Luck Is No Lady (21 page)

Confident Metcalf had the situation in hand, Roderick turned his focus back to the center of the disturbance and noticed all eyes were focused on one faro player in particular.

A woman.

Roderick straightened at the railing as a frisson of physical awareness shot through him, making his palms tingle.

His view of the player was slightly obscured by the crowd crushing around her, but he was able to see a striking turquoise gown encasing a modestly curvaceous figure. The woman wore no jewelry and her bare shoulders and slender arms gleamed like porcelain under the light of the chandeliers. Her only adornment was a leather mask covering the upper portion of her face. The tails of the mask were wound through a mass of golden hair twisted intricately atop her head.

She was gorgeous. Her every movement at the table was a perfect study of grace and confidence. She did not bother with coy glances or flirtatious gestures. Her intent was to play and that, perhaps as much as her beauty, was enough to rouse the interest of the gentlemen surrounding her.

Roderick felt a moment of panic as the muscles in his legs twitched with the urge to move, to get downstairs to the woman's side. He didn't understand the nature of his reaction and he resisted, narrowing his gaze, eliminating the distractions of his mind and body. In a moment of serendipity, the woman turned to accept a glass of champagne from one of her admirers. Something in the tilt of her head drew his immediate notice.

And then she smiled.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered violently under his breath. He pushed away from the balcony and took long, angry strides toward the stairs.

Emma was winning. It felt amazing, like a buzz spreading through her body from her bones to her skin, from head to toes to fingertips. She felt alive and powerful as the cards flipped consistently in her favor. It was easy to see how such a thing could become addictive.

She had been at the faro table for just over an hour, and despite the champagne-induced relaxation of her mind, she was able to keep an accurate accounting of each wager, loss, and win. If things continued as they were, she would have enough to pay Hale by the end of a few hours.

Unfortunately, the next couple of rounds revealed the tides of fortune turning in another direction. It was time to move on. Emma swept up the last of her winnings and smiled at the others gathered round the table.

“If you all would excuse me, I believe it is time to explore other diversions.”

Everyone loved having a winner in their midst, and a general sound of disappointment followed her declaration. As she turned to step away, more than one gentleman tried to jostle toward her through the crowd, eager to offer their escort.

The brown-haired gentleman who had first approached her upon her arrival stepped closer at the threat of encroachers, circling his arm around her waist. The others called him Glenville, and he had remained at her side throughout her time at the table.

Emma stiffened at the overly familiar way he touched her. He had been executing similar advances over the last hour. At first they were subtle enough that she didn't realize it was intentional when he shifted his weight and brushed his shoulder against hers. It became more obvious he was trying to exert some sort of claim to her, either for her benefit or for the benefit of the other gentlemen present, as he continued to take every opportunity to press his hand to hers or sweep his fingers down her back or across her shoulders.

Though it made her uncomfortable, Emma witnessed similar displays of casual intimacy performed between the other men and women present. It seemed a common enough means of interacting as the women, some with gowns cut frighteningly lower than her own, accepted such advances with wide smiles and coy looks. Though Emma did not directly protest the familiarity, she could not bring herself to overly encourage such behavior either.

“Back to your play, mongrels,” Glenville warned convivially. “I shall escort our lucky lady to her next distraction.”

“You just want some of her luck to rub off on you,” accused a robust older gentleman.

“Ha! That's not all he wants to rub off.”

The crude comment roused a roll of laughter through the crowd, and Emma tensed. She didn't understand the exact meaning of the comment, though she had a general idea what it referenced.

Glenville laughed and flashed Emma a bold grin as he led her away from the table.

She had no intention of feeding whatever expectations for the night he may have gotten into his head, and stopped once they were free of the crowd. Withdrawing from the circle of his arm, she smiled at him, hoping he would accept her rejection without taking it personally.

“Though your company has been delightful, it would not be fair for me to claim your attention for the entire evening when I am certain you wish to seek your own enjoyments.”

“I shall enjoy nothing if it is not with you. You have won my heart.”

She laughed at his dramatic tone, as she was meant to. “I do not recall wagering for your heart,” she replied.

“It is yours nonetheless.”

“You have won mine as well.”

Emma fought back a groan of dismay as she turned to see who had added his declaration to the mix. A young man no more than a year out of university stepped forward and offered Emma a courtly bow.

She recognized him immediately as a member of Lord Epping's set, a young man who had called on Portia more than once. Her spine stiffened. Would he recognize her as the spinster sister who had sat in the corner of the parlor during those visits? She held her breath as the young man gave her a rakish grin.

When she saw not even a spark of recognition in his eyes, she exhaled a long breath of relief.

“Leave off, Kitson,” Glenville replied haughtily. “You wouldn't have the slightest idea how to entertain a woman of such elegance. Go play with your toy soldiers.”

The young Kitson's grin widened. He trailed his fingers down the length of Emma's arm. “I vow I can come up with more creative diversions than what can be conjured in your dull brain.”

Glenville stiffened sharply and Emma decided to intervene. She was not about to waste time being the mouse between two rival tomcats. Right now, she wanted only to be away from both of them.

“I have an idea. Let us play a game, shall we?”

Excitement flared bright in young Kitson's eyes. He tilted his head in sharp curiosity. “What sort of game?”

“I shall think of a number between one and ten. Whoever guesses the number exactly wins the right to be my escort for the next hour.”

“And if neither of us guess the correct number?” Glenville asked.

Emma smiled. “I shall move on alone.”

“I am all in,” Kitson declared agreeably.

Glenville nodded as well, and Emma glanced around and caught the eye of a nearby footman. She gestured for him to approach.

Looking back at the two men vying for her hand, she explained, “So there is no doubt as to who is the winner, I will tell this footman my number.”

Both men agreed again.

Emma already knew what number she would choose. She had played this game a thousand times to settle arguments between her sisters and had determined this particular number to be the least likely chosen. The odds were on her side, since the gentlemen had only one guess each to pick the right number, whereas she had nine in her favor. Still, one of them could get lucky. At least her terms dictated she would have to endure only the winner's escort for another hour.

Leaning toward the footman, she cupped a hand around her mouth to shield it from the gentlemen's view and whispered her chosen number. The footman nodded gravely, as though he were often called upon for such antics.

“I shall go first,” Glenville declared. His brow furrowed as he put forth an obvious effort at guessing correctly. “Eight.”

Emma disguised her relief and gave a solemn shake of her head. “I am afraid that is not correct.”

Glenville's eyes narrowed as he glanced to the footman for confirmation. The man gave a shallow nod.

“I guess four,” Kitson stated without deliberation, and Emma shook her head again.

“Also incorrect.”

“Blast!” the young man exclaimed, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

“The number is one,” declared a deeper voice as another player joined the game.

Emma's momentary relief at having maneuvered herself free of the two men condensed into a burst of hot panic. She turned to see Roderick standing only two steps behind her, looking dashing and dangerous. He was so clearly in his element here, outshining every gentleman present with his casual elegance and self-assured manner. No one would mistake the fact that he was lord of this realm.

Her skin tingled as he came forward with a subtle half smile. His expression suggested it was no challenge at all to claim a lady's escort with four simple words.

But just who was he claiming? Emma or a mysterious lady of the evening?

“Is he right?” Kitson asked.

Emma turned back to the young man. “Yes, he is correct.”

“Damn your luck, Bentley,” the young man exclaimed, though admiration had taken over the disappointment on his face.

Graciously accepting his loss, Glenville smiled amiably. “There is a reason our host does not join in the play. None of us would leave with any blunt in our coffers to return again.” He bowed low in front of Emma and took her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles before straightening again. “My lovely lady, it has been a pleasure. Though not as much as I would have liked, it is still far more than I had expected to find tonight. You are a treasure.” Then he threw an arm around the younger man's shoulders. “Come, let us seek our luck elsewhere before Bentley claims any more of our good fortune.”

Trepidation mingled with unnatural excitement at finding herself in such close proximity to Roderick. She had hoped to avoid him tonight. How foolish that hope had been, and false. There was no denying the delightful anticipation she felt just being near him. How long had he been watching her? Curious of his intention, Emma tipped her head back to gaze at him from the slits of her mask.

The easy smile he had worn on his approach was gone. Despite his stern expression, there was a harsh and unmistakable edge of desire in his gaze. A delicate rush swept through her blood.

“You are staring,” she said quietly.

“You are stunning,” Roderick replied. His gaze shifted from her face to cascade down the length of her body. His jaw tensed and he added through clenched teeth, “And you are leaving.”

Well, that answered Emma's question as to whether or not he had recognized her. Clearly, he was not pleased by the sight of his bookkeeper mingling with his guests. But she would not let him intimidate her from her purpose.

Emboldened by champagne and filled with confidence and resolve after her steady winning streak, Emma shifted her stance and placed one hand on her hip. Tilting her head back a bit farther, she met his disapproving gaze with direct defiance.

Then she smiled in a way she hoped was bold and provocative. “I am not going anywhere.”

His eyes darkened. “You do not belong here.”

“Yet this is exactly where I intend to be.”

“You do not understand the danger. You are going to get yourself into trouble.”

“On the contrary, I am quite clear as to what is at stake tonight. Unless you intend to physically remove me from the premises, I am not leaving until I have achieved what I came here to do.”

Roderick did not reply right away. His expression remained hard and forbidding, but something in his eyes softened as he stared into hers. Then with a heavy sigh, he swept a glance around them before returning his attention to her.

“Why are you being so bloody stubborn?”

“Not stubborn. Determined.” She arched a brow. “Do you intend to call for Snipes to throw me out?”

His gaze slid back along her figure. “I would not trust any man to put his hands on you in that gown. Even Snipes.”

Emma felt the censure in his words, but there was something else there as well.

“Even you?” she queried softly.

He lifted his eyes again to meet hers. “Especially me.”

Tingles of delicate pleasure raced across her skin at the implication in his response.

Silence followed while Emma realized they had reached a sort of impasse. Holding fast to the purpose, she lifted her chin. “You will allow me to stay?”

“If you tell me why you are so intent upon doing so. Does it have to do with what made you upset the other day?”

Emma glanced around in a useless attempt at stalling. She hated having to admit she was resorting to gambling as a means of acquiring the money she needed. Yet as she met his questioning gaze, she saw no judgment. Only concern. And though it bruised her pride to acknowledge her needfulness, she felt deep in her core she could trust him.

“Tell me, Emma. How much do you need?”

She licked her dry lips before replying. Determined to give Hale no further cause to hassle them, she had calculated the interest owed on the loan and had established a goal more than sufficient to cover the debt. “I need at least fifteen thousand pounds.”

He gave no indication of surprise at the figure, just a slight tip of his head indicating his acknowledgment.

“By tomorrow,” she added.

This caused a twitch of his eyebrow. “That is a lot to win in one night.”

“I know. But I have already won more than a quarter of it. I just need to keep it up for a few more hours.”

Roderick shook his head. Then he turned to offer his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, but he grasped her hand in his to draw her arm farther through his until they were solidly linked, with her hand resting on his forearm and the side of her body pressing warmly to his.

“You have set an ambitious goal for yourself, love. It will not be an easy night.”

He led them from the faro table at an easy, strolling pace.

“I anticipated that. It does not change what I have to do,” she replied.

“And if you do not succeed?”

“I must,” she replied with quiet resolve.

They had reached the area of the room where guests were seated for the long play, surrounded by spectators. Emma slowed their progress, forcing him to stop or drag her along. Stepping in front of him, she could feel his concern as clearly as if he had voiced it.

“Since you have not walked me out of here, am I to assume I can play?”

She saw the tightening of his jaw as he paused before responding. It was clear he wanted to send her home. She needed to make it clear that was not an option.

“If not here, I will find another gambling house,” she asserted.

“The hell you will,” he muttered in response. “You will remain here with me as your escort. For the entire length of your stay, not just an hour.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the games in session nearby. “Then tell me…how exactly do I get a seat at one of those tables?”

Roderick chuckled and drew her arm back through his. “Leave that to me.” Then he issued a heavy sigh. “You are not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“I believe you are up to the challenge,” Emma retorted with a grin.

He leaned toward her to murmur softly against the curve of her ear. “In more ways than one.”