Diane Gaston - Regency Reputation - A Reputation for Notoriety / A Marriage of Notoriety

He signalled a servant to bring her wine.

Now that she’d so brazenly approached him, she did not know what to say.

‘How was your night?’ he asked finally.

‘Not good,’ she replied.

What more was there to say? Losing called into serious question her whole plan to finance Adele’s come-out with winnings. Worse than that, it showed how easily she could slip into a gambling fever where nothing mattered but trying to win back her money.

The wine arrived and she quickly downed half of it.

His brows rose. ‘Bring the bottle,’ he told the servant and turned back to her. ‘I take it you lost.’

Her fingers drummed the tabletop. ‘I did.’

He reached across the table and quieted her busy hand. ‘Do you need assistance? Are you in distress?’

She glanced into his eyes, which conveyed only concern and earnestness. His hand was warm against hers, even through the thin fabric of her glove.

She slipped her hand away, shaken at how comforting his touch felt and how much she needed comfort.

‘I’ll come to rights,’ she said, although her voice lacked any semblance of confidence.

‘I can lend you money,’ he went on.

She shook her head. ‘I know better than to borrow from moneylenders.’

His eyes flashed. ‘I am not a moneylender. I offer as a friend.’

She took in a breath. ‘But … you do not even know who I am.’

He traced the edge of her mask with a finger. ‘Tell me, then. Who are you?’

She sat very still at his gentle touch while her heart fluttered in her chest.

‘I am nobody,’ she said, speaking with a truth that had been proved over and over. She had not mattered enough for anyone to care what the impact of their actions would be to her.

She raised her eyes to his.

His promise seemed so genuine, as if he was a man she could believe. Would he truly lend her money if she needed it? And then what? Without gambling she could not repay him. What would she do then? Turn to moneylenders?

She shivered as the memory of her father returned. He had to sell her pony, he’d told her. He had to pay the moneylenders. Life after that had been filled with more times of want than times of plenty.

Until the day her mother told her news even more horrible than losing a pony. Her father was dead. He’d been accused of cheating at cards and a man—an earl—had shot him dead in a duel.

‘I do not need a loan,’ she said absently, still caught in the memory of her father’s senseless death.

At every society entertainment she feared she would encounter her father’s killer. What would she do then?

Rhys spoke. ‘But you need money.’

‘I’ll find another way.’ Although she knew there was no other way.

She, Adele and Lady Gale would have to find a set of rooms that Celia’s widow’s pension could afford. She’d have to let the servants go and Adele’s chances of making a good marriage would become extremely slim. At least Celia would not have to encounter the earl who killed her father.

She finished her glass of wine as the servant placed the bottle on the table. Rhysdale poured her another.

‘Thank you.’ She lifted the glass and decided to push the attention off herself. ‘What of you, Rhysdale? When I came in you looked as if you were the one who had lost money.’

A corner of his mouth rose. ‘The house never loses, you know. We are doing well.’

She smiled. ‘I am glad of it. You seem to have more players each time I’ve come.’

‘More women, as well.’ Again he touched her mask. ‘The Masquerade seems to be working.’

She put her fingers where his had touched. ‘It has worked for me.’

He sat back. ‘Until now.’

She shrugged. ‘I shall have to consider whether to come again and try to recoup.’

He leaned forwards again. ‘Do you mean to say you might not return?’

‘I might not.’ She paused. ‘I should not.’

‘Do not say so!’

Her heart started pounding faster again. She took another sip of wine. ‘Does one gambler matter so much?’

His gaze seemed to pierce into her. He did not answer right away. Finally he said, ‘I believe there are men who come merely in hopes of playing with you.’

She scoffed. ‘Surely you are not serious.’ She supposed the men who’d partnered with her and those who played against her recognised her skill. ‘In any event, I doubt any man will want to partner with me after my losing streak tonight.’

She’d not only lost her own money, but her partners’ money, as well.

‘You place so little value on yourself?’ He continued to pin her with his eyes.

No one else had valued her.

She glanced down. ‘Who wants to partner with someone who is losing?’

He drummed on the table like she had done earlier, while his steady gaze began to unnerve her.

‘I have a proposition,’ he said finally. ‘Come work for me.’

Rhys did not know why he had not thought of this before.

Hire her.

‘What do you mean, work for you?’ She looked shocked. ‘Doing what?’

‘Gambling,’ he rushed to assure her. ‘Nothing more.’ The idea grew in his head as he spoke. ‘I would pay you to gamble. And to encourage others to gamble, as well.’

Her eyes through her mask grew wary. ‘Am I to cheat?’

He waved a hand. ‘Never! It is not cheating to pay you to gamble. You will receive no advantage.’

She glanced away, as if deliberating.

It gave him time to think, as well. Would he compromise the gambling house by paying her to gamble? He only knew he wanted her to come back. He needed her to come back.

She turned back to him. ‘How much would you pay?’

He threw out the first number that occurred to him. ‘Two pounds a night?’

‘Two pounds?’ She looked astonished.

Was that not enough? He paid his man only fifty pounds a year. ‘That is more than generous, madam.’

She sat very still, but he fancied her mind was calculating.

Finally she spoke. ‘I need money, sir, but if my task is to gamble, then, as generous as two pounds a night might be, it does not allow me to play for bigger stakes. What is more, I still stand a chance that I will lose as I have lost tonight. That I cannot risk.’

She had a point. In gambling there was always the possibility of losing it all.

He wanted her to agree, though. He wanted to see her again. If he did not offer enough to entice her, she might never return.

He tapped on the table again. ‘Very well. I will stake you.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Say, for one hundred pounds. At the end of the night, you return my stake to me but keep your winnings. If you lose, you make an accounting to me of the loss.’ If she lost too often, he’d reassess this plan, but his gamble was that she would bring in more money than she would lose.

Her eyes showed interest. ‘Do I still receive the two pounds a night?’

He was not that big a fool. ‘One pound. Plus your winnings.’

She calculated again, her eyes on his. What did she look like under her mask? He imagined lifting it off her face, discovering the treasure underneath.

In the back of his mind he could hear Xavier’s voice, questioning his motives, accusing him of succumbing to the first pretty lightskirt who’d caught his eye in a long time.

She was not a lightskirt, but Rhys would wager she belonged on the fringes of society as did he. His money was still on her being an actress.

She opened her lovely mouth and, God help him, all he could think of was tasting her lips. She was about to agree—he could feel it.

Celia was so tempted. He’d handed her a way to gamble without losing her money. What could be better than that? What did it matter, then, if she succumbed to the excitement of the game? Losing would not imperil her.