Luck Is No Lady (27 page)

Roderick sat behind his desk. His work was spread across the surface, but went unattended. He had turned his chair around so he could stare out the window. It was a rare day that sunshine gilded the streets of London, but he couldn't bring himself to admire the view.

He was distracted.

Or rather, he was fixated on one line of thought, one repeating question. He hadn't been able to shake it for more than two weeks. He feared he never would.

“Mr. Bentley.”

He grimaced. He did not want to be bothered. He had intended to shut his door, but didn't make it much past the thought to implement the act. And now Bishop had decided to intrude upon his private contemplation.

If Roderick ignored him, he would have to go away. Eventually.

“Mr. Bentley,” Bishop stated more loudly. “Oy, someone's here to see you.”

“Direct them to Metcalf. He can handle any club business.”

“This is a personal matter.”

At the sound of his half brother's perfectly cultured voice, Roderick was forced to acknowledge the end of his reverie.

He stood slowly and turned to face the Earl of Wright. “What a delightful surprise,” he stated in a dull tone.

The earl may or may not have snorted in response. The sound was so quiet and refined, Roderick couldn't be sure it wasn't a small hiccup.

His duty carried out, Bishop swung around and left the two men alone.

They stared at each other for a moment, both of them measuring the other with sharp blue eyes.

Roderick had been in a dismal mood already, but the sight of his half brother always managed to send him a few rungs lower.

The earl spoke first. “The club is quite impressive.”

“You should come back some evening and enjoy the play.” Roderick's smile was tight.

“I do not gamble.”

“Of course you don't.”

The earl did not respond. Instead, he turned and closed the double doors of the office, ensuring a private conversation. When his half brother turned back again, Roderick thought he detected the same edge of discomfort he had noticed at the Michaels's party.

The earl had stated then that he wished to speak with Roderick about something. His manner now suggested it would not be a pleasant conversation, but Roderick suspected the earl would hound him, in his oh-so-elegant way, until he stated his piece.

With a sigh of resignation, Roderick came around his desk and gestured toward one of the chairs before the fire.

“You may as well take a seat. Something to drink?”

“I do not indulge in spirits so early in the day.”

Roderick chuckled without humor. “You will forgive me if I indulge without you.”

The earl gave a small nod and strode confidently forward to sit in one of the high-backed chairs.

Roderick poured a brandy and joined his half brother, but he did not sit. Resting his forearm on the back of the other chair, he looked at the man who shared his blood but had never been family.

“From our last conversation, I had expected a visit from you sooner. What finally managed to drag you down to my humble address?”

At Roderick's mocking tone, the earl narrowed his gaze. The muscles of his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth against an obvious desire to retort.

Roderick felt an unexpected flash of shame for the contempt he couldn't seem to hold back. Then he reminded himself that the man before him had done nothing to earn his respect beyond being conceived on the right side of the bedcovers.

“To be honest, I did talk myself out of it more than once,” the earl stated blandly.

The admission surprised Roderick. “Indeed? Well, you are here now, and since I am sure this is not where you would prefer to spend your morning, you may as well get to the purpose of your visit.”

The earl did not reply at first.

But as Roderick watched him and waited, he saw the exact moment the other man seemed make a decision about something. He gave a barely perceptible sigh and lifted his hands to steeple his fingers against his chin. Blue eyes so similar to what Roderick saw every day in the mirror settled on him with unwavering intention.

“As you know, Father passed away nearly two years ago now.”

“Is that all it's been?” Roderick replied. “Seems he's been dead to me so much longer.”

The earl's jaw clenched again, but he replied simply, “Yes, well, you are not the only one to utter such a sentiment. Due to your aversion to the man, you may or may not be aware of the fact that he was detested by many. And for good reason.”

Roderick tried not to react. He hadn't known that actually, having done his best over the years to avoid any mention of the man who had betrayed his mother.

“Do not expect me to feel any pity.”

The earl arched his brows in surprise. “Of course not. Whatever you feel for Father is yours by right.” He glanced down, just a brief flicker of his gaze, before he recovered and looked back at Roderick. “I admit my own feelings are…complicated.”

His brother was ashamed. Roderick was certain of it.

“Father's was a twisted soul. Dark and damaged by past events and personal betrayals. Of course, that does nothing to excuse his often reprehensible behavior.”

There was something in the way the earl spoke that caused a fine chill to sweep down Roderick's spine, but he said nothing. Instead, he brought his focus inward, relaxed, and slowed his breath as he sought a connection with that part of him that rarely steered him wrong.

He acknowledged the fierce anger and hatred he harbored for the previous earl, but noted that the feeling did not transfer to his half brother. In fact, he experienced an odd sense of camaraderie that was wholly unexpected.

Roderick took another drink of his brandy, and the chill that had claimed him at the mention of his sire slowly dissipated in the wake of the liquor's inherent warmth.

“The truth is, Bentley,” the earl said, reclaiming his attention, “you are my brother—”

“Half brother.”

The earl's blue eyes narrowed at the interruption, but his gaze remained steady as he continued. “I am here to inquire as to whether or not there is potential for us to develop that association.”

Roderick stared at the earl. His mind was in furious rebellion against acknowledging what the earl had just suggested. The idea of accepting this man as a part of his life, even on the barest of terms, felt like a total betrayal of his mother, and his steadfast determination to reject a personal investment in his father's world. But as he continued to stare at the earl—in utter shock, truth be told, though he was confident none of that reflected in his expression—he noted something interesting.

The earl, his half brother, was nervous. Though the man's gaze held firm as he waited for Roderick to respond, there was tension in his hands as they rested innocuously on his knees. There was a hesitation about his mouth, as though he wished to say more, but would not.

Roderick came forward, finally taking a seat in the chair opposite his brother.

Something unfurled within him the longer he sat with the idea. It was an odd sensation, one he wasn't prepared to describe or examine. But it compelled him to stop resisting what could not be denied.

This man shared his blood. They were not family, but they were related. Could they be more?

As the idea settled more deeply into his consciousness, Roderick acknowledged the sensation of rightness flowing through him.

After a while, he lifted his drink in a sort of toast. “Are you sure you won't have some brandy? Best in London.”

The earl's lips quirked, just a bit, certainly not enough to be considered a smile, but he gave a short nod and said, “I suppose one drink won't lead me to ruin.”

Roderick detected the subtle sarcasm in his tone, and a smirk curled his lips. “You wouldn't be the first to make such an error,” he quipped as he rose to pour his brother a drink.

“What a delightful party.” Angelique lifted her opera glasses to scan the room. “So many handsome gentlemen.”

Emma murmured a noncommittal response.

Wasn't every party delightful? Every ball a smashing success? Every soirée divine?

As the sarcastic thoughts crossed her mind, Emma tried to contain them, ignore them, pretend she wasn't so disinterested in the whole thing.

She needed to keep up her enthusiasm, if only for her sisters' sake.

Lily had undergone a sort of transformation in the few weeks since her harrowing abduction. Emma could see now it had started with Lily's insistence that the identity of her rescuer remain anonymous, even to her family. That one small act of autonomy had started a wave of subtle shifts in Lily's nature. She was becoming more confident in herself, more outspoken and willing to make decisions that did not necessarily fall in line with what her sisters wanted.

Emma loved it, and she was not the only person to see her sister's maturing confidence. Her suitors had taken notice as well.

Lily was likely to become engaged very soon. One particular gentleman had been quite attentive. Though he was not exactly what she would have chosen for her sister, Emma would not be opposed to the match.

And Portia…well, she had also changed. Her impatience, her interest in society, even her tendency to be contrary, had waned. She started retiring early whenever possible and occasionally slept through much of the day. For the most part, she seemed content to slide through the rest of the Season without any undue effort or resistance.

It made Emma nervous, because she knew Portia better than that. The girl would never be content.

Other than those concerns, Emma had nothing to complain about. The Chadwicks, as a whole, were doing uncharacteristically well.

To date, there had not been a single whisper of Lily's ordeal amongst the gossips. It seemed almost as though it had never happened. Any worry of scandal breaking eased with each day that passed.

The day after Lily's return, Emma received a copy of the original loan contract signed by their father with the words PAID IN FULL written across it in Hale's bold hand.

With Hale no longer a threat, the Chadwicks experienced a sense of financial security they had not had since before their mother's death. Emma's winnings from that fateful night had provided enough to pay off their outstanding bills. With conscientious budgeting, Emma believed she could keep Lily and Portia in society for the remainder of the Season.

And then…well, if either of them remained unengaged, Emma would have several months to come up with some way to fund another Season next year.

Perhaps she could apply at one of the other gambling hells around town.

The internal attempt at humor had the opposite effect as memories of her time at Bentley's came to mind. Thoughts of her past employment invariably led to thoughts of Roderick himself, and there her mind would dwell. For hours sometimes.

Emma had never been one to lose herself in melancholy thoughts or dreams of what might have been, but lately she had become quite accustomed to doing just that.

She missed him.

She missed how he made her feel—bold and fearless—how he looked at her when he waited for her to speak, and most of all, she missed who she was when she was with him.

“Emma, darling, why do you not dance? So many lovely ladies and handsome gentlemen on the dance floor. You should be out there with them,
ma petite
.”

Emma sighed and looked down at Angelique where the lady sat perched at the edge of her seat amongst the matrons. They had gone over this a thousand times if they had gone over it once.

“Remember, I am too old for such things, Angelique. I am here to keep watch over Lily and Portia, nothing more.”

Angelique huffed, lowering her opera glasses. “That is ridiculous. One is never too old to dance.”

“Society would say otherwise,” Emma replied patiently.

“Then I shall have to prove society wrong, no?”

Emma watched in fascinated shock as Angelique rose swiftly to her feet, and without preamble or hesitation, crossed to the nearest gentleman, one in a group of young bucks containing not a single member who could say he was older than twenty-five.

“Oh dear, what is she up to now?” This from Lady Greenly, who sat nearest to where Emma stood.

Lady Winterdale made a sound somewhere between a groan and snort. “Just when I think she has left behind her foolish ways…”

“What? What is she going to do?” Mrs. Landon asked, her tone full of curiosity.

“There is no way to know, my dear. All we can do is watch and find out,” Lady Greenly sighed.

Emma could only stare as the dowager countess tapped the arm of the young man, who turned to look at her in surprise.

Amazingly, the young man gave Angelique a wide and winning grin before offering her his arm. He carefully led her out onto the crowded floor. Emma saw him bend near to Angelique to whisper something as they got into position for the waltz.

The dowager countess replied pertly. Whatever she said, it made the gentleman blush a bright red.

Emma had no idea if her great-aunt knew how to execute the rousing dance. The waltz had not come into vogue until after Angelique's prime, and Emma had never seen her perform a single dance step, let alone one that had couples twirling about each other as this one did.

Emma stepped forward, intending to intervene and save the poor man, but then it was too late as Angelique and her dance partner swept off into the crowd.

Emma's jaw dropped as any thoughts of hiding her shock fell away.

It was simply astonishing.

Angelique floated across the floor as though lifted on butterfly wings. Her feet glided, barely touching the floor. The grace and elegance in her arms, the confident strength along her spine, the swan-like beauty in the length of her neck, and the subtle tilt of her head inspired awe.

“Do you think perhaps her many tales of being a ballerina in Paris prior to her marriage may not be imagined after all?” Lily whispered at Emma's side, having silently joined her without Emma's notice.

Portia spoke up on her other side. “And if
those
fantastical stories are true, what of all the others?”

“It is amazing, isn't it,” Emma replied, unable to take her eyes off the scene.

Lily smothered a grin. “Poor Lord Nicklethwaite. He seems a bit dazed.”

“He appears to be holding on for dear life,” Portia said with a chuckle, though it wasn't exactly true.

The young man was doing an exemplary job in keeping up with Angelique, and judging by the bright expression on his face, he was quite enjoying the task.

“What could have prompted such a fantastic display?” Lily asked, her gaze, like just about everyone else's in the room, pinned to the oddly paired couple.

Emma had to search past her shock. “She wanted to show me everyone can dance.”

“I believe she proved her point.”

Portia was quite correct. Emma watched as Lord Nicklethwaite and Angelique executed a series of tight little turns. Angelique had quite clearly taken the lead, and it was indeed starting to look as though her partner was doing all he could just to keep up.

“So, are you?” Portia accented her question with a nudge of her elbow into Emma's side.

Emma looked down at her in mild confusion. “Am I what?”

“Going to dance.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Why not?” This from Lily.

Emma held back her groan. “Because I am a spinster. I am not seeking suitors.”

“What if Mr. Bentley was here?”

Emma stiffened and looked at Lily, who met her gaze with a suspiciously innocent expression.

“Why would you mention him?”

“Because it is clear you miss him.”

“You are obviously in love with the man,” Portia added, getting right to the point.

“That is ridiculous. I am not in love with Mr. Bentley.” The denial nearly made her throat close.

Portia laughed. “You are a terrible liar, Emma. If you could have seen what I saw that morning after you spent the night at his club, you would not bother to deny it.”

Something warm and tingling slid down Emma's spine. She suspected she would regret it, but she asked anyway, her voice a low murmur. “What did you see?”

“He cares, Emma,” Portia answered. “The whole time he stood in our parlor, he watched you. Every slight change in your expression caused him to tense. He strained at the bit in his effort not to go to you. It might have been amusing if it hadn't been so sad, since you barely acknowledged him until it was time to shoo him out the door. Do not try to deny how gloomy you have been these last few weeks since you stopped going to the club. Your mood has been quite depressing. It is obvious you have been heartsick over the man.”

Emma shook her head. “That is ridic—”

“It is not ridiculous,” Lily interrupted. There was a hard edge to her voice Emma had never heard before. “Must you be so full of pride, Emma? The man loves you, and you love him. What exactly is the problem?”

“And don't you dare say it has anything to do with us,” Portia stated with a fierce glare.

Emma looked back and forth between her sisters, for the first time ever at a loss on how to manage them. They both had changed so much in the months since Father's death. She would not be able to avoid an honest answer this time.

“You are right.” She sighed. “About me, anyway. I do love him.” Having finally said it out loud, Emma felt liberated. She had admitted it to someone other than herself. It made it more real, but also less frightening somehow.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Portia pressed.

Emma considered the question carefully. “What can I do? You both know his position in society. He is barely accepted in most circles and downright rejected from others.”

“And?” Portia prompted, with her hands rising to her hips. “Tell me that is not your reason for denying your feelings for the man.”

“Of course not,” Emma replied. “I honestly could not care less about what ninety-nine percent of the people in this room think of me. But I do care what they think of the two of you. Such a thing could ruin both of your chances for a great match.”

“Enough, Emma,” Lily interjected sternly. “I know I speak for us both when I say none of that matters a whit to either of us. We will manage quite well with fewer invitations and a closer, more loyal group of friends.”

“Besides,” Portia added with a sly wink, “we will still have Angelique, the great example of virtue and propriety that she is, as our sponsor.”

Angelique happened to pass by their spot at just that moment. Something in the lady's carefree indulgence in the pure joy of the waltz struck Emma acutely. Her chest tightened then swelled with emotion. Her limbs felt suddenly energized. She looked at her sisters' expectant faces and understood what they had been trying to tell her, what Angelique finally had to show her.

“I have to go back to the club,” she said. “Right now. Tonight.”

Lily shook her head. “Oh, I would not do that.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Bentley is not there.”

Emma's brows lowered in utter confusion. “How on earth could you know that?”

Her sister grinned. “I saw him enter the game room about an hour ago. I am quite certain he is still there.” Lily nodded past Emma's shoulder to the small room off the ballroom where several people had gathered to play cards.

Emma's heart leaped. He was here. Now.

She hadn't seen him in several weeks, and the simple fact of his proximity sent her nerves into a dance of anticipation. She turned to stare at the doorway to the game room. She would have to circumnavigate a quarter of the ballroom to get there, weaving in and out of the many guests. And then…

She turned back to Portia and Lily, who both stood patiently with wide grins. Shame swept through her. Her sisters were stronger of character and more capable than she had been giving them credit for. In her desire to protect them, she had been holding them back.

No more.

And no more denying herself what she wanted so badly.

Emma took a deep breath and made a rash decision. It was something she rarely did, but the wave of excitement that came along with it convinced her that perhaps she should make spontaneous decisions more often.

“Would you girls mind having one more eccentric in the family? I am quite certain I am about to do something rather shocking. Scandalous even.”

Portia clapped her hands. “Excellent.”

“Perhaps we shall become an entire family of eccentric women,” Lily suggested, something in her tone causing Emma to give her a deeper look. But Lily just smiled and gestured back toward the gaming room.