The Marriage Trap (4 page)

Invisible, in fact.

Before she could wallow in self-pity, she went to the closet and removed the gown she had pressed earlier. It was an ivory silk that was so fine she could have squeezed it into a ball and stuffed it in her pocket. It was so fine that she gentled her hands as she draped it over a chair. This done, she took a step back and studied the gown critically.

The trouble with fashionable gowns was that they were never in fashion for more than one season. Over time, she'd had to alter it here and there. The waists were shorter this year and the hems were higher. Frills and furbelows were the order of the day, but those were too fussy for her taste. This was more than a gown to Ellie. It was an investment, her costume for the part she was about to play. Her employers knew nothing of the gown's existence and if they had known, they would have been staggered. No ordinary lady's companion could have afforded a gown of this quality.

Only the direst of circumstances could have compelled her to put it on. Those dire circumstances always revolved around a desperate need for money. She had to transform herself from plain Ellie Hill, lady's companion, into the ravishing gamester, Madame Aurora. Only Madame Aurora could gain admittance to the kind of establishment Ellie had in mind, the kind of establishment where the stakes were high.

The right clothes and a judicious use of powder and paint were all that was needed to make the transformation. There was one other thing that was essential. Money.

She kept enough money in her satin pochette to stake her bets, money that she always replenished from her winnings. If she wanted to, she could have turned her nest egg into a small fortune. She'd always resisted the temptation, first of all because she was Papa's daughter, and secondly because money couldn't buy the things she wanted.

With only minutes to spare before she went to meet Milton, she took a last critical look in the mirror. She felt like a soldier in dress regimentals. The ivory silk was complemented by a cutaway emerald-green overdress with a quilted hem that matched her quilted pochette. Her satin gloves, which reached above her elbows, and her mask and shoes were also in emerald green. Her only jewelry was a pair of silver combs that had once belonged to her mother.

So far, so good. Now all she need do was think herself into the part of the dazzling, mysterious Madame Aurora. She'd done it before; she could do it again.

There was one last ritual before she left Ellie Hill behind. She sent a little prayer to Mama's brother, Uncle Ted, thanking him for passing on to her his vast store of knowledge about gaming and gamesters.

When she slipped out of her room, she stopped to look and listen. There were a few candles in wall sconces to give her light, but she had no wish to meet anyone on the stairs. Not that anyone would recognize her in her getup, but they might start asking questions if they saw her using the key to let herself out. After midnight, the doors were all locked, and only the porter had the key to admit guests. He wouldn't allow Aurora, a stranger, to pass in or out. She wouldn't let that stand in her way. Clutched in her hand was the spare key she had “borrowed” from the manager's office.

Not a soul was in sight. Hurrying now, she descended the stairs and made for the side door. The key made a grating sound as she turned it, then she was through the door and into the chill night air.

Milton was right where he'd promised to be. She whispered, “It was harder to open than I thought it would be.”

Without a word, in his gentlemanly way, he took the key from her and locked the door. When he handed it back to her, she dropped it in her pochette and smiled up at him. He really had the nicest manners.

He was Robbie's best friend and, like Robbie, a student at Oxford. Unlike Robbie, however, it was fine for him to take a jaunt to Paris between terms. He was bookish. Things came to him easily. Ellie had never heard of
him
failing an examination.

Milton offered her his arm. “No one saw you leave?”

She smiled. “No one. Don't worry, Milton. If anyone had seen me, I would have turned around and gone back to my room. All they would think is that the porter had let me in. You worry too much.”

“Yes. I know.”

He was standing there, staring at her as though he'd never seen her before. She'd told him what she would be wearing, but his look of surprise told her that he hadn't expected such a complete transformation.

Flattered and amused, she said, “Well, where is the hackney?”

He blushed. “Ah . . . ‘the hackney'? Oh, it's waiting for us in the rue de Rivoli.”

“Splendid.”

She waited until they were in the hackney and on their way before she voiced something that was troubling her. “When am I going to see Robbie?”

He looked away. “I don't . . . that is . . . when things have quieted down, I suppose.”

She really liked this well-mannered boy. He was tall, with curly black hair and a face that was, though not quite handsome, open and easy to read. The fact that his expression was now closed and he seemed ill at ease gave her pause for thought.

There was something he wasn't telling her.

All she knew was that Robbie had got in with a bad set, had run up gaming debts and spent lavishly with money he did not possess. And the more he ran up debts, the more he gambled, hoping to win so that he could pay off what he owed.

She was partly to blame. All he was doing was taking her as his example. When she was in desperate straits, she made for the nearest gaming house and invariably made a killing. Robbie rarely won, but he always hoped his luck would turn. Time out of mind, she'd told him that luck had nothing to do with it. Hazard, vingt-et-un, rouge et noir—these were games of chance. She rarely played them except when the odds were in her favor. She had a mathematical mind and could calculate the odds without even trying. As a result, the only time she bet on dice was when she had money to spare, and only as a flamboyant gesture.

What it came down to was that she had a gift that few people possessed, and Robbie least of all, if only he could be made to accept it.

She touched a hand to Milton's sleeve, bringing his gaze back to her face. “That's not good enough,” she said. “He has been in Paris for almost a month. Why doesn't he want to see me?”

“Oh no. You have the wrong idea. It's not that he's avoiding you. It's the moneylender's agents he is trying to avoid.”

She might have believed him if he had not avoided her eyes. As severe as she could be, she said, “I'm his sister, Milton. I'm not likely to betray him to the authorities. Now, where is he?”

He hesitated one moment more, then said, “Meurice's hotel in the rue de l'Echiquier. But it's a shabby place, not fit for a lady.”

“I'll be the judge of that.”

The Palais Royal was lit up like a beacon. This magnificent former royal palace had a courtyard Roman charioteers would have envied, and galleries on three sides that looked like cloisters. During the daylight hours it was quite respectable, its fine shops and restaurants a drawing card for visitors and the elite of society. When night fell, the gaming houses, theaters, and houses of ill repute opened their doors and the demimonde took over—actresses, birds of paradise, soldiers, gamblers, and idlers looking for trouble. And trouble was obviously what the authorities expected if the number of redcoats entering the courtyard was any indication. Paris was still a city under occupation, and British soldiers were always at hand to help keep the peace.

In one of the arcades, beside a bookshop, there was a door that led to the upstairs floors. Milton led the way. She was glad of his escort, because she wasn't in the know about gaming houses in Paris. A woman on her own could easily run into trouble. Even in England she had to watch her step. If she'd been taller, she would have disguised herself as a gentleman of fashion. Men were always taken more seriously.

When they pushed through the door to the gaming house, Ellie's pulse quickened. She was used to her pulse racing when she entered such an establishment. Once she had her cards in her hand, however, she always forgot everything but the game.

In one room, there was the rouge-et-noir table. She took a peek inside, then hurried past as a group of gentlemen got up to leave. She recognized a face or two, though she couldn't put names to them. They were staying at the same hotel as she. She'd bet her last farthing that their wives and daughters didn't know where they were.

When she entered the cardroom, she allowed her gaze to drift. She'd expected something better than this dingy room with its haze of tobacco smoke. There were other ladies present, but none as elegant as Madame Aurora. All the same, they had their own kind of allure. Their attractions were laid out like sweets in a confectioner's shop. They were not gamblers. They were demireps, or “ladies of easy virtue,” as Lady Sedgewick called them. What they were interested in were the men who won the largest sums of money.

Her gaze sharpened and became more searching. It did not take her long to discover who among the patrons were employed by the house. There were the puffs who acted as decoys, the flashers, the ushers, the dunners, and waiters whose only aim was to make sure that the gambler and his money were soon parted.

Her uncle had taught her well.

A director came to meet them, well dressed in a black coat and trousers, all smiles because, she supposed, he thought she and Milton were pigeons ripe for plucking.

“Monsieur,”
he said,
“que voudriez-vous jouer?”

Milton replied in broken French, as they'd rehearsed beforehand,
“Je ne jouer pas. Mon . . . ma soeur
. . . my sister is the gambler.”

The director's eyes slowly measured her, then gleamed in appreciation. His experienced eye would have summed her up as a lady with money to burn. To reinforce that impression, she opened her pochette so that he could see the banknotes. “I have five thousand francs here if you care to count it,” she said. “And my brother has a letter of credit from our bank in London.”

She had the five thousand francs, but not the letter of credit. It was a small deception. If it ever came down to it and she lost her nest egg, she would quit the table. It had never happened yet.

The director smiled and nodded. “What is your pleasure, madame?”

“Cribbage,” she said at once. “I'm told I'm very good at it.” She looked up at Milton, who nodded in confirmation of her boast. There was nothing a director liked better than an eager gambler. Eager gamblers made easy pickings.

“Then cribbage it is,” he said.

Still beaming, he motioned her to a table for two. The operator, the man who would play against her, was already seated. As she took her place, she looked up at Milton. He knew what to do. He was to keep watch behind her so that no one could look over her shoulder and see her cards.

After the cribbage board and pegs were set out, the director, who would supervise the play, handed the operator a fresh pack of cards. Everything was graciously done and civilized. No one would expect such kindly-looking gentlemen to resort to cheating, unless they had an Uncle Ted to put them wise to the ways of the world.

As the operator began to deal the cards, two flashers decked out as patrons began a loud conversation on the actress who had been done to death on New Year's Day at the theater on the west side of the building. That was only four days ago. Ellie had read the story in the newspapers and had heard it talked about in hushed tones among her employers' friends, but knowing that this was a ploy to distract her, she kept her eyes fixed on the operator's fingers. When his fingers slowed, she looked up.

He wasn't smiling quite as broadly as before. She had to watch her step. She mustn't appear too confident. Gamblers who betrayed that they knew how to use the system to their advantage were soon hustled out the door.

“That poor woman,” she said, suppressing a shudder. “Have they found who did it?”

“
Non,
madame, not yet, but they will. They think it was her young lover and that he is hiding out in the Palais Royal.”

Since she knew that he spoke only to break her concentration, she played her part. Shuddering again, she said, “I hope they catch him!”