Gambling on a Scoundrel (34 page)

Mme Le Clair examined her face in the tall mirror next to the door. "Not in my experience. But don't take offense," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Tempy. "My comment was meant as a compliment."

Tempy turned away as she removed her gloves and then extracted the long pin affixing her hat to her hair. Mme Le Clair would have been apoplectic if she'd arrived hatless, which was why she'd been late. After seeing her coachman's look of surprise at her hatless state, she'd hurried back inside to put a hat on. She jabbed the long hat pin into the side of the hat and set the annoying concoction of pink silk, wire, and ribbon on Lucien's desk. "I wasn't offended. Just surprised." She tossed her gloves on top of her hat.

"Tell me about your trip to Bath. Were you successful?"

"Yes," Tempy said, turning to smile at Mme Le Clair. "I believe I accomplished everything I hoped for. Ernest was startled to see me, and Clarisse was obviously put out. It was all quite satisfying."

"Tell me all about it. I need details."

Tempy described the meeting on the Royal Crescent, not even leaving out the snide comment she had made.

"Perfect," Mme Le Clair said, smiling her catlike smile. "I'm glad you let your claws show. I believe we can proceed according to plan."

"There's something more." Tempy took a deep breath. Now that the moment had arrived to tell Mme Le Clair about the dinner in Porlock and the newspaper article, all of her self-confidence fled. Was that really the secret? Confidence? Is that all she needed right now? She lifted her chin and gave the demimondaine a level gaze. "We were invited to a small dinner party, and I used the occasion to try a few of the lessons you taught me."

"
C'est magnifique,"
Mme Le Clair said, her eyes lighting up. "Tell me more."

"It worked," she said. She had trouble maintaining her steady gaze, so she glanced down at her hands and examined the nail on her left index finger. It felt rough. She needed to run a file across the edge of it. "Perhaps a little too well." She brushed her thumb against the broken edge of her nail, testing it.

"But that's wonderful," Mme said, causing Tempy to glance back up at her. Mme Le Clair arched her brows and gave a knowing smile. "Ah, the errors a woman can make when underestimating her power over men. Did you cause them to fight?"

"Oh my, no." Tempy said, but then she paused and tilted her head to one side as she thought about the entire incident surrounding the chocolate tart. "Well, almost. A man became exceedingly intoxicated and had to be escorted outside after behaving inappropriately. And later that evening another one made overt advances."

Madame tilted her head to one side, mirroring Tempy, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "What did the inappropriate one do?"

Tempy felt the flush rise on her face. "He, ah, tried to eat something off my...uh...off my chest."

Madame's eyes widened, and then a burst of laughter escaped from her tightly pressed lips, making a 'pffft' sound. "It sounds as though you were most successful. I think you are ready,
ma chère
."

A cord of dread tightened around Tempy's chest, making it difficult to take a deep breath. She was ready? How
could
she be? She'd been certain that Mme Le Clair would declare the dinner a failure. "But that's not all," she added, trying to keep a note of panic from invading her voice. "There was an article in a London paper describing some of the events that took place at that dinner, and it accused Lucien of taking advantage of me."

Madame tilted her head to one side. "I
do
read the newspapers, you know. I was wondering if you'd mention it."

Tempy closed her eyes and shook her head tersely. "It wasn't fair. Those things they accused him of weren't true."

"I wouldn't worry about Lucien. He'll be fine. I'm more concerned about your reputation."

"I'll be fine. It's not as if I'm one of those society ladies who worries about being snubbed by the Countess of Whozit. The newspapers have been writing about me for years. I'm used to it." Tempy frowned as she glanced down and rubbed at her rough fingernail again. "It's not as if I have any family to offend." Her throat tightened. The Lipscombs had always welcomed her, despite her undeserved notoriety.

"The article is of no importance. At least, not with regard to what we are planning. From what you've told me, Ernest has come to expect these sorts of articles to appear from time to time, so he shouldn't be troubled by this one. And Lucien has weathered worse storms in the past. I think you are ready. It is time for you to win back your Ernest."

The loop of dread drew more tightly around Tempy's chest, causing her breathing to become shallow. But this couldn't be dread she was feeling. It had to be something else. Nervous tension, perhaps. Yes, that's what it had to be.

At the thought of seducing Ernest, so many emotions came welling up within her that she became confused. Perhaps there was a touch of dread, but mostly she was nervous, so that must be the source of her dread. After all, what if she failed?

Tempy cleared her throat. "We'll need to move more quickly than we'd planned. Clarisse sent me an anonymous letter with a newspaper clipping. I'm certain it was her. She wasn't very subtle when she hinted about it in Bath. They've already published the banns once."

"Oh my. Then Clarisse will be able to marry him after they've been posted two more times. So that's what? In two weeks? Yes, I can see why you want to accelerate things."

"I'll make arrangements to meet with him. I'll tell him that I want to give him back some letters he wrote to me, along with his grandmother's brooch. He gave it to me a few months ago. He never stated it as such, but I believed it represented a promise of marriage. I'm certain he'll want it back."

"That's an excellent plan." Mme Le Clair's dark eyes held a devilish glint. "You should have him meet you here, this Saturday night. He'll see it as a more neutral location since you first encountered each other here well
after
Clarisse entered his life. The timing will work out well, since Lucien is finalizing the sale of his casino that evening. Saturday night will be the last night he owns it."

"I hadn't realized that things had been finalized. Good for him." He and Mr. Snowden must have come to an agreement yesterday. That was a relief.

"Clarisse is likely to accompany him here," Mme Le Clair said, looking pensive.

"I'm sure you're right," Tempy said, and stroked the side of her thumb against her lower lip. "That poses a problem. I'll need a way to keep her occupied."

The door to the office opened.

"We'll ask Lucien to help with that," Mme Le Clair said.

Lucien entered and closed the door behind him. "Help with what?" He crossed the room in long strides and picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk. Tempy's stomach tightened as she watched him, but he didn't even glance at her, which she found quite annoying.

"With keeping Clarisse occupied this Saturday night. Temperance will need your help while she meets with her darling Ernest."

Tempy contorted her mouth as though she tasted something sour. She didn't like hearing her former fiancé described as "her darling Ernest."

Lucien frowned at the papers.

"Is there a problem?" Tempy asked, unaccountably irritated with him.

His frown disappeared, and he glanced up at her. "No. Not at all. I was just wondering how long you might need me to keep her distracted," he asked, returning to his task of shuffling through the papers. He seemed to be paying scant attention to their conversation.

"You should plan to keep her occupied for at least an hour," Mme Le Clair said.

"An hour?" Tempy said, her voice rising almost to a squeak. Had she heard right?

"
Mais bien sûr
. If you are able to win back his interest, you will want to be certain he is firmly back in your grasp. In fact, I think it would be best if Lucien were to
seduce
Clarisse."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Tempy said hastily. "I don't want her compromised. I only want to keep her out of the way for a while." An image of Lucien kissing Clarisse burst into her mind, and it wasn't a pleasant one.

"Then an incomplete seduction," Mme Le Clair said with a careless flick of her wrist. "Either way will work."

"Don't worry. It shouldn't be a problem," Lucien said.

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," Tempy said, her voice a bit sharper than she'd intended.

"Isn't this what I promised?" There was his damned Gallic shrug again. "We made a deal." He still refused to meet her gaze.

Well, if that's the way he wanted to be, who was she to argue with him? "Fine. Saturday it is."

Lucien finally stopped riffling through the papers and plucked one from the stack. "Saturday. Fine." He stalked out of the office without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

But he might as well have slammed it.

29 - Dream A Little Dream

Tempy ran down the hill, trying to reach the ship, but also knowing that she wouldn't. No matter how fast she ran, the shore remained just as far away.

She abruptly arrived on the beach. The ship was in the distance, and she could barely make out the figures of Ernest and her father on the deck. They waved to her as always. Melancholy figures disappearing in the distance.

This time, she tried to transform herself into a dolphin. She stepped into the ocean, splashing water over her skin, the same way she'd splashed water over that dolphin she'd tried to save so many years ago. It had lost its way, swimming up the Thames, until it finally beached itself on the river bank.

She willed herself to grow fins and a tail.

For a moment, she could feel her face lengthening; could feel a blow hole opening on the back of her neck; could feel her skin becoming rubbery and slick. Just like the dolphin she'd tried to help. She remembered seeing her reflection in those liquid black eyes as she helped it back into the water. And now, suddenly, that dolphin was here with her. Bumping up against her. It lifted its head and stared at her with one liquid eye.

But why did it look so sad?

The dolphin slowly swung its head from side to side, and Tempy felt her transformation halt. Then it began to fade, her face resuming its normal shape, her skin pinkening, the blow hole disappearing from her neck. She was Tempy again. Not a dolphin.

She wailed in frustration as the ship disappeared in the distance.

The dolphin disappeared under the water, and she heard a splash behind her. Her head jerked around and she spotted a rowboat moving swiftly toward her.

"Need a lift?" the man in the boat shouted. "I can only offer rides to women, not dolphins. I never much cared for dolphins in boats. They tend to swamp them." He looked at her skeptically. "You aren't a dolphin in disguise, are you?"

"No! I'm human. I was simply pretending to be a dolphin."

"Why on earth would you want to be a dolphin? That's madness. All they eat is fish, and they can't even play the piano." His boat began to drift away.

"But I
am
a woman. Truly."

"That's a relief."

The boat moved closer, and Tempy scrambled aboard, taking care not to capsize it. When she faced the man, she recognized him. It was Lucien.

"Thank you. I don't know what I would have done without your help," she said.

Lucien stowed the oars and then dug around behind him. After a moment, he produced a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. "Are you certain you aren't a dolphin?" he asked, looking at her dubiously.

At a loss, Tempy stared at him for a moment. "Can't you tell?"

He shrugged.

Tempy sighed. "Don't you remember this?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. "And this?" she said, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"It all seems familiar, but rather dolphin-like. Not at all Tempy-like."

"BLISS BOMBS," she muttered, taking refuge in one of her newspaper headlines.

"Ah! It
is
you," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "I thought for a moment that you'd truly become a dolphin. But you're still you, after all." His head lowered and his lips pressed against hers.

A flood of warmth and acceptance heated her from within, drying her hair and clothes, and she pulled him closer as their bodies entwined.

Suddenly they were standing on a sandy beach, not in the rowboat. The sun shone down upon them, and when Lucien lifted his head, he grinned down at her in delight. She cupped his cheek.

A clatter of noise woke Tempy. It was followed by the sharp intake of breath. "Oh, dear," said a woman's voice.

Tempy opened her eyes. Her maid stood next to the window and the breakfast tray rested on the low table. On the floor, Tempy spied her inkwell, pen, and pen rest. Fortunately, the lid hadn't fallen off the ink; otherwise the rug would have been ruined.

"It's all right. No harm done," Tempy said, and then yawned and stretched.

She felt a profound sense of contentment. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a very, very long time.

She'd been dreaming something quite pleasant. She tried to recall it, but even as she did so, its tendrils slipped from her mind, disappearing to wherever dreams go upon wakening.

Her contentment must be rooted in her plan to see Ernest tonight. She'd win him back. Of course she would. And then they'd be together. Just as they always were fated to be.

But if dreaming about her plan for tonight was what had made her feel so contented upon waking, then why was that feeling of contentment slipping away?