Margaret McPhee - Regency Desire - Mistress to the Marquis / Dicing with the Dangerous Lord

The dealer dealt her a third card.

‘Twist again.’

A fourth card came her way.

‘And again if you’d be so kind, sir.’

There was a murmur of voices all around.

The dealer looked at Razeby. ‘Please show, Lord Razeby.’

There was a craning of necks to see as Razeby laid his cards down on the table.

‘Queen of hearts, king of hearts. Twenty,’ the dealer’s voice intoned.

There was an irony in both cards. She wondered if Razeby realised it, too. That deep dark look in his eyes was so full of meanings that she could not tell.

‘Please show, Miss Sweetly.’

Everyone looked at Alice as she laid the five cards down on the green baize: ace of hearts, two of hearts, three of spades, five of diamonds, queen of diamonds.

‘Five-card trick,’ said the dealer.

The buzz of excited voices spread throughout the room around them, followed by a silence as the dealer turned over his own cards. A ten and a seven. He added another from the pile—the six of clubs. ‘Bust.’ He cleared the cards with one smooth movement of his hand. ‘Miss Sweetly wins.’

‘Congratulations, Miss Sweetly.’ Razeby was magnanimous in defeat, his dark gaze lingering on hers.

‘Thank you, Lord Razeby,’ she said with an innocence that belied the look in her eye.

‘Alice, I cannot believe your luck tonight!’ Sara exclaimed and hugged her, and the gentlemen clamoured excitedly all around.

‘I say, Miss Sweetly!’ Bullford was beaming by her side.

‘Congratulations, Miss Sweetly.’ Devlin was shaking her hand.

‘Well done!’ Frew took her hand next. ‘You have a lucky streak to rival Razeby’s.’

She smiled. Both Alice and Razeby knew that when it came to winning vingt-et-un , there was a great deal more to it than luck.

‘I think you have played this more than a few times, Miss Sweetly.’ Hawick was by her shoulder.

‘Maybe,’ she conceded. Her eyes flickered to Razeby’s, resting there only for the briefest of moments. ‘But never before in public.’

‘We must have a game together some time,’ said Hawick.

She saw the tiny telltale narrowing of Razeby’s eyes, the slight flicker of tension in his jaw at Hawick’s words, and she smiled a mischievous smile.

‘Indeed, we must, Your Grace,’ she said, and wandered away from the table with Hawick.

The early morning was bright, the air in Hyde Park fresh and filled with spring and all the promise that came with it. Razeby could smell the scent of leather and of horse, mixed with the freshness of earth and dew-laden grass, and feel the warmth of the early morning sun on his face.

‘You seem in better temperament this morning, Razeby.’

Razeby smiled. ‘It is a fine morning and I am out riding with my friend.’

Linwood kept his gaze forward facing. ‘I heard that Alice was at Dryden’s last night.’

‘News travels fast.’

‘It is London, Razeby.’

Razeby gave a laugh.

‘Indeed, the news is that she was in your party and that she fleeced all of the table.’

‘She did,’ Razeby admitted.

‘With a skill that matched your own.’

Alice’s skill far exceeded his own. She had been a most ardent pupil. Razeby remembered how too many of those long dark winter nights had started between him and Alice, of him sharing his secrets, of her sharing hers….

‘Strange, that,’ commented Linwood.

‘Is it?’ said Razeby, all innocence.

‘Who would have known she was so skilled at vingt-et-un? ’

‘Who indeed?’ Razeby answered, revealing nothing of it.

‘There is nothing of… awkwardness… between the two of you?’

‘Nothing.’ Awkwardness was not what lay between them. There was as much desire, tension and excitement as ever there had been. She had been flirting with him, flirting with the others. Light-hearted, teasing, mischievous. Just as she had done before. But there was a difference this time. There were other layers there that had not been present then and a subtle sense that she had removed herself from his reach—that he might look, but not touch. He could not get her out of his head.

‘It was an enjoyable evening.’ He told that part of the truth. Enjoyable, and exciting, in a way nothing had been since the last time he had glimpsed her in Hyde Park. He could still feel the thrill of it running through his blood. The thrill of her. Right up until Hawick and that naughty little jibe about playing cards with him. Razeby did not like the thought of that one little bit. That had not been enjoyable. That had been something else altogether.

‘I am glad that the separation seems to have been an amicable one.’

But what things seemed and what they were in truth were not always the same thing. Razeby gave no reply. He did not fully understand what was between him and Alice. But he knew that it was anything but amicable. It was raw and powerful and hungry. There were complexities to it that he did not understand, depths that were downright dangerous.

‘It makes no difference whether it is amicable or not.’ He needed to stay away from her and keep his mind focused on the marriage mart. But last night and this morning the marriage mart had never been further from his mind.

‘In that case, you will not have an interest in which of your events Miss Sweetly is booked to be present.’

‘I did not say that,’ said Razeby quietly and looked over at him.

Linwood glanced up, the look exchanged between them saying much their words could not. ‘She will be at White’s next week. For the awards.’

‘You are sure?’ Razeby felt his heart beat quicker at just the prospect of seeing her there.

‘My father is on the committee. Alice is the new darling of Covent Garden. The theatre has gone from barely making ends meet to being practically sold out every time she steps on stage. White’s know she will go down a storm with its members. They have offered Kemble, the theatre and Alice a substantial amount of money for her presence.’

Razeby gave a nod. ‘Thank you for the warning, my friend.’

Alice stood in the small anteroom that adjoined the main banqueting room in White’s Gentleman’s Club in St James’s Street.

A nervousness ran through her, making her palms clammy and her stomach turn a few cartwheels, and she knew it was not down to presenting a few awards to some stuffy, rich old gentlemen. She knew Razeby was in there. She knew, too, that he would be in receipt of one of the awards. Kemble had warned her. And the fact that Kemble had felt the need to do so was all the more reason that she could not refuse the invitation to be here tonight.

Had she and Razeby never been, she would have accepted this opportunity without hesitation. It promoted both herself and the theatre, and it paid well. So she accepted it just the same now. Not letting Razeby dictate her actions. She was getting on. Making a success of herself. Refusing to avoid him. And maybe there were a few other reasons, too.

It gave her another opportunity to show him how much she was over him. And maybe even to rub his nose in what he had given up just a little more. She smiled at that thought.

She was a successful actress. She earned her own money. And she really was over Razeby.

Alice took a deep breath and smiled.

The men were seated around the table in the banqueting room of White’s Gentlemen’s Club.

The dinner had been eaten. Their glasses were filled with port, cigarillos were being smoked, snuff boxes being opened and offered.

Mr Raggett, the proprietor of the club, had come in person to host the dinner and awards.

‘And now, gentlemen, we come to the purpose of this, our annual awards ceremony. The giving of awards for services we, within our little club, consider outstanding in the past year. Services to our gentlemen’s community, to the general well-being of the city of London, those in support of charities, and of the arts. And those a little less serious in nature…’ He smiled and everyone in the room smiled, too, at what was coming. ‘The member who has won the most entries in the betting book, and the least. The member who consumed the most bottles of port and still left standing, and he who holds the record for sleeping the longest in the drawing room.’ Everybody looked at old Lord Soames.