Paying the Virgin's Price (Regency Silk & Scandal #2)(59)

'Taking vengeance, Nathan?'

'If I can.'

'And how did your meeting with Keddinton go?'

'Just as you suspected. He was not impressed with the evidence, and had no real desire to help me. He expected me to work for him, as a matter of fact, in further smearing my father's name. I mean to take matters into my own hands, to go after George Carlow, once Diana is forever safely out of that house.'

'Revenge is not an easy course. I speak from experience when I tell you it takes as much from the wronged as it does from the cause.'

'Fine words from you, Beshaley. And meaningless. You speak as if you care for my future, after all you have done to me.'

The Gypsy gave him almost a clinical examination, as though he could see the spirit as well as the body. 'Nothing has changed then? Your luck holds?'

'As it always does,' Nate said. 'No thanks to you and your kind.'

'So the curse did not break.' The Gypsy seemed surprised at this.

'Did you think it would?'

'As a matter of fact, I did.'

Nate frowned. 'Perhaps the luck was my own then, and this has all been nonsense. If so, I hope you are through with me, for I have no wish to part from it. I should think, taking the father, the family, the house and the girl would be enough to satisfy your mother. You have ruined the better part of my life and left me with no hope for the future. Leave me the cards at least.'

The Gypsy held out his hands in a gesture of finality. 'For my part, you have paid enough. You are released in any way I can release you. What is left, lucky or unlucky, is up to you.'

'Too little and too late. But it is something, I suppose.'

They played in silence for a while, and the stack of coins in front of Nate became larger. Then he said, 'And what of you? Are there others who will receive your gift?'

The Gypsy rubbed his temple, as though his head ached. 'Unfortunately, yes. While this business may be through for you, it is far from done for me. Until then?' He shrugged. 'The shadow moves where the sun commands. I will go where fate leads me. And it will be done when it is done.'

'And if you find proof that Narborough knew of my father's innocence?'

'Then he is my father's murderer. Despite what you may think, his debt to me is greater than to you. It will end in blood.'

'If you can prove George Carlow's hand in this, tell me of it. We will finish him together.'

The Gypsy's mouth quirked. 'Together, as friends?'

'To call you friend goes too far, after what you have done. Ally, perhaps. Let us say we have a common goal.'

Stephano raised his glass. 'To honour and justice for our families.'

It was impossible to tell by his expression which family he meant, the Hebdens or the Beshaleys. And so Nathan responded, 'For our families. Whoever they may be.'

The Gypsy let out a bark of laughter. 'Very well. If I have information to give, you shall have it.' And then, with a sidelong glance, 'If, when the time comes, you are still so eager to throw your life away on the past.' He tossed his cards on the table and stood up. He waved his hand in a strange gesture of blessing, and said, 'God keep you, Nathan. May I dance at your wedding.' He moved quickly away, so that he could not hear Nathan's responding curse to such a sarcastic parting.

Nate rubbed his temples, wondering if the Gypsy's headache was contagious. The air was oppressive, heavy with tobacco smoke and the smell of too much whisky and too many overheated bodies. He longed for the fresh scent of the park, the feel of the cool breeze on his face.

And if he were honest, the feel of a small hand in his. But he did not dare go back. For suppose he was to see her? She could have the park and Bond Street, along with the house. Half of all London would be hers, if it meant that he would not have to see her again. There was nothing left he could offer her. He had given everything he had, and there had been no response. He must accept it. This was home. Hyde Park was a million miles away from the room he was in, and as dangerous a journey as a trip to the Indies. It would be too painful to risk another meeting.

He heard ribald laughter from the front of the room, and then the crowd parted, as a woman timidly approached his table.

'Diana.' The cards slipped from his hands. He gathered them quickly and shuffled in a skilled, nonchalant manner, so that she might not see how her arrival had unnerved him. Why had she come here, just as he was trying to reconcile himself to the loss of her? He had to fight with all his might against the urge to jump to his feet, hide the cards behind his back and stammer an apology for being caught in so low a place.

But it would do little good. If she knew to seek him here, there was no way to present this to her as an isolated occurrence. He could not pretend that he was any different than what he was, a habitual gambler, as at home here as she was sitting before the parlour fire in his old home. And so, he composed himself. 'I beg your pardon. Miss Price.' He rose to honour her properly, and offered a bow and a smile that was courteous, but would give no indication to those around him that she was anything more to him than an acquaintance.

'Mr Dale.' She looked nervous. Was it just the gaming hell that made her uncomfortable or was it his presence? He had longed to see her again. But the sight of her unhappiness was even more painful than her absence had been.

'Mr Wardale,' he corrected. 'If you please.'