Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager(14)

‘Lord Markham.’

She held out her hand but, despite steeling herself, his touch still sent a tremor of excitement running up her arm, and when his lips brushed her fingers the excitement flooded through her before settling into an indescribable ache somewhere low in her body.

‘Your servant, Miss Prentess. I have brought someone to meet you. May I present Mr Charles Camerton? He is an avid card player.’

‘Indeed?’ She subjected the newcomer to a swift appraisal. He looked genial enough, some years older than the viscount, she guessed. His figure was good, his clothes elegant and his curling brown hair was fashionably short. A man used to the London salons, perhaps. ‘I hope we will not disappoint you, sir. This is merely a friendly little gathering.’

‘Those are the best sort, Miss Prentess. I am here with every intention of enjoying myself.’

‘Then what will you play, sir? I could find two more players, if you and Lord Markham would like to play whist, or...’

Mr Camerton looked around the room until his eyes came to rest upon Kate, who was at that moment opening two fresh packs of cards.

‘Vingt-et-un,’ offered Susannah, following his gaze. ‘It is very popular.’

‘And it is my favourite game. If you will excuse me?’

With a practised smile and a bow he moved off towards Kate’s table.

‘Which leaves you with me.’

The viscount’s low murmur was like a feather on her skin. She glanced at her arm to see if it was covered in tell-tale goose-bumps. Thankfully there were none.

‘I am sure we can find something—’

‘I thought we might play picquet. You and I,’ he added, so there should be no misunderstanding.

‘Thank you, sir, but I think not.’

‘Afraid?’

She would not rise to his taunt. Instead she replied frankly, ‘Your cousin tells me you are an expert at the game. I will not risk it.’

She looked about her, hoping to distract him. ‘My aunt is playing macao and there is room at her table...’

‘If you were a true gambler you would not be able to resist the challenge.’

Her chin went up.

‘If you were a true gentleman you would not press me so.’

That only made him smile more.

‘Is it the game that frightens you, or me?’

Her cheeks flamed at his quiet words. She could feel the heat flooding through her and her heart was beating wildly, making her breathless. Her senses were heightened, as if by a sudden danger. She was enveloped by his closeness. She wanted to flee, but was rooted to the spot. She must be rational. This was her drawing room, they were surrounded by people. What possible harm could come to her here? Yet everything around them was muted. It was as if they were alone, shut off from the world. She could smell the tangy scent of him, sandalwood and lemon and a faint, indefinable fragrance that she now recognised was his alone.

Her eyes were fixed on his chin, on that mobile mouth with its finely sculpted lips and the faint creases at each side that deepened when he smiled. She dare not look higher and instead dragged her eyes down and stared at the diamond winking from the folds of his neck cloth.

‘Well, Miss Prentess?’

He was so close she felt his breath on her brow, soft as a caress.

This must stop. Now. Gathering all her strength she drew herself up and forced herself to look him in the face.

Well, she fixed her eyes somewhere around his left temple.

‘It is not fear, Lord Markham,’ she said coolly. ‘It is common sense. One should never take unnecessary risks.’

She turned to walk away and he touched her arm.

‘One more thing. You were seen with Gerald on Friday morning.’

She spun back, quickly schooling her features into a look of haughty unconcern.

‘What is so wrong about that, my lord?’

‘He cried off from an appointment with me to accompany you.’

She had not known that, and regretted it, but she was determined the viscount should not know it. She summoned a glittering smile, as if it was her victory.

‘That is unfortunate, of course, but it is no concern of mine.’

The tightening of his jaw told her he was angry. With a slight nod she turned and walked away from him, the knowledge that he was watching her sending a ripple of unease along the length of her spine.

* * *

‘Well, Camerton, what did you think of Bath’s latest hell?’ asked Jasper.

They were walking away from Royal Crescent, keeping up a brisk pace to offset the icy wind that whipped around them, tugging at their coats. Charles Camerton laughed at Jasper’s description.

‘Mrs Wilby’s soirée is no hell, my friend. The stakes are so low they would be ridiculed in town.’

‘True, they are unlikely to arouse the interest of the magistrates,’ agreed Jasper. ‘You saw no instances of foul play?’

‘None. Mrs Wilby and her niece are canny players, as sharp as any females I have ever encountered.’

‘Aye, and they favour the games where skill and a good memory will aid them. What of Mrs Logan? I noticed you spent a great deal of time at her table.’

Camerton grinned.

‘With such paltry sums at stake I had to find something to entertain me! She is different and I like that. I suspect she was a professional gamester at some time. She gave me a run for my money. However...’ he patted

his pocket ‘...I came away the richer, so I am not complaining.’

‘Nor do the other men that play there, but I am convinced they rarely win.’

‘Ah, but they are not there for the cards. They are there to worship at the feet of La Prentess.’

‘You noticed that?’

‘Of course. She is a diamond. Your cousin Barnabus is most definitely enamoured.’ Jasper frowned. That was not what he wanted to hear. He dragged his thoughts back to Charles, who was still speaking. ‘And you say she is an heiress? Interesting. With her looks she should be in town. She could make a brilliant alliance.’

‘That is what I thought,’ agreed Jasper, frowning. ‘I believe her family come from London. Dammit, Charles, there is some mystery here.’

‘And you have an interest in La Prentess so you want to know what it might be?’

Jasper was quick to disclaim.

‘I am only interested in saving my cousin from a disastrous liaison.’

‘Don’t see that marriage to an heiress would be that much of a disaster.’

Jasper had said very much the same to Gloriana, but now it was important to him that Susannah Prentess should not marry Gerald.

‘You know,’ mused Charles, ‘I might even have a touch at La Prentess myself.’

‘I beg you won’t!’

Charles laughed. ‘No, I won’t. Her friend Mrs Logan is much more to my taste. I shall leave La Prentess to you, Jasper.’

They had reached the top of Milsom Street and Jasper was relieved to part from his friend. Their conversation was becoming far too uncomfortable.

* * *

A week of chill winds and snow flurries kept all but the most hardy indoors. Servants scattered cinders over the footpaths to prevent pedestrians from slipping and Aunt Maude insisted they take chairs to the Assembly Rooms the following Monday, rather than risk the horses on the icy cobbles.

Susannah expected the rooms to be very thin of company, but the Dress Ball was incentive enough for Bath’s residents to turn out in force. Susannah was wearing another new gown from Odesse, a cream silk with a finely frilled hem and short puff sleeves, the rose-coloured decoration set off by matching long gloves. She carried a silk shawl embroidered with tiny rosebuds to combat the icy air that she knew would penetrate even the building, at least until the ballroom filled up and everyone was dancing.

Gerald was looking out for her and immediately led her away to join a country dance. Susannah was surprised to find Kate was already on the floor, partnered by Charles Camerton.

‘You, Kate, dancing?’ she teased when the movement of the dance brought them together.

The widow’s self-conscious look surprised Susannah even more and when there was a break in the dancing she sought out her friend.

‘I do not think I have ever known you to dance here,’ she remarked. ‘And with Mr Camerton, too.’

Kate shrugged one white shoulder and busied herself with her fan.

‘He seems keen to dance with me. And after the way he fleeced me so unmercifully on Tuesday I thought it might help to find out what he is about.’

Susannah sighed, momentarily diverted.

‘Our losses last week were very disappointing. Aunt Maude went down a couple of hundred pounds to Lord Markham and I even lost at picquet to Gerald Barnabus.’

‘I am beginning to suspect it was a concerted effort by those three gentlemen.’

‘By Mr Camerton and the viscount, perhaps, but not Gerald, that was entirely my own fault. I was...distracted.’