Gambling on a Scoundrel (6 page)

Tempy's stomach groaned. When had she last eaten anything? Not this morning, and she'd skipped her evening meal. It must have been at tea yesterday. She remembered that there had been sandwiches on the tray, but she couldn't remember eating any. Perhaps she'd stop at a tea room on the way home. In fact, if things went the way she hoped, maybe Ernest would even join her.

Tempy's clutched at her reticule. What if this didn't work? What if Ernest was entirely under that woman's spell? But no. He couldn't be. Tempy was certain that as soon as his gaze met hers, he'd remember their plans for a future together. He'd remember what they had meant to each other.

He had to.

It took the driver two tries before finally depositing Tempy at the correct dock, and by then, she had scooted so far forward on her seat that she was in danger of falling off it.

Once the driver brought the hansom cab to a complete halt, Tempy passed her payment to him through the small trap door above and behind her head.

The wind gusted, briefly clearing away the musty odor of the docks as Tempy tipped her head back to peer at the ship. She clamped her hat to her head with one hand to prevent it from being whipped away by the stiff breeze, and briskly repositioned her hat pin to secure everything more firmly.

Ernest's ship, the SS
Spofield
, was a large steamship. Tempy much preferred the older sailing ships. They were so much more beautiful and graceful, but the steamships were much faster and more reliable. Sailing ships were rarely seen these days, which seemed a shame. Father had always droned on about the superiority of the steam engine and the inevitable march of progress.

Apparently, the
Spofield
had just docked, and Tempy watched as a steady stream of porters contributed to the growing piles of luggage at the base of the gangplank. Steerage passengers were already leaving the ship, carrying their own bundles, but it appeared as though the first-class passengers were waiting to disembark until after their luggage had been unloaded.

Tempy found a safe place to stand near the growing piles of bags and boxes, and she peered at the ship, scanning the deck for Ernest, but saw no sign of him. Of course, there were so many men on board wearing black frock coats and stovepipe hats that it would be difficult to spot him, even with his bright blond shock of hair. Even such distinctive hair wouldn't be of much use in identifying him while he wore a black hat.

As Tempy picked her way through the piles of luggage, she congratulated herself on how prudent she'd been in deciding to find Ernest here. She could spot him as he walked in a line down the gangplank and then track his progress as he led the porters to his bags.

Tempy's stomach growled again, and a woman standing nearby glanced at her, showing surprise when she realized that Tempy had produced the noise. The woman blushed and said, "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

Lovely day? Tempy glanced up in surprise. The bright blue sky was dotted by fast-moving clouds, and the temperature was rather pleasant. She nodded at the woman. "Yes, quite." Such a beautiful day seemed to suggest that good things would happen today, and Tempy's spirits lifted.

The woman turned back to her examination of the ship. After a moment, she tut-tutted. "Will you look at that. Young people these days. That pair should be ashamed of themselves. Why, he's holding her much too closely. If she were my daughter, I'd box her ears, I would."

Tempy couldn't see the couple in question since a loose strand of her hair was covering her eyes. "What makes you think they aren't married?" she asked. After tucking that errant lock back in place, Tempy glanced up at the ship again. She quickly located a man with his arm encircling a woman's waist. Their backs were to her, but based on their closeness and the way the man's hand lingered low on the woman's back, the two seemed quite enamored of one another.

"Why, because she's wearing such pale colors. She must be unmarried."

That made sense. Once married, a myriad of colors became available for women to wear, and most eschewed the pastels they'd been required to wear as debutantes. Tempy glanced down at her own pale green dress trimmed with forest green piping. If Ernest went through with his plan to marry his Venus, she'd be obliged to wear these pale colors for quite a long time.

"The vicar says there should be enough space between two people for you to pass a glass of red wine between them without spilling a drop. Well, these two would never pass
that
test, I'll tell you that."

The woman they were discussing turned her head to the side, providing Tempy with a clear view of her lovely face. She was quite stunning, and quite unlike most English beauties. She had full lips, dark, wavy hair, and large brown eyes. There was something about the woman that was both lush and mysterious. Tempy glanced at the man accompanying her. His face was still obscured.

But it didn't matter. Tempy would recognize him even if he wore a canvas bag over his head.

It was Ernest.

When the temptress--the
Venus
, she corrected herself--shifted her head and revealed Ernest's face, his besotted expression caused Tempy to gasp.

"Oh my, isn't she beautiful?" The busybody's voice now oozed treacle as her former disapproval vanished like a shadow at noon. "They must be newlyweds. See how in love they are?"

Tempy didn't want to look...couldn't
bear
to look. She had to get away. This had been a horrible plan.

A cab. She needed to find a cab.

As Tempy prepared to escape, she took a quick step backwards and banged her heel hard against something quite solid. Her upper body kept moving while her feet remained locked in place, forcing her to lose her balance, and her momentum caused her to topple over backwards.

With horror, Tempy saw her frothy white petticoats billowing up as she went sailing over a trunk. With a hollow thump, the back of her head made contact with the wooden dock.

And then there was nothing.

6 - Stumble

Lucien stepped out of the dim interior of the pub and into the bright London sunlight. The brisk wind blowing along the Thames tried to snatch his top hat from his head, and he grabbed it just in time to keep it from tumbling down the dock.

The stench of the Thames wasn't as bad this year as it had been in the past. Ever since the Great Stink in 1858, engineers had been working to improve London's sanitation. On a day like today, with gusting winds and a bright blue sky, the aroma of the river was quite tolerable.

Lucien walked briskly along the river to clear his head as he reexamined the next steps in his plan. As he had expected, John still wanted his casino.

Very much so.

John hadn't even tried to disguise his interest. That was one of the things Lucien liked about him. He was straightforward and honest, and those were admirable qualities in a man. Now the question was, how could Lucien encourage John to move quickly? Lucien needed to propel his buyer toward a decisive action, and it would be best if he did it before news of his new title became common knowledge, because once that bit of information was out, people would assume he'd want to sell the casino and would feel free to offer him amounts well below its actual value. Of course, they'd do so in the guise of doing him a favor. As if gouging someone was ever a kindness.

As he slowed his pace and strolled down the dock, Lucien swiftly sorted through his options. Once he included John's continued interest in owning the casino in his own calculations, Lucien was able to play out a number of scenarios before choosing the option that would best achieve his desired outcome.

Hurrying this deal along shouldn't be a particularly difficult task. He simply needed to create a sense of urgency for his buyer, and the best way to do that would be to let him believe that he had competition.

Even though that wasn't the case.

Lucien had built Hamlin House from nothing, and selling it felt like cutting off his arm, but it was for the best if he wanted to ensure that it remained strong and had a solid future. So he would only sell it to the right man, and he'd already decided that John Snowden was that man.

Content with his new plan of action, Lucien came to a stop and turned to walk back toward the pub. His coachman, Higgs, should be waiting somewhere nearby with his carriage.

Lucien glanced over toward a group of people standing along the dock. They appeared to be waiting to greet the passengers from a steamer ship that had just arrived.

The steerage passengers were hurrying off, hefting their baggage and keeping a sharp eye on their belongings. The docks were a favorite haunt for pickpockets. The area was riddled with grubby little children who'd slit your throat just as readily as they'd pick your pocket.

Lucien wondered briefly about Miss Bliss and then paused. What had caused her to suddenly pop into his thoughts?

He turned and looked again at the people on the docks. Yes. There she was. He must have recognized her without being aware of it. What a strange young woman. A journalist, moreover. How outrageous. But Millicent held her in high regard, so there must be quite a bit more to her than he'd seen so far.

Lucien was about to continue on his way when he saw Miss Bliss step backward and stumble over some baggage.

Lucien sprinted toward her. He was too far away to break her fall, and he winced when, even at this distance, he heard her head slam against the dock with a thwack. He wove between the dockworkers, porters, and passengers, trying not to hurt anyone as he rushed to Miss Bliss's side.

An older woman was fussing over her, pulling Miss Bliss's skirts to rights so that her limbs would be hidden from view.

"Miss? Miss? Oh, my goodness." The woman looked around, and her gaze landed on Lucien as he hurried toward them. "Oh, thank goodness! She fell, and I don't know what to do about her. Do you know her?"

Lucien nodded as he knelt beside Tempy. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. The fall must have knocked her unconscious.

"Oh, thank goodness," the woman repeated. "I was afraid she was here alone. My son is coming down the gangplank just now, and I can't linger, but since she has you, I don't need to worry." She turned away and hurried off.

Lucien looked back down at the young woman who was now in his care. He picked up her gloved hand and squeezed it. "Miss Bliss. Can you hear me?"

She breathed steadily, but her eyes didn't open. With a sigh, he scooped his arms under her back and knees as he prepared to lift her from the dock. As her skirts shifted, he noted a reticule that had been hiding under them. He eyed it for a moment and then picked it up as well. It was probably hers.

Lucien shifted the slim burden in his arms so that her head rested comfortably against his shoulder. He noted that her small black bonnet had a long hat pin securing it to her chestnut hair, so he didn't need to worry about having it blow away in this wind. He did, however, need to take care that he didn't get jabbed with the thing.

He wished he could see her eyes. He hadn't noticed their color yesterday, and now he wondered. Would they be brown? Green? He guessed green, as green eyes often accompanied hair that had a hit of red, as hers did.

She smelled of lavender. He'd always been partial to that sharp, clean floral scent. It reminded him of summertime and the lavender fields he'd tramped through in Somerset when he'd visited there as a boy.

People made way for them as Lucien carried Miss Bliss toward the road. He looked around, wondering if he should walk back to his carriage or hail one of the hansom cabs waiting to pick up passengers. The decision was simplified when he recognized the sharp whistle emitted by his coachman, Higgs.

The carriage pulled to a stop right in front of Lucien. Higgs jumped down from his perch and hurried to open the carriage door. "I saw you scoop her up, sir, so I came as fast as I could. Who is she? Is she badly injured?"

Lucien hadn't told any of his employees about his new title yet, so they hadn't started
my lord-ing
him. He'd need to decide how to handle that, now that he intended to accept the inheritance.

But that wasn't important right now. "She's an acquaintance, and I don't know how badly injured she is. All I know is that she fell and she's unconscious. I'll take her home and send for a doctor." A thought struck him. "Blazes. I don't know where she lives. I suppose I'll have to take her to Hamlin House."

With Higgs's assistance, Lucien settled Miss Bliss on the seat and squeezed in next to her. He cradled his arm around her small shoulders and tucked her head against his chest to keep her from being thrown around on the drive. Higgs shut the door with a snap, and then Lucien felt the carriage shift as the coachman climbed onto the driver's seat.

The carriage had been traveling for a while when Lucien heard a soft sigh. Miss Bliss's gloved hand, loose in her lap, shifted. She raised it and slid it across his chest. Her fingers opened like a little white starfish and rested there for a moment as she turned her face toward his. Her eyelashes fluttered, tickling his neck in a pleasant manner.

And then she froze.

The hand that had been resting so softly against his chest suddenly pushed against it, and she thrust herself toward the far side of the carriage seat. She winced as the back of her head bumped against the side of the carriage. She rubbed at the lump that must have developed there, and a look of comprehension came over her. She relaxed slightly.

Her gaze focused on Lucien and her brows furrowed. "Mr. Hamlin?"

"None other."

She glanced at her surroundings. "This is your carriage?"

He nodded.

She gingerly touched the back of her head again. "It seems that I own you my gratitude along with an apology."

"Apology? Why?"

She sat up straight and began checking her clothing, making small adjustments here and there. He couldn't tell what she was doing, but she looked a little better once she was done. She really was quite fetching. "For requiring any assistance in the first place. I apologize for making such a ridiculous scene."