She doesn't want to divulge information regarding your patrons, but simply to observe their behavior."

"I can't risk it," he said, regretting that he had to refuse her. But he knew he was making the right decision. "I'm sorry, but this isn't what I agreed to do."

"But Lucien, this is too important," she said, her voice pleading as she placed her hand back on his forearm. "You simply
must
help Tempy. Writing for Mr. Dickens's newspaper is an enormous opportunity. One that she desperately needs. Especially now that her fiancé has abandoned her." Millicent's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, no. I didn't mean to say that."

"Is that why she was so upset?" he asked, leaning forward. That would be quite a blow. No wonder Miss Bliss had seemed upset when he'd first arrived. Poor little rich girl indeed.

Millicent looked pained, obviously torn between her reticence to talk about another person's private life and her need to convince him to help. Finally, she leaned closer to him and spoke in a low voice. "I'm not sure how much you've already read in the newspapers, but her father died last year and she has no remaining kin. Even when he was alive, that father of hers rarely paid her any notice."

Lucien nodded. He'd heard about the man's death, and the rest didn't surprise him. The late owner of Bliss Railways had been renowned for his obsession with trains and the railroad industry. According to the news stories he'd read, the man often forgot he even had a child.

"Tempy's governesses and tutors always kept her busy, but when she was able, she'd slip away to visit some neighbors, the Lipscombs. They were the closest thing she had to a normal family. She and their son, Ernest, became friends, and over time everyone assumed they'd marry. It would have been a convenient match for both of them. They frequently discussed their future together."

"And now he's broken it off?"

"She received the letter from him just this morning. It was very dismissive."

"A letter?" Lucien snorted. "Then she's well rid of him."

Millicent frowned. "Normally, I'd agree. But Tempy is different. Because of her father, she's had few close relationships in her life. And the few she had ended tragically. Her mother died when she was just a child, and then there was a string of nurses and governesses that always failed to please Mr. Bliss. Her last governess stayed with Tempy for a quite a few years, and Tempy grew attached to her, but when she died, she left a hole in Tempy's life. After her father's death, she clung to the Lipscomb family as though they were a lifeline."

"She has no other friends?"

"No. Her interest in writing has caused many women in society to avoid her, but she isn't willing to give it up, and I respect her for that." Millicent took a deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling it as a soft sigh. "She's usually completely composed and focused, but Ernest's betrayal has been a terrible blow. I wish she could understand that she's better off without him. I never thought he was the right man for her."

"I sympathize with her. Really I do. I know how hard it is to have no family and to be completely on your own." Hadn't he been in a similar situation when his own father had died? "But she has you."

Millicent glanced away. "I wish that were true, but with all of the demands of my steel mills, I'm not in London very often. We correspond through the mail, but that isn't enough. I want to do more for her. That's why I need your help. Journalism means everything to her. She's already sacrificed so much for it, and it's important to me to help her with this article. Mr. Dickens has offered her an amazing opportunity, and she can't let it slip through her fingers. I need you to let her visit your casino and talk to your patrons."

Lucien shook his head in frustration at not being able to grant Millicent this one request. "Everything you just told me makes me even more reluctant to put my place of business at risk. What if someone learns of what she's doing and decides to write another article about her, vilifying my casino as well? I've already had enough half-truths turned against me. What if I'm accused of fleecing the 'poor little rich girl'?" He shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. I simply can't afford any bad press about my casino right now."

Millicent narrowed her eyes. "Right now?"

Lucien mentally kicked himself. Millicent was far too clever. When she'd inherited her late husband's steel mills, everyone had assumed she'd sell them. Instead, she ran them at an even greater profit because of the improvements she'd made to the manufacturing process. She produced a higher-quality product than any of her competitors. Millicent said she did it by hiring the right people for the right positions. That was something Lucien had in common with her. They both understood that a person's worth didn't come from some birthright. It came from hard work and ingenuity.

She grinned at him, obviously pleased that she'd caught him out.

Lucien didn't respond, but waited to see what card she'd lay down next. She'd already tried playing on his sympathies, but he knew she'd have another one up her sleeve.

Millicent played the waiting game and sat back in her chair to observe him. Finally, she said, "You seem unusually worried about public opinion, which is unlike you. I think you've decided it's time to set aside your checkered past and move on to something a bit more respectable. You've decided to accept the title, haven't you?"