The Wildest Heart (52 page)

“Occasionally. Isn't everybody who is in the least bit adventurous?”

“It seems as if these females have us outnumbered,” John Kingman grumbled as he rose to get the deck of cards. I saw Mark look at me thoughtfully, and Montoya's eyes, hidden behind a thin veil of cigar smoke, looked opaque and shiny.

For the first time that evening I spoke directly to Lucas, my voice challenging. “And you—you haven't said anything. Perhaps you're a poor loser?”

“Everybody loses some time or other. But I've never been afraid of taking a chance.” His eyes, meeting mine for an instant, told me nothing. But his words—had they been meant to convey something to me?

Before I had time to ponder, Monique was declaring delightedly that this was going to be such fun. And the men could talk business while we played.

“But first we shall create an atmosphere that is deliciously sordid, just like the saloons you men like to frequent.” She flung a green baize cloth across the table, and lowered all the lamps in the room but the one directly above. “There! Is that not more like it?”

“We'd hardly be sitting down in some gambling saloon with two grand ladies like Rowena and yourself, my love,” John Kingman said mildly. I thought his eyes asked a question of his wife, but she, smiling wickedly, shook her head so that the long eardrops danced above her shoulders.

“Ah non! But do you forget so easily? In New Orleans, where you met me, there were always pretty women at the tables, to encourage the men to bet high. Remember the Silver Slipper?”

I saw their eyes meet, and it was almost as if, for a moment, they were alone in the room.

“It's not something I can forget…” John Kingman said quietly. “You lost to me—everything, you remember? Down to your own silver slippers. And you left with me that night.”

“I always pay my gambling debts!” She laughed, shuffling the cards expertly so that they seemed to flow through her long, be ringed fingers. “And I have never regretted losing that night. But tonight…” and her voice became light, teasing, “what shall be the stakes we play for tonight?”

“Why not… ourselves?” Jesus Montoya's voice was deceptively soft; he shrugged as our eyes turned to him. “Why not?” he repeated, and leaned forward across the table as he looked at Monique. “You want us to play a game, si? And this is why we are all here tonight, to make plans for another kind of game, just as much of a gamble. So I suggest to you that the only reason for taking risks is if the stakes are high enough to make it—shall we say—interesting?” He gave his short, almost soundless laugh. “It is not as if we were strangers to each other—but if we are to be partners in an enterprise where both the risks and the rewards are great, what better way to find out how much we are prepared to risk—who are the daring, and who are the cowards? I propose that we play this game, each against the other, and for whatever we have on our persons, including our services, of course.”

I tried to keep all expression from my face as I looked around at the other faces in the short silence that followed.

Monique's eyes gleamed with a strangely lambent fire, and she breathed more quickly. Her husband looked thoughtful, but in no way dismayed. Mark, his face more than usually flushed, drained his glass at a gulp, as if it had been water and not brandy he was drinking.

Lucas was frowning, and I thought for a moment that he was going to protest, but the next moment, catching Montoya's slightly amused stare, his lips tightened and he kept silent.

It was Monique to whom Montoya had directed his suggestion, and Monique who answered for us all, her voice strangely breathless.

“Yes! I say yes! I may be a woman, but I have never been a coward. And if you lose, Jesus, you will work with us for nothing?”

“That would depend on how heavily I lose—if I lose—wouldn't it?” His lips smiled thinly under his dark moustache. “And if I win—more than you have to offer as you sit there—then, of course, my fee would be doubled.” His hooded eyes looked around the table. “It is agreed? In this game, there are no husbands and wives, or friends. We play for ourselves, each one of us, and the winner names his or her price.”

Perhaps it was the brandy I had consumed so recklessly that evening, but I remember having the oddest feeling that this had all happened before. The French call it déjà vu. Everything seemed familiar, and in some way foreordained.

The polished brass chandelier cast a bright glow over the green baize that covered the table, and the intent faces of the players seemed shadowed. I remembered that my father had killed a man over a game of poker, and that my reckless ancestor, the Black Earl, as they had called him, had shot himself later after realizing the extent of his losses. And did Lucas remember what had happened with Flo, or was his mind too occupied with Monique's nearness?

I was surprisingly clear-headed as I studied my cards, and the faces of the others. It was one of the things my grandfather had taught me. I could almost hear his voice.

“Always watch their faces, granddaughter. Tell you everything. There isn't a poker player in the world that doesn't show some kind of sign, even a too-blank look.”

But in this case, there was nothing that I could read in any of the varying expressions around the table. Not yet…

With a little laugh that betrayed her barely suppressed excitement, Monique dropped one of her rings onto the table.

“There—” she said. “That's for openers.”

The game that had seemed a kind of joke only a little while before had begun in earnest. Time passed, the atmosphere grew heavy with cigar smoke and tension. I was able, at last, to recognize a kind of pattern in the way each person played, although at first the cards seemed evenly divided.

Lucas was overly cautious, while Monique played recklessly. John Kingman never bluffed. Montoya was completely unpredictable. It was Mark, sitting next to me, who seemed nervous. A few times, I saw his hands actually shake. But it was Lucas I watched most closely, from behind the convenient screen of my lashes.

He had deliberately avoided glancing in my direction all evening, but now, as all talk of “business” had become more desultory and finally died away into the silence of concentration, I forced him to notice me at last.

When I saw that the cards were running in my favor I began to play with luck quite ruthlessly. Montoya saw what I was doing and knew why—once or twice I caught his black eyes on me, bright with a half-hidden gleam of mockery. As for the others, I saw them begin to look at me with expressions that mirrored varying degrees of surprise and respect. The diamond stars I wore in my hair gave me an advantage over them all, and I wasn't afraid to use it. As I began to win consistently I forced the bidding up higher, and even Monique began to frown over her cards.

“Your wife's quite a poker player,” John Kingman said to Mark as he threw in his hand.

“So I have discovered.” Mark's voice was deliberately expressionless, making me wonder whether he suspected what I was about. I said lightly, “It's only beginner's luck. I feel that I cannot lose tonight!” and he followed Mr. Kingman's example, tossing his cards onto the center of the table with a shrug.

Monique was biting her lip, looking from my face to the cards she held. Her hand went up unconsciously to touch her one remaining eardrop. And then, saying petulantly, “You're too lucky this evening!” she too threw in her hand. I looked at Montoya, who lifted his shoulder expressively. “As Monique says, you are too lucky. And me, I have always been a cautious man.” But I thought I saw a half-smile lift the corner of his mouth, as if he wished to convey to me silently that he knew very well what I planned.

For now, only Lucas and I remained in the game, and because he had played carefully and conservatively his pile of winnings almost equaled mine. But I had lost only one diamond star, and that to him—and there were nine more pinned among the coils of my hair.

“And you?”

This time he met my eyes, and I saw the green lights flicker in his.

“I think you're bluffing.”

I laughed, and pushed everything I had won into the center.

“Then prove it—if you dare.”

He saw how I had trapped him, and his face grew stony.

“Don't have anything more to bet.”

They were all silent now, watching us. I thought I heard Mark's indrawn breath beside me, but I did not take my eyes from Lucas's face.

“Your gun. That must be worth something.”

His lips tightened, but he drew it from his holster and put it on the table before him.

I pretended to consider it thoughtfully, and Mark said tightly, “You're still about five hundred dollars short. Why, those emeralds and that diamond ring alone are worth more than a thousand dollars!”

“But Mark's right, of course,” I said sweetly. “Let me see—I hate to be unfair, especially when I have been challenged.” I looked appealingly at Montoya, who sat regarding me with his twisted, sardonic smile. “What do you think, señor? You set the rules for this game. And you did say ‘services,' did you not?” He inclined his head, and I turned back to Lucas, who was watching me narrowly. “Then I will name the stakes, and if you are not afraid of having your bluff called you may accent my proposal—or lose everything you have won this evening.”

I thought that Monique clapped her hands together softly as she murmured “Bravo, Rowena!” The sun wrinkles deepened about Lucas's eyes and he said tightly: “Name them!”

“Well,” I said softly, “if you win I will throw in another one of my diamonds. You heard my husband say how much they are worth. But if you lose—you came here to listen to a business proposition, did you not? If you lose, you will work for me and follow my orders. You've already staked your gun. I'll buy it. At top wages, until you've paid off your debt.”

It was Mark, I think, who tipped the scales when he laughed. “By God! Rowena, I'm proud of you!”

I looked questioningly at Lucas, and he said, his voice almost savage, “Done! All right—I'm calling you.”

Smiling, I put down three aces, and then, after a pause, two queens.

I thought his face whitened with fury, but I couldn't be sure. There was a concerted sigh as he put his hand face up on the table almost indifferently.

“Three kings!” Jesus Montoya murmured. “A pity. But you should never bet against a woman who is sure of herself, amigo. I could have told you that before.”

“Then why the hell didn't you? Before you dealt that hand?”

“Amigo!” Montoya's voice was reproachful. “If I didn't know you better I might think you were accusing me of cheating.”

“I think your friend is a bad loser. Perhaps he does not care to have the tables turned.''

It was the first time that Mark had referred openly to the past, and seeing the dangerous look in Lucas's narrowed eyes I said quickly: “Why do men always hate losing to women? I just felt lucky this evening.”

Careless of my low-cut gown, I leaned forward, pulling my winnings toward me. The gun I pushed back at Lucas.

“If you're to work for me, you'll need that.”

For an instant when our eyes met, I felt myself swept back in time. And then, as if the tension had been too much to bear, everyone began to speak at once.

I didn't realize I had been holding my breath, until I released it in a long sigh that, fortunately, went unnoticed.

Without looking at me again Lucas picked up the gun. John Kingman was pouring more brandy into our glasses, and Monique said softly, her green eyes glittering, “I have not decided yet, Rowena, if you are very lucky or very clever.”

“My dear,” John Kingman raised his glass, toasting me, “I think Mrs. Shannon possesses both advantages.”

The cigar smoke had begun to sting my eyes; and perhaps the brandy, combined with the headier wine of success, had gone to my head slightly.

“Thank you,” I said to Mr. Kingman, and then, draining my glass defiantly, I rose to my feet. “Perhaps I'm of a mind to find out if you are right.”

Mark had also risen automatically, pulling back my chair, and I smiled at him sweetly. “May I have my shawl, please? Suddenly I find it very close in here, and if you'll excuse me, I think I would like to take a walk outside.” I turned abruptly to Lucas. “Would you act as my escort? I'm sure the others would like to continue playing—or perhaps discuss the business that we've so sadly neglected.”

The surprising thing was that no one, not even Mark, whom I had taken by surprise, raised a voice to stop me. I heard Monique's high, tinkling laugh behind me as she said poutingly, “Lucky Rowena! Now she had a bodyguard to escort her wherever she pleases to go!”

And Montoya's smooth voice murmuring, “There's no need to look so angry, amigo! It was a fair contest, and the lady won. You will not embarrass your old friends by appearing ungallant, would you?”

I did not expect Mark to follow me. The laughing comments of the others and his own pride would not allow him to do so. And I did not deign to turn my head, as I walked outside, to see if Lucas followed me or not. I only knew he had done so when I heard the outer door slam shut behind him. Still without looking around I walked to the edge of the porch, leaning my elbows on the wooden railing that ran its length. “I do hope you're not so poor-spirited a loser as to continue acting so sullen and fierce, especially when it was all your fault for accusing me of bluffing.”

In spite of the somewhat sarcastic tone I had adopted, I could not repress the nervous shiver that ran up my spine when Lucas came up silently beside me, casually leaning his back against the railing. I told myself that this time I would remain calm. I would show him that his nearness could not affect me any longer.

“I should have guessed it. You're real good at playing games—always were.”

His husky voice was deceptively soft, but I could sense the bitter anger behind his words as I turned my head to look at him directly.

“As I recall…” and this time I could not prevent my voice from shaking slightly, “you are the one who excels at—playing games, as you call it!” I went on recklessly, determined to have my say before my newly found self-confidence faltered: “Why did you come here after promising to stay out of my life? Was it the thought of the profits you think to gain from this crazy scheme? Or was it the notion that you will at last have the chance to be revenged on Todd Shannon? But I forget—you don't like to give explanations for your actions, do you? Perhaps you have none that will not incriminate you!”

“You've always thought the worst of me, so what the hell difference does it make? You're giving the orders now, Mrs. Shannon. Maybe you should tell me what you had in mind.”

It was impossible to read any expression in his hard, beard-shadowed face. Against my will, I found myself wondering, does he hate me? Do I really mean nothing at all to him? And then—is there always to be a wall of lies and pretense between us?

I hardly knew what I said, or why. Perhaps I only put my thoughts into words. I heard myself say, in a clear, cold voice, “To begin with, I think you ought to kiss me.”

“You comparin' notes already, Mrs. Shannon? On your honeymoon? From what I could see this afternoon, your husband takes damn good care of you. Or did you want to find out if he's capable of feelin' jealous?”

“Is that what you're afraid of? You shouldn't be. Mark's a very understanding husband, and after all, if I could understand your feelings for Elena…”

I put my arms around his neck, and it was like that afternoon when we had kissed for the first time, and only Elena was between us. I could almost feel my fingers throbbing with pain again as they touched the soft thickness of his hair. I remembered how he had called me a witch, even while his lips were claiming mine; unwillingly, almost despairingly.

And suddenly, I felt time fall away. Like the breaking of an iron band that had kept all my real feelings locked within myself, like a river bursting its banks in flood. How could I have forgotten? How could I have pretended to myself for so long?

There are times when words are unnecessary, when the body knows truer than the mind. And Lucas, when he kissed me now, was no more capable of holding back than I. If they had all come out onto the porch at that moment, we could not have broken away from each other. I had forgotten that they existed—had forgotten Mark, had forgotten all the doubts that had tortured me for so long.

“For God's sake, Ro… Why?” His whisper was both angry and agonized. “You and Mark Shannon! When Marta told me I was crazy-mad enough to kill you both! That damned interfering old woman—she had it in her mind it was all my fault. An' maybe it was, for not tellin' you straight off why I'd come. But damn you, Ro, when you started flinging all those crazy words at me…”

“You went back? To see me?”

“Oh, Christ! A woman always knows when she's got a man so mixed up in his mind he can't even think straight! You knew that, and you… how long did you think I could stay away from you?” He put his hand at the back of my neck, forcing me to look up at him, and his voice held a bitter accusation that made me flinch. “You couldn't even bring yourself to tell me you were carrying my child, and yet you found it easy to turn to him!”

“Lucas, don't! Please! If you only knew…”

“All I know is what you've told me! Damn it—what do you expect me to think? Seeing you with him, watching the way you acted tonight. Ro, I don't know what kind of game you're playing this time, but I ain't good at pretending, not the way you are.”

I couldn't bear to hear any more. I set my mouth against his, standing on tiptoe, and heard him make a half-smothered sound that was almost a groan as his fingers closed painfully on my arms, pulling me up against him with a violence that drove the breath from my body.

“Do you still think I'm pretending?” I asked at last in a shaky whisper.

Lucas dropped his hands from my arms, moving a little distance away, as if he didn't trust himself too close to me. I thought I heard him sigh.