In Bed With the Devil (13 page)

Then Catherine smiled beautifully. “Dr. Graves, I didn't know you were here. It's so lovely to see you again.”

She extended her hand, and he took it gently, placing a kiss on her fingertips. Luke didn't understand his reaction. His body stiffened and he wanted to smash his fist into Bill's face, wanted to pull Catherine away from the man who was now turning her bandaged hand over and looking at her covered palm.

“How is it doing?” he asked.

“It's a bit sore, and I'm having a devil of a time writing, but other than that, I can't complain.”

She turned her attention to Jack, who was standing to Luke's left. “Mr. Dodger.”

“Lady Catherine.”

“I don't mean to be pious, but I thought gambling was outlawed.”

He gave her his devil-may-care grin. “Not in private clubs. And this, my lady, is a very private club. Exclusive, in fact.”

“Are you winning?”

“I always win.”

“I would have thought that honor would fall to Claybourne.”

Luke's heart gave a little stutter. “Why would you think that?”

“Perhaps I simply have faith in your ability to succeed.”

Was she mocking him? Would it be worse if she weren't? If she truly did have faith in him? Had anyone of the aristocracy—other than the old
gent—ever even considered that Luke was worthy of having faith placed in him?

He cleared his throat, studied her more closely. “I don't believe you've met Mr. Swindler.”

Jim was standing to Luke's right, out of his field of vision, but he knew the man well enough to know that he'd not give anything away with his expressions.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.” She did nothing but present a welcoming smile.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady.”

Her brow furrowed. There! Luke thought. She's recognized him!

“I daresay, it's a rather unfortunate name you have, though, isn't it?”

Or perhaps not.

Jim chuckled. “When I was young and in search of a name, it seemed appropriate. As I've grown older, I recognize the foolishness of my youth.”

“You're another one of Feagan's children.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I am.”

“I shan't hold your choice of name against you. I expect if we were all honest, we'd discover we've all been foolish at one time or another.”

“You're very kind.”

What the bloody hell was she doing? She was charming them. Charming them all. As though they were equals, as though they had something in common. All three of his mates were looking at her like besotted fools.

Her gaze darted around the table. “What have you here? What game are you playing?”

“Brag,” Luke said.

“Oh?” She looked at him with interest, a smile
upon those red lips—lips he knew the feel and taste of—and arched a brow. “How is it played? The one with the best card brags on his exploits?”

He scowled, growled, and was fairly losing patience. “One wagers on the outcome. The gent with the best set of cards wins—or bluffs the others into believing he has the best set of cards.”

“And what if a lady has the best set of cards?”

The little chit! With the set of her chin, the challenge in her eyes, she was daring him to let her play.

“Then the lady would win. But I've never known that to happen. Frannie has tried on many occasions, but she's never met with success.”

“So it's a gentleman's game?”

“Quite.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “May I try?”

“Have you any idea how to play?”

“I have an inkling. After all, I have a brother, and he's a rather notorious rake.”

“So you've played before.”

“I've watched.” She gave him an impish smile. “I was teasing earlier. I know what brag is. So may I play?”

“By all means. Jack, give her your chair.”

“I'm not sitting this one out,” Jack said, grinning. He did offer his chair to Catherine, before securing another for himself and bringing it to the table.

“Did you want to play, Frannie?” Luke asked.

“No, as you so kindly pointed out, I have no skill when it comes to cards.”

Damnation! Had he hurt her feelings?

“I meant no offense,” he said.

“None was taken. I will, however, front Lady Catherine two hundred pounds.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. Something was afoot. “What were you studying tonight?”

“How to determine the menu for dinner. Rather boring actually.” Frannie pulled up a chair and sat between Jack and Catherine, slightly behind Catherine. “But I shall gladly watch. Perhaps I'll learn something.”

“You're going to learn how to lose two hundred pounds, right fast,” Jim said.

Frannie did little more than offer him a mischievous smile.

Luke gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. “I'll deal. Minimum bet is five pounds, maximum is twenty-five.”

He watched as Jack slid the chips over to Catherine. “Each of these is worth five. And the first thing we do is ante up.” He tossed a chip into the center of the table. Catherine followed suit. Everyone else tossed in his ante.

“The game is five-card brag,” Luke said. “The rules are these: Never show your cards to anyone—not even to Frannie. Never say anything about your hand. And
never
fold out of turn.”

“Oh, I shan't fold at all. I'll have no chance of winning if I fold.” She leaned toward the table, peered around, and whispered. “My brother always gave up so easily. The other gents took his money. I don't think he understood the strategy.”

Luke met Jack's gaze and knew he was thinking the same thing: it was going to be like pilfering the pockets of an old man. Far, far too easy.

She picked up her cards and studied them. Her brow furrowed. She scowled. Then she set them in her lap.

“You must keep them on the table,” Luke told her.

Laughing, she set the cards on the table. “Oh, you think I'm cheating?”

“No, but it's the rules.”

She nodded. “Very well. I bet first?”

Luke nodded.

Gnawing her lip, she looked at each set of cards—even though she could only see the back of them. “I'll wager five.” She tossed her chip into the center.

“Ten,” Jack said.

“Oh, Jack,” Frannie scolded, slapping his arm. “Don't take all her money the first round.”

“Come on, Frannie, it's always more fun when there's more at risk.”

“I'm probably going to regret this,” Bill said, “but I fold.”

“I'll match the bet,” Jim said, and tossed in his ten chips.

“Shouldn't it be fifteen?” Catherine asked.

“No, you only match the last bet made.” Luke matched the ten. “Now you match the ten.”

“Or I can wager more?”

“You can, but—”

“I'll wager twenty.”

“Twenty-five,” Jack said.

Catherine looked at him and smiled. “You must have a jolly good hand.”

Jack grinned. Luke knew that grin. The blighter had nothing.

Jim shook his head, tossed down his cards. “Fold.”

Luke bet his twenty-five. Catherine bet hers.

Jack studied Luke. Studied Catherine. “I fold.”

Catherine looked so incredibly pleased.

Luke matched the bet. Catherine placed fifty pounds worth of chips in the center. “See you.”

Luke sighed deeply. “Catherine, the maximum is twenty-five, and the only way to win at this game is not to let people know what you're thinking.”

“And you know what I'm thinking?”

“I do.”

“Then I shall lose.”

“Indeed.”

“I should not have placed the wager.”

“You shouldn't have placed any of them. At least take the last one back and fold.”

“But once a wager has been made, it can't be withdrawn.”

“We shall make an exception.”

“I don't wish to have an exception made. I'm of the belief that a person learns more from his mistakes than his successes, and I'm quite willing to put that belief to the test.”

He sighed again and waved his hand over the chips. “Gentlemen. I'll allow the lady to learn from her mistake.”

He turned over three kings.

Catherine turned her cards over. Luke stared at the three threes. There was no better hand in brag.

“If I remember the rank of better cards, while it would seem that three kings are better, actually
my hand is, and so it appears that all this lovely money comes to me.”

“But—”

“I would venture to guess, my lord, that you did
not
know what I was thinking.” She stood. “I believe, I've made my point. It's getting rather late and we should be leaving soon.”

Frannie helped her gather up all her chips. Catherine walked out as though she'd just been crowned.

Luke couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. “Damn, but I do enjoy her.”

His outburst was met with silence, and he was suddenly very much aware of what he'd said. Coming to his feet, Luke gave Jim a hard look. “She didn't seem to find you familiar.”

“I told you she wouldn't.”

“Find out who is following her and the reason for it.”

 

He was smiling when he came to get her. Truly smiling. Not one of his sardonic twists of the mouth. Not one of his mocking smiles. Not a sneer or an insolent pout.

Catherine had not expected this reaction. Hadn't even thought him capable of it. She'd expected him to be miffed that she'd taken his money, expected to find him in a foul mood. But his eyes were lighter than she'd ever seen them, as though there was suddenly a brightness inside him.

He led her through the now-familiar dark corridor to the back door, where his coach waited on the other side. For the first time since they'd begun their nightly ritual, he kept the coach lan
tern lit inside. The curtains were in place, preventing anyone from peering in. He settled back in the corner, and while she knew she should be embarrassed by his perusal, she wasn't. On the contrary, she rather liked it. And she was feeling a trifle smug that she'd duped him.

She was aware of his deep chuckle before his smile grew, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

“You don't care what people think,” he said.

She couldn't tell from the way he emphasized the words if he was asking a question or making an observation. Still, she felt obliged to answer.

“Of course I care. To a certain extent we all care, but we can't care to the point that we live in fear of others' opinions, that we allow them to change who we are. We must be willing to stand up and defend what represents the very core of our being. Otherwise what is the purpose of individuality? We'd be nothing but imitations of each other, and I daresay we'd all be rather boring.”

“I don't think anyone with any sense could ever accuse you of being boring. As a matter of fact, you are the least boring person I know.”

His admission made her uncomfortable, because it pleased her far too much. Shouldn't his love be the least boring person he knew?

She looked down at her gloved hands, nestled in her lap. He shifted until he was sitting directly in front of her. He took her hands in his. His were so large. With his thumbs, he began stroking her knuckles.

“Is your wound hurting?” he asked.

She lifted her gaze to his. “No.”

She wanted to lean into him, wanted to press her lips to his. It was wrong of her to want so much from him, when his heart belonged to another.

“I was thinking that it might be a good idea to have Dr. Graves join us for dinner tomorrow night,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“It would make it seem more like a true social dinner, rather than simply you and Frannie dining with me looking on.”

He released his hold on her, leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you fancy him?”

She was taken aback by his tone; it had taken on an unfriendly edge, as though he were—heaven forbid—jealous. “I like him. Of all your friends, he seems the most polished.”

“You don't like Jack?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Why?”

“I'm not exactly sure. I don't”—she shook her head—“I don't quite trust him.”

“And Jim?”

“Jim?”

“Swindler.”

“Ah, yes, the one with the unfortunate name. I really formed no impression of him. Rather he seemed to blend in with the woodwork.”

“He's good at that.”

“How does he make his living?”

“He's an inspector with Scotland Yard.”

“So everyone is reputable except for Mr. Dodger.”

“Jack doesn't force people to sin.”

“But he makes it very easy for them to do so.”

“Save your sermons, Catherine, for someone who cares to listen to them.”

“I wasn't going to preach about the evils of drinking, gambling, and fornicating—”

“I would hope not. That would make you a bit of a hypocrite after gambling tonight. And you've drunk whiskey…which leaves but one sin. Have you indulged in it?”

“That, my lord, is none of your business.”

He smiled, seeming far too pleased with her answer.

“Shouldn't we be home by now?” she asked.

“I'm having my driver take us on a circuitous route. We'll take different streets every night. Lessen the chance of being set upon—if the attack before was planned. It could have been random. Some lads looking for a quick bit of coin.”

She hoped that's all it was and that it would never happen again.

“About dinner tomorrow evening. Will you ask Dr. Graves?”

“If that's what you want.”

“It is. And Frannie gave you the menu. I can have myself delivered—”

“I'll send my coach around. What time did you want dinner served?”