What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Page 12

  “Have a care, Mullworth. I’ll not remind you again.”

  “You mistake me, sir,” Priscilla said with a regal air. “It is my husband I love, not dancing. He will be the only man ever to claim a place on my card.”

  The words sounded so sincere Matthew almost believed they were true. Rather than scare the hell out of him, he found her declaration oddly reassuring. Mullworth gaped. There’d been no need to thump the man. Priscilla had knocked the wind out of him with one simple comment.

  “Then Chandler here is a lucky fellow.” Mullworth slapped him on the upper arm. “A lucky fellow, indeed.”

  A flurry of activity behind meant only one thing. The game was about to begin. They would need an optimum view if they had any hope of observing the language of cheaters.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Mullworth. I’ve brought my wife to witness the play at the tables.” He clasped Priscilla’s hand firmly. “No doubt I shall see you at my next gathering.”

  “Of course.” Mullworth nodded. “The devil himself couldn’t keep me away.”

  Chapter 14

  Had Priscilla closed her eyes she would have known the moment the players entered the room. The hot, smoky air thrummed with nervous tension. Slow, baritone hums of conversation increased in speed and pitch. Excitement grew progressively louder as each man fought for the right to be heard.

  Matthew pulled her through the crowd, squeezing her hand so tight her fingers were numb, no doubt a deathly shade of blue.

  While The Diamond Club was a place for degenerates, most gentlemen stepped aside to allow her to pass, years of aristocratic breeding prevailing over the recently learnt manners of a rake.

  In the crush, Matthew failed to infiltrate the first row of spectators gathered around the large rectangular table, and they had to make do with standing in the second row.

  “It’s not only the men at the table who gamble on the outcome of this game,” Matthew whispered. The throng had quietened while waiting for the players to make their way to their seats. “Most of those in front of us have placed a wager too.”

  Priscilla scanned the row of eager faces opposite. For some, the wide eyes and toothy grins would diminish with the outcome of each hand. “I wonder if their wives know they’re gambling away the family fortune?” The slight bitterness in her tone revealed her own frustration at Uncle Henry’s duplicity.

  Matthew shuffled closer until his arm brushed against hers. “Those who gamble at this level are renowned for living a hedonistic lifestyle, openly boast about their wins and losses. Those men who are secretive about their pursuits are the ones who cause devastation for their family.”

  The words carried a hint of disdain. Of course, he hated lies. Deceitfulness was a trait she despised, too.

  “Like my uncle you mean.” An odd puffing sound left her lips. Uncle Henry enjoyed risking everything he owned on the turn of the cards or the roll of the dice. “I’ve spent years thinking his stingy habits stemmed from a need to protect his family. Now I know he needed every spare penny to keep the wolves from the door.”

  Matthew turned to face her fully. “I know your uncle has disappointed you. I understand what it’s like to have everything you believed to be true ripped from you in one enlightening moment.”

  One did not need to have mystical powers to know he spoke of the secret pain that had hardened his heart. On the way home, she would use the time alone in the carriage to delve deeper. She had promised to compensate him for bringing her to the gaming hell, to offer the physical affection he craved. She hungered for his touch too — not because it meant losing herself in the dizzy heights of pleasure but because the intimacy of the moment brought her ever closer to him.

  A boisterous cheer disturbed her reverie.

  “The players are about to take their seats,” Matthew said. “Let us pray my information is correct and the sharps are playing tonight.”

  The lively throng parted to make way for the approaching players. Craning her neck, she caught the first glimpse of the four gentlemen as they sauntered to their seats at the card table. Various members of the crowd stepped forward to give their favourite a slap on the back, tried not to stumble into them as they offered a slurred wish of luck or encouragement.

  Priscilla cast Matthew a sidelong glance. His dark gaze lingered on the man with wiry red hair, bushy side whiskers and a bulbous nose.

  “Well?” she asked leaning closer. “Are we in luck?”

  “The one with the flame-coloured hair is Mr Parker-Brown. The gentleman taking the seat opposite is his partner in whist, Lord Boden.”

  With a jutting chin, puffed chest and a look that radiated superiority, it was obvious no one thought more highly of Lord Boden than he did himself. His rigid posture and probing stare were enough to deter anyone from challenging his opinion.

  “Boden looks as though he hates to lose,” she said.

  “The fellow has expensive tastes and looks for any way to fund his habits. He owns the fastest racehorse, the most extravagant phaeton. The gossips say he keeps three mistresses though there are always ladies vying for his attention.”

  Priscilla considered the gentleman’s pretentious demeanour. His pale blue eyes were as cold and as desolate as the sea in Brighton on a winter’s morning. There was nothing remotely handsome about his countenance, but then money was considered the most attractive quality by many.

  “Pompous lords do nothing for me. I fail to see the appeal.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. May I remind you no one but me will ever claim a place on your dance card.” The mischievous glint in his eyes held a wealth of promise though the fingers grazing over her hip sent irritating prickles up her side and across her shoulders.

  Disgust made her stomach flip when she realised it couldn’t be her husband’s hand. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mr Mullworth hovering behind.

  “Excuse me, my dear, I was trying to push to the front.”

  Not wanting to cause a scene, Priscilla offered a weak smile. “I fear it is rather a crush in here tonight. Everyone is keen to witness the game.” Inclining her head to the leech, she turned to Matthew. “Can I stand in front of you?”

  A frown marred her husband’s brow as he scanned her face. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Mr Mullworth wishes to have a better view of the card game,” she lowered her voice, “and a crowd provides an ideal opportunity for a fellow with wandering hands to partake in a little exploration.”

  Matthew’s penetrating stare shot to a point over her shoulder. The muscles in his jaw firmed and twitched as his nostrils flared. “If that degenerate touches you again, he’ll lose more than the use of his blasted fingers.”

  “Pay it no heed.” She placed a calming hand on his chest. The wild thump of his heart beating against her palm stirred hope in her breast. The need to protect surely stemmed from more than a sense of ownership. “The game is about to begin, and we need to keep our wits if we are to achieve what we came here to do.”

  With some reluctance, he dragged his gaze away from the goings on behind. “As always you are a fountain of wisdom.”

  It was odd how one word could conjure a host of vivid images, stir one’s sensibilities. Had Tristan’s mother not lured the matrons into Lord Holbrook’s garden on the pretence of seeing his splendid fountain, Priscilla would never have met Matthew Chandler. A sudden ache in her chest forced her to catch her breath.

  Misinterpreting the sound of her anxiety, Matthew moved to stand behind. Measuring a good six inches taller, he pressed his body against hers, enveloping her in a warm embrace. Every fibre of her being responded instantly. The faint thrum of desire still lingered from their earlier flirtation in the drawing room. With each passing hour, with each new day, the craving to be near him grew.

  “Is that better?” His mouth hovered but an inch from her ear. “Do you feel safer now?”

  “I always feel safe with you.” It was the most honest thing she’d ever said.

  Matth
ew chuckled. “No one has ever spoken those words to me before. I’m regarded as one of the most dangerous men in the ton. Ladies of quality are taught to be afraid when in my presence. Perhaps I am losing my touch.”

  Priscilla leant back into him. “Well, I’ve recently discovered that I thrive on adventure. Dangerous men excite me.”

  “Men?” The single word brimmed with reproof.

  “A slight slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was you excite me.”

  He bowed his head until the faint bristles on his jaw grazed her cheek. “The feeling is mutual.”

  No doubt anyone glancing their way would find her wide, satisfied grin odd considering she was staring at Lord Boden as he inspected the cards. “Hush now,” she said though wished they had no reason to remain at The Diamond Club. “If we’re not careful, we’ll miss the first hand of whist.”

  A man wearing a forest-green tailcoat and burgundy waistcoat shuffled the deck. His nimble hands worked so quickly it made Priscilla dizzy just watching.

  “The Diamond Club insist on using their own dealers,” Matthew informed. “There’s no person alive who can keep up with Stanley’s shuffling skills. A club’s reputation rests on its ability to guarantee honest play. Anyone caught cheating is liable to face the barrel of a pistol at dawn.”

  “Then a man would have to be supremely confident to deceive the house.” Priscilla noted Lord Boden’s excessive preening: a flippant brush of the hair, a straightening of the sleeve. Either he found his fingernails fascinating, or he had a severe form of arthritis that caused his digits to curl into claws.

  “One would need the cunning of the devil.”

  “Then we should place our faith in divine intervention,” Priscilla said as Stanley whipped the cards around the table, distributing the deck between all four players. The dealer placed the last card dealt face up.

  “Spades are trumps,” Matthew confirmed.

  For the next few minutes, they focused all their efforts on watching the minute signals passing between Boden and Parker-Brown as each trick was played. The movements were so slight, practically impossible to read by the untrained eye.

  “Watch when Boden takes a breath,” Matthew muttered in her ear. “He gives the impression he’s thinking, but each second equates to a number. Five seconds for a five and so on.”

  Priscilla watched the players with interest. “The sigh indicates the end of the breath.”

  As Matthew predicted during their earlier discussion, Boden's opponents won the first three hands, the last one by nine tricks to four. What better way to encourage a higher stake than to give one’s challengers a false sense of security?

  Boden won the next three hands to even the odds.

  Mr Parker-Brown’s arched brow suggested he was to play a queen next. Consequently, Lord Boden played his lowest card though they still won the trick. The sharps’ winning streak continued for a few more rounds but then their luck took an unexpected turn for the worse.

  Matthew bent his head, brushed his lips across her jaw merely to whisper privately. “They’re deliberately losing. It will be a ploy to lure the weak-minded to try their luck. Lose tonight. Win tomorrow.”

  “It would make sense,” she said trying to focus on the conversation, though every time his mouth touched her ear desire shot through her like a lightning bolt. “Men are unlikely to gamble when the odds are stacked against them.”

  “I suspect that is …”

  Priscilla missed the latter part of his comment. A sudden prickle of awareness crept over her shoulders. She scanned the room, her gaze locking with another lady on the opposite side of the table. From her fiery red hair and arrogant curl of the lip, Priscilla knew the woman to be Lucinda Pearce. The lady placed her hand on the shoulder of a gentleman at her side, whispered something and laughed, though her penetrating stare conveyed nothing but disdain.

  Anger bubbled away in Priscilla’s belly. An absurd need to prove Matthew lusted after no one but her took hold. She leant back into her husband’s warm body, her feet a little unsteady as the strange flurry of emotions caused spots of light to form in her vision.

  Matthew placed firm hands on her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “The smoky air is stifling.” The lie only weakened her stance. “Miss Pearce is staring at me,” she added truthfully. Honesty was the foundation of their union after all. “I would be lying if I said I did not find her intimidating.”

  “Then may I suggest you offer a confident smile.” Nothing about his tone made her feel foolish. “Whenever my lips brush against your ear, close your eyes as though savouring my whispered endearments.”

  “I'm not very good at pretending.”

  “Who said anything about pretending?” His hands left her shoulders and settled on her hips. “Have I told you I cannot wait to taste your skin? That I long to rain kisses along the line of your collarbone, to devote my attention to satisfying your every need.”

  Liquid fire pooled between her legs. All the bones in her body felt limp. The constant chatter, the cheers and applause for the players, were drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

  “Have I told you how I long to be inside you, buried deep?” His hot breath breezed across her neck. Amidst the crowd of people, he pressed into her, the hard evidence of his arousal brushing against her buttocks. “Can you not feel the truth of it?”

  Her legs almost buckled. “Take me home, Matthew.” They were already courting gossip with their overfamiliar display.

  “Do my words excite you, Priscilla? Am I not the dangerous man you long for?”

  “You’re everything I’ve ever longed for.” The truth slipped from her lips without thought or censure.

  After a brief pause, he said, “Come. We have seen enough here. Let us go home and see what delights the night shall bring.”

  Priscilla blinked and shook her head to force her mind back to reality. The shocked gasps of the spectators drew her attention. Judging by the smiles on Lord Boden’s opponents faces, it was fair to assume the card-sharps had lost. In light of the unexpected turn of events, numerous gentlemen approached the losers with an offer to play again.

  “The game’s over rather quickly.” Priscilla suspected Lord Boden’s solemn expression was merely a mask to hide his delight. “Whenever I’ve played whist it seems to go on for hours.”

  Lost in a dreamlike state as he stared at Mr Parker-Brown, it was a few seconds before Matthew spoke. “Here the games are short. Gentlemen are easily bored, quick to complain. The house takes a percentage of all winnings, and so the more games played, the more profitable the club.”

  “Stone the crows for all they’re worth.” Mullworth came to stand at their side, his ruddy cheeks and sickly sweet breath evidence of an excessive consumption of alcohol. “I bet thirty pounds Boden would win tonight. The blighter. I should have known his winning streak wouldn’t last forever.” Mullworth shook his head. “If only I’d known he’d lost at Hendry's this afternoon I might have held onto to my wager.”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “You’re saying this is the second time Boden has lost today?”

  Mullworth’s jowls wobbled as he nodded. “Lost a thousand to Mr Marlow. Perhaps you should approach Boden and arrange another game. Might give you a chance to reclaim what you lost to him at the Holbrooks.” The gentleman turned to Priscilla and gave a sly smile. “I’ll keep this lovely lady company.”

  While Priscilla tried to convey a look of alarm without making it obvious, the man of the hour, Lord Boden, decided an introduction was due.

  The arrogant lord stared at Mr Mullworth. “Goodnight, Mullworth. Best be on your way. There’s a good fellow.”

  Mullworth’s cheeks ballooned as though a thousand curses were trying to force their way out of his pursed lips. “Well … I … goodnight.” With his head hung low, he scuttled off through the crowd.

  A low chuckle rumbled at the back of Boden’s throat.

  Had it not been for h
er husband’s plan to regain his losses from the prig standing before them, Priscilla would have thrust her nose in the air and called the man to task for his lofty manners.

  Offering a satisfied sigh, the lord turned to Matthew. “Ah, Chandler. I’ve not heard from you of late. I was expecting a visit to repay your vowel though I hear you’ve been somewhat occupied.” Stony-faced, the man’s lips twitched as he inclined his head to Priscilla. “Mrs Chandler. While most would express pleasure upon hearing of your recent nuptials, I fear no lady of quality wants to visit her husband in debtors’ prison.”

  Priscilla cleared her throat. “Then I must assume that no lady of quality has ever been in love, my lord. As you are now aware, money is as easily lost as won. Loyalty, once earned, is constant.”

  Boden arched a brow. “Such strength of character is commendable, my dear. I wonder if you will feel the same when you’re forced to bid farewell to your maid. Will you still hold your husband in high regard when your clothes are threadbare, and he has drunk himself into oblivion?”

  The muscles in Matthew’s cheek twitched. “You underestimate me on many levels. A man with nothing left to lose makes for a formidable opponent. But rest assured, you shall have your money in the next few days.”

  Priscilla did not hold out much hope of that being the case. Her parents had died penniless. Any dowry offered was provided for by her uncle Henry’s estate, but the man had made no motion to settle. The proportion he’d stipulated as part of her inheritance was probably worthless given his current financial situation.

  “You’re far too reckless to pose a threat.” Boden’s tone conveyed his contempt. “I trust you will honour your word. Any stain on your character will inevitably affect your wife. Then again, perhaps you lack her faith in love and loyalty.” Boden sneered. “Of course, I am always open to a wager.”

  “A wager?” Matthew’s narrowed gaze suggested confusion, but Priscilla knew he had been waiting for an opportunity to challenge the lord. Surely what Matthew knew of the sharps’ game play was enough to push the odds in his favour.