The Christmas Strike. Nikki Rivers

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      He was, she realised, attempting to justify himself and using all his charm to win her over. He did have a point, if what he said was true. But how could she know that it was? He must take a percentage of the stakes. She shook her head, the slightest of involuntary movements. The very fact that he had chosen to profit from the frailties of others must condemn him.

      She met his dark, quizzical eyes without flinching, going straight to what she conceived to be the weakest part of his argument. “You set no limit on the stakes, I collect.”

      He shrugged shoulders encased in immaculate blue broadcloth. The shadows on his neckcloth shifted and changed but his expression did not. Not a trace of guilt showed in his manner. “No, madam. A man must have somewhere to go where he is allowed to do as he determines.”

      “To go to hell if that is his choice?”

      “Exactly, madam.”

      Leonora’s soft lips compressed into a tight line before she said, “I should prefer such an activity to take place somewhere other than beneath my roof.”

      “I regret, Miss Vincent, that I cannot oblige you in that respect. Have you seen all that you require in here?”

      So he wanted to abandon the argument for the moment. Leonora’s frustration grew. Nothing she could say or do could shift him.

      She could feel nothing but righteous pleasure that she had made her position so abundantly clear. She had no desire to prolong the argument. What she did most urgently want was to find some flaw in his lordship’s tenancy agreement or in his adherence to it, which would allow her to evict him.

      “Yes,” she answered him. “This room is in excellent repair.” The double doors leading to the front room stood open. She moved to pass through. “This is the Reading Room?”

      “As you can see, Miss Vincent.”

      If anything, it was decorated, furnished and equipped in better style than the Dining Room. High-backed armchairs, each with a small table beside it, predominated. Where the walls were not lined with shelves bearing books, they were painted cream with white, blue and gold decorated panels. Rich brown velvet curtains hung at the windows.

      Besides the central chandelier and a number of wall brackets, a branch of candles stood on the table by each chair, ready to be lit with a taper from the jar standing near the grate where a fire was already burning. The supply of candles must form one of his greatest expenses, she thought, he was so lavish with his lighting. One side-table had newspapers spread upon it while another held an array of glasses. The drink itself must be out of sight in the locked cupboard behind the main door.

      Leonora found herself fingering the leather spines of some of the books. Perhaps she allowed her longing to show. His lordship lifted a brow and smiled. Sweat pricked uncomfortably under her arms and a pulse throbbed in her throat. She would so much rather he had not smiled in the way he had, in warm enquiry rather than in censure or irony.

      “You would be most welcome to borrow a volume at any time, Miss Vincent,” he invited. “Although,” he added, “you would require to come down at about this hour to make your choice, while the room is unoccupied.”

      “Thank you.” Despite the unwelcome response his smile had provoked and the caveat about the time, she wanted to explore the books so much she found she could not hide her pleasure. “I had feared I would miss the library at Thornestone Park, but I expected that there would be a subscription library in the town?”

      “There is, in Milsom Street.”

      “Then between the two I shall not lack for something to read.”

      “Reading can give great joy, can it not?” he remarked, apparently with all sincerity. “No doubt, as a governess, you have felt the need to extend your knowledge.”

      “I have enjoyed reading since I was a child,” responded Leonora, inordinately annoyed that he should think her interest in reading due entirely to the profession forced upon her.

      He bowed slightly in acknowledgment of her protestation. He said, “If you would care to come through, I will show you the other rooms,” and opened the door to the landing.

      Card rooms, of course, were a feature of every large house, of every Assembly Room, and card tables graced every private gathering. She could never have entered any level of society had she not been willing to play cards and lay down her stake, however small! Kelsey had known this and deliberately misunderstood her. The more generous perception she had begun to have of him suffered on this reflection.

      So she entered the other front room with a frown between her brows, her eyes narrowed, looking for evidence of foul play or sharp practice.

      “The Card Room is reserved for those desirous of playing whist,” said Kelsey. He regarded her frown, the intent expression in her grey-blue-green eyes, with relaxed amusement.

      As well he might. It was impossible to tell, of course. The room was equipped with perfectly ordinary green baize-covered tables large enough for four people to sit around, with a candle and an unbroken pack of cards on each. And the decorations, as elsewhere, proved to be both tasteful and faultless.

      “Nothing to be done,” she said abruptly to Clarissa, who faithfully recorded the verdict.

      Here again, double doors led through to the back room. This was fitted out rather differently. A large padded, baize-covered table predominated, with small tables and their attendant chairs scattered about in random fashion.

      “This is the Gaming Room,” Kelsey informed her. “Members are free to play whatever they like in here. Vingt-et-un and other games involving many participants are played at the large table, piquet, cribbage, dominoes and dice at the smaller ones.

      “That book there,” he went on, pointing to a leather-bound ledger-like article, “records all the non-gaming bets and the stakes laid between members. Gentlemen will wager on anything under the sun, as you must know. But once a bet is recorded in there, no gentleman can deny its existence or refuse to honour the debt. I do not make the book,” he observed mildly. “I merely keep the record.”

      “Has anyone,” asked Leonora fiercely, “ever lost their inheritance in here? Gambled away the deeds of their property?”

      Kelsey’s face remained inscrutable. “Would you like to be the first to do so, Miss Vincent?” he asked amiably.

      “You are unbelievable, my lord!” cried Leonora. “You are suggesting that I should bet my ownership of this property on the winning of a game of cards? What, may I ask, would be my reward should I win?”

      “I should set my lease against your deeds,” responded his lordship imperturbably.

      “Ha!” exclaimed Leonora. “And both of us are very sure that you would win! No, my lord, you cannot bamboozle me in that fashion! I was not born yesterday!”

      “No,” he agreed, his gaze considering. “You are certainly not in the first flush of youth, Miss Vincent.”

      Her choke of СКАЧАТЬ