Regency Reputation. Diane Gaston

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      He touched her reticule. ‘I cannot allow you to walk into the night alone. Especially with a full purse.’

      As he had done the night before, he escorted her to the cashier and waited for her while the hall servant collected her wrap. He again walked her out the door and onto the pavement.

      It had apparently rained. The street shone from the wet and reflected the rush lights as if in a mirror. From a distance, the rhythmic clopping of horses’ hooves and the creaking of coach wheels echoed in the damp air. Celia’s coach was not in sight.

      Rhysdale stood next to her. ‘How did you find the cards tonight, madam?’

      She closed her hand around her reticule. ‘Quite satisfying.’ She glanced down the street again. ‘Although I may not spend much time at vingt-et-un after this.’ She feared he would catch on that she had been counting the cards.

      ‘You did not lose.’ He spoke this as a fact, not a question.

      She smiled. ‘I try not to lose.’

      His voice turned low. ‘I noticed.’

      Her face warmed.

      ‘You have an excellent memory for cards, do you not?’ he went on.

      Her stomach knotted. He knew. ‘Is that a problem?’

      ‘Not for me,’ he responded. ‘Not as yet.’

      Her hands trembled. ‘Are you warning me away?’

      ‘Not at all.’ His tone remained matter of fact. ‘If I saw you make wagers that would jeopardise my establishment, I would certainly warn you away from my tables, but, as long as you play fair, it matters not to me how much you win off of any gentleman brave enough to challenge you.’

      ‘Do you suspect me of cheating?’ The very idea filled her with dread.

      And reminded her of her father.

      He shook his head. ‘You are a skilled player.’ He paused. ‘I admire that.’

      She relaxed for a moment, then glanced down the street, looking for Jonah, her coachman.

      ‘Who taught you to play?’ Rhysdale continued conversationally.

      She averted her gaze, not willing to reveal the pain she knew would show in her face. ‘My father.’ Her throat grew dry. ‘He once was also a skilled player.’

      Before he died.

      She faced Rhys again, wanting to take the focus off of her. ‘And who taught you to play, sir?’

      He made a disparaging sound. ‘Certainly not my father.’ He looked reluctant to tell her more. ‘I learned in school, but I honed my craft later when it became necessary.’

      ‘Why necessary?’ she asked.

      It was his turn to glance away, but he soon faced her again. ‘I was living on the streets.’

      She was shocked. ‘On the streets?’

      He shrugged. ‘When I was fourteen, I had no one and nothing. I came to London and learned to support myself by playing cards.’

      No one and nothing?

      How well she remembered the desolation of no one and nothing.

      She opened her mouth to ask why he’d been alone, what had happened to his parents, but her coach turned the corner and entered the street. She was silent as it pulled up to where they stood. As he had done the night before, he put down the steps for her and opened the door.

      He took her hand and helped her inside, but did not immediately release it. ‘Will you come play cards again, madam?’ His voice seemed to fill the night.

      She wanted to return. She wanted to win more.

      And she wanted to see him again.

      All seemed equally dangerous.

      ‘I will return, sir.’

      He squeezed her hand.

      After he released her and closed the coach door, Celia could still feel the pressure of his fingers.

Chapter Four

      Ned waited until almost noon for his father to rise and make his appearance in the breakfast room. He’d tried to confront his father on this issue before and knew he must catch him before he went out or he’d lose another day.

      Hugh had waited with Ned most of the morning, but stormed out a few minutes ago, swearing about their father’s decadent habits.

      Not more than a minute later Ned heard his father’s distinct footsteps approaching.

      Wasn’t it always the way? When Ned needed Hugh, his brother disappeared.

      The earl entered the room, but paused for a moment, spying his oldest son there.

      He gave Ned an annoyed look. ‘I thought to have breakfast in peace.’

      Ned stood. ‘Good morning to you as well, Father.’

      His father walked straight to the sideboard and filled his plate with food that had already been replaced three times. The earl detested cold eggs. ‘Do you not have something of use to do? Itemising my bills? Recording my debt in a ledger?’

      Ned bristled at his father’s sarcastic tone. ‘You ought to be grateful to me and to Hugh.’

      His father sat down at the head of the table. A footman appeared to pour his tea. Ned signalled for the footman to leave.

      His father waited until the door closed behind the man. ‘I am anything but grateful that you treat me as a doddering fool. Makes me look bad in front of the servants.’

      Ned sat adjacent to his father. ‘You were the one to speak of bills and debts in front of Higgley.’

      His father glared at him and stuffed his mouth full of ham.

      Ned went on. ‘But I do need to speak to you.’

      His father rolled his eyes.

      Ned did not waver. ‘It has been a month since Rhysdale opened the gaming house and you have yet to fulfil your part of the bargain.’

      ‘You truly do not expect me to speak to that fellow, do you?’ He popped a cooked egg into his mouth.

      ‘Speak to him?’ Ned felt his face grow hot. ‘You gave your word as a gentleman to do more than that. We need to include him socially. You need to acknowledge he is your son.’

      His father waved a hand. ‘I already did my part. I sent him to school. What more СКАЧАТЬ