What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Page 17

  Gesturing to the waiting footman, Priscilla instructed him to bring the decanter and glasses. The servant placed the crystal vessel on the small trestle table at their side and began pouring. Matthew’s curious gaze scanned the unfamiliar decanter.

  What, did he really think she’d be foolish enough to fall prey to Boden’s scheming? A few drops of laudanum would cloud her judgement enough to make mistakes in the game. A few drops would diminish her ability to stop the lecherous lord from making an amorous advance should the need take him.

  “Instead of port, I wonder if I may have brandy.” Boden’s desire to drink something other than the drink he’d tampered with was not surprising. “You’d prefer brandy wouldn’t you Parker?”

  The red-haired gentleman nodded. “Too much port gives me gout.”

  “Well my husband shall join me in a glass, and you gentlemen shall enjoy a brandy.”

  They all accepted their respective glasses. Matthew stared at her as he brought it to his lips.

  “Trust me,” she reiterated. It was a lot to ask from a man who trusted no one. “The liquor will have no effect on your ability to play.” She turned to Boden. “Many a drunk has played carelessly at the tables.”

  Boden snorted. “Indeed, hence it’s only right we all take a drink.”

  The sneaky scoundrel.

  It took a tremendous effort not to jump up and punch him on the nose.

  Little did he know that she’d watched him enter the room when he thought no one was looking. Having learnt that he’d drugged the port at Holbrook’s card game, and that he’d presume port would be her choice over brandy, she’d arranged for both decanters to be changed. On Anne’s advice, the small amount of laudanum she’d added to the brandy would be enough to muddle the arrogant lord’s mind.

  After raising their glasses in a salute to Fate, the game began.

  Boden’s tactic in all previous games was to let his opponents win the first few tricks. As per their earlier conversation, Priscilla was to play low, particularly if playing her strongest suit, while Matthew would divert suspicion and mix up the play.

  Priscilla and Matthew won the first four tricks — Boden and Parker-Brown the next four. The slight movements of hand and face were harder to detect when seated around the table. To stare at the men during play would seem odd. With so much at stake, the pressure to focus took tremendous effort. Indeed, the tension in the air was like a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders.

  When they lost the next hand, Priscilla sensed her husband’s frustration and knew that they had no choice but to concentrate on their own game.

  But how was she to communicate her intentions?

  Matthew’s growl of disapproval when they lost the next hand gave her the opportunity she needed.

  “Your mind is too distracted,” she said. “It is easy to analyse the game when watching from the crowd. To be in the midst makes it harder to anticipate how one’s opponents might play.”

  “Perhaps it’s the port.” Matthew nodded to the footman who removed his glass.

  Boden chuckled and swallowed a mouthful of his brandy. “Can’t take your liquor? Perhaps it’s time to accept you have no skill at cards.”

  “Ignore Lord Boden,” Priscilla interjected before her husband leapt across the table and throttled the man. “He is simply trying to put you off your game. There is no need to look at anyone else here but me.” Their eyes locked. She arched a brow, exaggerated the movement in the hope he would read her silent communication. “Like the queen of hearts, I hope to have a favourable influence.”

  One corner of Matthew’s mouth twitched. He rubbed his cheek, pressed his fingers together in the sign used by Boden and his ilk. “Then as your king, I welcome your assistance.”

  Excellent.

  He understood her meaning perfectly.

  They continued playing, Priscilla using the breathing technique to convey the numbered cards, the slight movements to indicate the face cards. Boden and Mr Parker-Brown were too concerned with watching each other to notice anything untoward.

  Counting the cards took concentration. But being the first to reach five points, they won the first game.

  “It seems your luck is improving, Chandler.” Mr Mullworth tapped Matthew on the shoulder. The portly gentleman raised his chin to acknowledge Mr Parker-Brown. “You know what they say. Trouble comes in threes. There’s every chance you could lose again this evening.”

  Members of the crowd jeered.

  “Enough with your blabbering,” Lord Boden chided. The whites of his eyes carried a hint of pink. The pupils contracted to tiny black dots. The rigid line of his jaw had softened. “Only when you find the courage to play are you worthy of passing comment.” Snatching the brandy glass off the table, he downed the contents in such a way as to show his disdain. “Now let’s get on with the blasted game.”

  Mullworth hung his head and shrank back into the crowd.

  “Are you well?” Mr Parker-Brown shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. The man had taken but three sips of his drink and looked at his partner with an air of bewilderment. “Why don’t we stretch our legs before we reconvene?”

  “You speak as though I’m infirm. Now be quiet and let me deal the bloody cards.”

  Boden practically threw the cards at them and was forced to reshuffle and start again when a few flipped face up. This time he didn’t bother to ask Priscilla to pick the trump card but followed the rule that last one dealt denoted the key suit.

  Priscilla examined her hand and glanced up at Matthew. “Are you ready to win another game?”

  A mischievous grin formed on his lips. “You know me. I’m always ready.”

  The first few tricks were always the hardest to win. The more cards played, the easier it was to work out what was left. Matthew and Priscilla won the first hand, Boden the second and third. Come the fourth hand, the lord’s movements were slower. Judging by Parker-Brown’s mumbled moans, they were struggling with the language of silent communication.

  And so it went on, trick after trick.

  “Winning this trick gives us five points and means we’ve won the game.” Matthew’s voice whilst conveying a hint of loathing, smouldered with satisfaction.

  “I can damn well count,” Boden snapped. “You sound like a bloody governess determined to make a point.”

  Parker-Brown’s bottom lip wobbled. “I trust you were not relying on Mr Chandler’s promissory note to pay creditors.”

  “Of course not.” Lord Boden’s cheeks puffed and glowed red. “Do you take me for one of these debauched fools?”

  Members of the crowd gasped at the lord’s audacity. Muttered curses breezed through the room. The air was heavy with disdain though no one openly challenged his comment.

  Matthew leant over the table towards Lord Boden. “It’s your turn to play.”

  The card quivered in Boden’s fingers. Still, his cruel mouth formed an arrogant curl. “Let’s see if you can beat the knave of hearts.” He threw the card onto the table, sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

  From what Priscilla had counted, and from reading the signs, Matthew had the nine of hearts. When he threw it down, Boden gave a mocking snort. The spectators in the front row sighed with disappointment.

  “It seems your confidence is misplaced,” Lord Boden derided.

  “Thankfully, a trick requires four cards, not two,” Matthew countered.

  “Mr Parker-Brown,” Priscilla prompted. “It is your turn to play.”

  The man’s nervous gaze flicked about the room. The three of clubs fell from his grasp and landed on the table.

  “Bloody idiot.” Boden was far from pleased.

  Priscilla fought hard to hide any sign of emotion. She stared at the card in her hand, her vision growing hazy, her mind playing its own tricks.

  A tense silence filled the room. Fifty pairs of eyes watched and waited.

  “As the lady of the house, it seems fitting that this should be the last card of play
.” Allowing a wide grin to form, she placed the queen of hearts on top of the pile. “It seems that a woman’s love is the key to success.”

  Matthew’s green eyes shone brightly. “I trust you are right.”

  Mr Parker-Brown bowed his head.

  Boden snatched the queen off the table, flipped it over in his fingers and then held it up to examine it further. “You can’t have won.” The devil’s own fury filled Boden’s eyes. He waved at the footman. “Pour me a large brandy while I examine the cards.”

  Many men booed and jeered.

  “They’ve won, Boden. They’ve beat you.”

  “Accept your fate with good grace,” another shouted.

  Matthew pushed out of the chair. Wearing a smug grin, he said, “I shall expect both mine and Lord Callan’s vowels returned as a matter of urgency. There can be no doubt as to the winners of this game.”

  A rapturous applause rang out. One gentleman after another approached the table to offer their congratulations.

  “Damn good game, Chandler.”

  “We knew you had him after the first few hands.”

  Matthew placed his hand on his chest. “I cannot take all the credit.”

  “Like all the best fillies, your wife pipped him to the post,” Lord Parson said.

  “Indeed.” Matthew glanced at her. The look of admiration in his eyes stole her breath. “In this house, it is the queen who reigns supreme.”

  Chapter 20

  The overwhelming sense of satisfaction flowing through Matthew’s veins had sated his hunger for revenge. Boden would do one of two things. Had he any sense, he would shrink back into the shadows, go about his business never to darken Matthew’s door again. Equally, he could rant and rave about the unfairness of it all, swear they’d cheated and a host of other annoying things just to cause trouble.

  Perhaps he should have thrown Boden and Parker-Brown out onto the street. Then again, looking at the lord’s solemn face for the rest of the evening would bring immense pleasure. Plenty of other gentlemen would find amusement in the sombre sight too.

  One thing was certain. Swigging the last of the brandy had dulled the lord’s aggressive nature. Abandoned by Parker-Brown, Boden still sat at the card table, drowning his sorrows.

  Upon entering the ballroom with Priscilla on his arm, Matthew noted the opening strains of a waltz. “Shall we dance, Priscilla? Shall we show these people how perfect we are together.”

  She glanced at him, a smile illuminating her whole face. “Dancing with you would be a fitting end to a wonderful night.”

  They found a space on the floor, and he pulled her into an embrace. “I can promise you one thing. This dance will not signify the end of the evening. Hours of pleasure still await us.”

  A faint blush touched her cheeks. Despite sharing many passionate exchanges, there was still an element of innocence about her countenance he found endearing.

  “We have much to celebrate,” she said as they locked fingers. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when I played the queen.”

  The mere mention of it caused another rush of excitement, a feeling intensified by the feel of his wife’s body as he twirled her around the room. “Did you see Boden’s face? The man came here intending to bleed me dry. What I want to know is what happened to the decanter of port?”

  “Well,” she began with a coy grin, “I noticed him enter the parlour. Just from his shifty manner, I knew he was up to mischief. And after what you said about him drugging the port at Lord Holbrook’s soiree, I suspected he’d planned a similar trick.”

  “And so what did you do?”

  “I told John to throw the port away, to replace the decanter with the one from the drawing room.”

  “For a man adept at observing signals, I’m surprised Boden didn’t notice the difference between a square and a tulip decanter.”

  “He was in and out of the parlour so quickly I doubt he gave the shape of the vessel much thought. Besides, he was more interested in the brandy.”

  Matthew chuckled. While Boden had mocked him for his inability to hold liquor, the pompous oaf had downed three-quarters of the decanter. “Brandy proved to be his downfall. After the second glass, he was struggling to focus. And he had the temerity to taunt me.”

  A sly smile formed on her lips. “Well, it might not have been the brandy that clouded his thoughts.”

  With his curiosity piqued, he pulled her closer and lowered his head so his mouth was but an inch from her ear. “Have you been naughty, Priscilla?”

  “A little, though it was Anne who supplied the laudanum.”

  “You drugged him?”

  “I knew he wouldn’t drink the port.”

  Matthew threw his head back and laughed. “Heavens, where would I be without you?”

  She raised her chin. “You’d be twenty thousand pounds in debt, miserable, bored with playing host to a bunch of degenerates. You would only have one friend instead of two.”

  “Is that what we are? Friends as well as lovers.”

  “We are all things to each other — confidante, companion, partner in crime.”

  “Now we’ve mastered the language of the card-sharps, you realise we could earn quite a substantial sum of money if we toured the gaming hells.”

  “You won’t have time for cards.”

  “Why? Have you thought of a better way for me to spend my time?”

  She moistened her lips. “The activity I had in mind will keep you busy for hours. The pleasure gleaned will be so intense it will soothe your soul.”

  While his body responded instantly to the seductive lilt in her voice, he suspected she spoke of something other than passionate encounters in the bedchamber.

  “As a man with a wicked mind, there is only one activity I can think of, yet I suspect you mean something else entirely.”

  “Oh, I intend to find new ways to pleasure your body, but I was speaking about painting. If you’re to have a gallery, you will need more than three pieces of work.”

  The fear of failure was often stifling. With his work kept hidden in the attic, no one could judge or offer the scathing criticism that would make him refuse to pick a brush up again.

  “How is it you make an unsurmountable task appear easily achievable?” he said.

  “Because I’ve seen your work, and I believe in you.”

  His heart skipped a beat. Time stopped for a moment. No one had ever said those words to him. When he shook himself back to the present, a well of emotion rose from his chest to block his throat.

  “Priscilla … I …”

  The music stopped. Damn. Other couples left the floor, but he stood and stared into her blue eyes. A multitude of words raced through his mind but expressing emotion never came easy.

  She must have sensed his torment. With no regard for the other people in the room, she raised her lips to his. The kiss was slow, sweet, satisfied him in a way he’d not thought possible whilst still fully clothed.

  “We can talk about the future once Boden’s returned your vowel,” she said pulling away. “Now I shall leave you to work. No doubt your guests want to congratulate you on the outcome of the game.”

  “Stay.” That one word told a story. It was a tale of a man who trusted no one, who gave nothing, a man redeemed by the love of a perfect woman.

  “If I thought I might have you all to myself, then I would.” She placed her palm on his chest. “Can you not request they leave early?”

  “I’d have a better chance of finding a one ended stick.”

  She chuckled. “Then I shall unlock the connecting door and wait patiently.”

  He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. “Give me an hour, two at most.”

  “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Part of him wanted to keep her at his side, to talk, to dance. Part of him wanted her far away from those libertines skilled enough to lure her into a dark corner or empty room.

  “Then let m
e escort you to the stairs.”

  Cutting through the crowd, they made their way into the hall.

  Matthew turned to John who was standing as straight as a pencil by the newel post. “Mrs Chandler is going to bed.” And he wished he was going with her. “You’re to remain here until all the guests have left. No one is allowed upstairs. Is that clear?”

  Boden was too inebriated to be any trouble tonight, but still, a strange sense of foreboding gripped him. Would the lord seek a liaison with Priscilla purely as a means of revenge?

  “Regardless of the circumstances, you’re not to leave your post,” Matthew reiterated.

  John bowed. “I understand, sir.”

  “I’ll be perfectly fine.” Priscilla touched his arm. “Now hurry. You have two hours to get rid of this rabble.”

  Matthew took her hand, brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “You were amazing tonight.”

  Witnessing her radiant smile was the most satisfying part of the whole evening.

  “We were amazing,” she said. Brushing one final kiss across his lips, she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber.

  God, he was a jumbled bag of emotions. His heart hammered against his ribs. Did it stem from his eagerness to join her or the sudden fear of losing the only damn thing that mattered? The fluttering in his stomach was an entirely new sensation.

  If John thought it odd that Matthew was still gaping at the stairs long after he’d heard Priscilla close her door, he gave no indication.

  “I’ll not move until the last guest has left, sir,” John said. There was a brief pause. “Is everything all right, sir?”

  “Yes, John. Everything is fine.” Matthew sighed and dragged his hand down his face. “Life can be surprising. It can take but one event to send you spiralling on a different course.”

  A deep frown lined John’s brow.

  “It’s like getting on the wrong mail coach at an inn,” Matthew continued, trying to help the footman understand. “Your first instinct is to panic. You feel lost, helpless. But then at some point on the journey, you realise it was the right one all along.”