Luck Is No Lady (20 page)

Standing on the walk in front of the club, Emma took a moment to bring her tightly strung nerves under control.

She had underestimated the crowd of vehicles and pedestrians intent upon reaching Bentley's front doors and had sat in her rented carriage for at least twenty-five minutes as she awaited her turn to pull up in front of the club. The building, which appeared so staid and common in the daylight hours, was alight with the gaiety of a grand celebration.

An endless array of men and women, dressed in elegant form, with masks ranging from simple dominoes to elaborate feathered pieces, passed her location as they made their way to the front doors of the club. It appeared a never-ending stream of guests, and Emma wondered just how everyone would fit in the place.

How on earth would she fit in?

As the panic she had been experiencing off and on all day gripped her again, she forced herself to relax. Not an easy task. But she would not make it far if she allowed her apprehension to show. Tonight was about playing a part. She was not Miss Emma Chadwick or even Mrs. Adams. She was a sophisticated lady of the night, intent upon indulging in the pleasures of high risk and selfish decadence—which she couldn't rightly do if she remained on the front walk all night.

Not allowing for any more hesitation, Emma joined with the flow of people entering the building.

Bentley's entrance hall was a study in unassuming luxury. Simple, yet elegant and comfortable. There was nothing superfluous in the decorations. No extra gilding or fuss. A dark mahogany wainscoting covered the lower half of the walls, with Chinese paper above, depicting various birds of paradise in hues of lapis lazuli, rich gold, orange, red, and a vivid emerald green.

Even in its simple elegance, the hall set an exotic tone that lured guests in. Sounds of merriment filtered through from the rooms beyond, and the guests around her all seemed to hum with excitement for the evening ahead. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation.

She was so distracted by the details around her, she had to be asked twice for her cloak.

The footman standing at her side was one she had seen only a few times from a distance. Thank goodness he did not seem to recognize her. The majority of the staff employed in the evenings would be different from those she saw during the day. But she knew there would be a few people, such as Mr. Metcalf, Snipes, and Bishop, whom she would have to take extra care to steer clear of if she hoped to remain anonymous.

Not to mention Mr. Bentley himself.

If luck was with her, Roderick would have far too much to keep him occupied than to notice one woman mingling within the crowd. She had to trust her appearance tonight was enough of a disguise that even if he saw her in passing, he would not recognize her. Surely, he would never suspect his oh-so-proper bookkeeper—or the eldest Miss Chadwick—of attending such an event.

Removing her cloak, Emma handed it to the footman, trying to give the impression of being a confident and sophisticated lady of the evening.

The gown Jillian had procured for her was of vibrant turquoise satin with gold trimming at the sleeves and a gold sash cinched tight beneath her breasts. Her mask was a bronze-colored leather and formed perfectly to her face, with long silk ribbons to secure it.

Though the borrowed gown fit quite well everywhere else, Jillian had been right about the meager bodice. It was cut low to begin with, but on Emma, the few inches of material barely managed to cover her breasts.

It had been a bit of a trick initially to ensure the edge of her shift, which was designed to cover far more than her gown, remained tucked beneath her neckline. The short stays helped to keep everything in place.

At least for now.

Emma was not overly endowed, but her bosom was full enough that she could not completely dispel the fear that at some point she may spill from the gown completely.

She would have to be careful how she moved, or she would be revealing far more than her anxiety.

The entrance hall was filling quickly. To make room for others to enter, guests flowed steadily toward the drawing room. Regulating herself to a sedate pace and forming her painted lips into an easy smile, Emma made her way through the wide archway to the larger common room beyond.

She had been in the grand drawing room only once before, on that day she had tended to Roderick's bullet graze. She hadn't paid much attention to the room itself that day, but she studied it now in an effort to settle more fully into her surroundings.

The walls of the drawing room were covered in pale blue silk. Intricately carved tables, in ebony inlaid with opal, repeated the Chinese design, as did the large porcelain vases set in the corners of the room. Crimson and emerald accents deepened the drama of the space. Large swaths of India silk in a stunning array of colors and exotic patterns hung from the ceiling to create areas of privacy where guests lounged about on plush velvet armchairs and chaise couches set in various conversational arrangements.

The subtle scent of roses lingered in the air, courtesy of the fresh blooms placed unobtrusively about the room.

Clarice had been quite right. It was indeed a sight to behold.

It was beautiful. Lush with colors and textures. Emma would have lingered, but the velvet purse hanging from a cord around her wrist bumped gently against her thigh, reminding her of her purpose tonight. She had only this one chance, this one night to call upon everything she had learned while playing with her father. This was not a time to step lightly. In order to gain the winnings she needed, she would have to be bold.

Curious glances followed her as she made her way through the growing crowd to the gaming room. It was clear many of the other guests knew each other, despite the masks, and that meant they also recognized a stranger in their midst.

Emma did her best to appear relaxed and unperturbed.

She suspected many of the club's members were in attendance tonight, and she intentionally avoided looking too closely at anyone in particular, for fear of recognizing someone from the
ton
. It was inevitable she would encounter gentlemen who traveled in the same circles of polite society as the Chadwicks, but she hoped she could avoid it as much as possible.

Beyond that, she had to rely on the mask to shield the details of her face and the tendency for people to see only what they expected to see. Her social acquaintances would not expect a proper spinster at a gambling hell and certainly would not expect to see her done up in the manner she was.

It had to be enough.

Stepping through another wide archway into the gaming room, Emma paused for a moment.

It looked so different from when Mr. Bentley had shown it to her from the balcony above. There was a rhythmic movement of activity as the crowds hovered then flowed around the tables. The laughter and shouts of triumph as someone won at the hazard table filled the space with exhilaration. And the many mirrors covering the walls reflected it all a thousand times over beneath the sparkling light of the chandelier.

A footman stepped up to her with a tray of champagne and she took a glass. Taking a sip, she realized she was gathering more notice. Gentlemen were turning from their play, one at a time and in groups, to observe her, a solitary figure hovering by the doorway. To be less conspicuous, she began to stroll about the room. Her unhurried pace was an intentional contradiction to the disquiet making her fingertips tingle and her ears buzz. She had to get better control of herself before she started playing, or her focus would be off.

She could manage this.

The crowd was thick enough it required some graceful maneuvering to wind her way through as she made a circle around the room. As she went, she could feel nearly every leering glance and open stare. The lack of circumspection in the gentlemen was a stark reminder that she was not within the strict confines of social propriety.

Fine noblemen who would not spare her a glance in the ballrooms of high society did nothing to shield their interest here.

Though she had never met any of Mrs. Beaumont's girls, aside from Jillian, it was likely at least some of the other women present tonight were from the west wing. She wondered if the others, who had arrived on the arms of their gentlemen escorts, might be courtesans or mistresses.

Everyone would suspect she was of the same mold. That had been her intention in borrowing this dress. Still, it felt disconcerting to be stared at so boldly.

At a loss for what else to do, Emma ignored the attention she was garnering. She sipped her champagne and took note of the various avenues of play. She eased past the hazard table, the faro table, a table of vingt-et-un, and a rousing game of écarté. Then she circled near the smaller tables, where guests were seated at games of whist, loo, casino, and others. As she went, she began to feel some of her trepidation easing away as the sights and sounds of the room slowly sank in.

As her anxiety eased, it became replaced by the sense of excitement that surrounded her, and she grew impatient to get started.

Her father had ensured she possessed a thorough education when it came to the many various forms of gambling, and she felt quite confident participating in any of the games currently in play. But Emma hadn't the slightest idea how to join in. Making her way back around to the faro table, she found a place to stand within view of the game. A footman replenished her champagne and she relaxed even further into the atmosphere of celebration and extravagance.

After a few moments, she felt someone step up beside her.

“Please tell me you are here alone. It would be my greatest pleasure to offer my escort.”

Emma stiffened, resisting the urge to reach up to ensure her mask was firmly in place. She had arranged her hair to incorporate the silk tails of the mask, so the material wound through her coiffure. She thought it a clever way to ensure the thing would stay safely put.

Turning her head just slightly, she glanced aside at the gentleman. He was just under average in height, with dark hair peeking beneath the edge of his top hat. She felt a moment of recognition, though with his mask covering most of his face, she gratefully could not identify him.

Shoving aside her internal awkwardness, she reminded herself she was supposed to be a woman of worldly experience. Smiling, she replied smoothly, “I am alone, but I assure you it is entirely by choice.”

The man gave her a crooked smile she suspected was supposed to be charming. Considering his gaze dropped to her bosom at the same time, it came off as more lecherous than he may have intended.

“A woman of your beauty surely appreciates the value of a worthy companion.” His voice lowered suggestively. “I promise you would enjoy my company.”

“That may be true, but I am not here tonight for companionship.” She nodded toward the table. “I have come to play.”

The gentleman's eyes lit up and his grin widened. “Well, why didn't you say so?” He brazenly placed his hand at her back and raised his voice jovially to the crowd around the table. “Make way, please. We have a lovely new player.”

Emma ignored the twinge of discomfort at suddenly becoming the focus of everyone in the near vicinity. But at least she had discovered how to join the fray.

* * *

Roderick stood at the center of the balcony, overlooking the gaming room. He hadn't gone down yet, though guests had been arriving for hours already. It was proving to be a grand crush. Carriages still lined the streets outside as people vied to get through the doors. The scene below was a swirling mass of brightly colored waistcoats and flashy gowns. The dining room and three drawing rooms were also filled nearly to overflowing. Thank God for Clarice's excellent planning. He had no doubt there would be plenty of champagne and refreshments to last until dawn.

Tonight's celebration was to honor the opening of Bentley's five years ago, and as Roderick perused the evidence of his club's success, he felt a surge of accomplishment. He had done exactly what he had set out to do. He not only owned one of the most eminent gambling houses in London, but his personal wealth had multiplied over the years through lucrative business investments. He owned winning thoroughbreds, a part in shipping ventures that serviced the globe, railways expanding across the Americas, and mining expeditions. Most poignantly, he had created a home here at the club, where he was surrounded by people he trusted and respected. It was the closest thing to family he had had since his mother.

Aside from the blemish of Goodwin's betrayal, which had now been proven by Emma's astute review of the accounts, he felt infinitely blessed.

There was much to appreciate, but it did not escape his notice that he was reluctant to join in the celebration of his success. He preferred to remain on the balcony where he could observe rather than participate in the crowd below, and he wasn't clear as to why. The small kernel of dissatisfaction lodged at the base of his brain perturbed him.

Resting his elbows on the polished balcony rail, he allowed his gaze to soften. The ebb and flow of the guests' movements below took on the appearance of a single living organism. The gaming room was imbued with a special energy tonight. He could feel it, even distanced from it as he was.

Marcus Lowth sat at one of the gaming tables and glanced up, catching Roderick's eye. He gave a subtle nod before turning back to his game. Roderick experienced a rush of confidence that he had made the right decision in deciding to help the young man.

After several more minutes of casual observation, a ripple of disquiet traveled along his spine. He stiffened and scanned the crowd with more purpose, trying to detect what felt off.

A large portion of the room was focused intently on the faro table. Many of those not close enough to view the action directly moved around it, vying for a glimpse. Others remained at their play, but craned their necks to see what was drawing so much attention.

Roderick looked for Metcalf and saw the manager standing stalwart and observant off one corner of the table. Metcalf's two assistants, dressed as footmen, moved unobtrusively about the room. It was their job to ensure no one at the other tables took advantage of the distraction to attempt a sleight of hand.