London, April 1820
Lady Angelique Archer’s opponents were all drunk.
She had made sure of it, not because she didn’t think she was clever enough to beat them, but because she had learned never to leave anything to chance. And a drunken card player was a foolish card player. They forgot to guard their expressions. They forgot that a small fortune rested on the table in front of them. And they forgot that the last ace had been played three hands ago.
Angelique felt a trickle of icy sweat slide down her spine as she touched the mask that was covering her face. It was starting to itch terribly, but she ignored the discomfort. She would leave after this hand, before she brought undue attention upon herself. Angelique could not afford to have the other patrons of this club start to wonder who she was and how she had managed to win as much as she had. She could not be remembered. Because a fortnight from now, she would need to do this all over again.
There were not many places in London where a lady might indulge in the very unladylike sport of gambling, at least the sort that went beyond pin money and a few hands of whist in a sedate drawing room. But the club known as Lavoie’s was one of them. It was exclusive, catering to individuals who possessed titles, wealth, power, or a combination of all three. Men were dressed in immaculately tailored eveningwear, the dark colors the perfect foil for the brilliant, rich hues of the silk and satin gowns worn by the women who swirled throughout the club. A king’s ransom in jeweled accessories sparkled under the soft, subtle light. And to add to the illusion of mystery and extravagance, each woman wore an elaborate mask, meant to conceal her identity. A chance for a daring lady to enjoy herself in a manner forbidden by propriety and daylight.
Though Angelique didn’t consider herself daring. She was simply desperate.
“You’ll take another card, milady?” The gentleman who was dealing this hand swayed slightly beside her, and his eyes were fixed firmly on her breasts.
Angelique kept her expression neutral, smothering the sharp retort that sprang to the tip of her tongue. If she had a penny for the number of men who had gawked at her overly generous cleavage since she had turned sixteen, she would be richer than the pope. And she certainly wouldn’t need to be sitting at this table enduring the unwelcome attentions of another.
A baron, she recalled, as she eyed the heavily whiskered gentleman who was still staring at her décolletage. But more importantly, a baron in possession of a newly minted fortune thanks to a lucky investment, and Angelique was only too happy to relieve him of a portion of it. She pretended to consider his question. Of course she wasn’t taking another card. She had the last two face cards in her hand. If the baron had bothered to take a look at his hand and that of the two players at the table who had already exceeded twenty-one, he would realize that the odds of her possessing those cards were quite high. But the combination of French brandy and English breasts was making him careless.
“I don’t know.” Angelique pursed her lips and let a hand drift down to the front of her altered bodice, fingering the lace that trimmed the gold silk. Predictably, the baron’s eyes widened.
God, she hated this part.
“You have only two cards,” the baron reminded her, feeling for his glass of brandy without looking up at her face. “Perhaps I could...entice you to take a risk.”
“Hmmm.” Angelique put her hands on the table. She needed to make sure that, if this man lost, he did so happily. Because he would lose quite a bit. “An intriguing offer.” She allowed her lips to curl into what she hoped was a smile.
“Isn’t it?” the baron murmured, taking a healthy swallow of his brandy.
“I’ll keep my cards.” Angelique feigned helplessness. “For I fear I am not so adventurous as you.”
The baron grinned sloppily at her. “I do have a reputation of being rather adventurous. Perhaps I might show you.”
Angelique eyed the remaining cards in the deck and the two he had facedown on the table. There were two deuces, a seven, an eight, and a nine left that had yet to be played. It was still possible for him to win with the right combination, depending on what he already had in his hand. She shifted, her stays feeling like they were squeezing the breath from her. “Why don’t you then? Show me yours?”
The baron laughed, and the other two players who still sat at the table snickered.
Angelique forced out a giggle even as her stomach twisted.
“Very well, milady.” He turned his cards over.
An eight and a seven.
Angelique nearly collapsed in relief. It was impossible for him to beat her. “Fifteen,” she murmured.
“Enough to take you?” The baron was leering slightly now, and Angelique suppressed a shudder. The man was old enough to be her father.
“What do you think?” she quipped, trying for the flirtatious tone she had never quite gotten right in her youth.
But the baron seemed to like it just fine. “Not enough.” He put his glass aside and turned over another card.
“Seventeen,” Angelique counted. The two other men they’d been playing leaned forward with interest.
“I never do things in half measures,” the baron declared. He turned over another card.
“Nineteen.” One of the other men reached for the bottle of brandy Angelique had brought with her to the table. He refilled his glass almost to the rim. “What are you going to do?” he asked the baron, his eyes sliding to Angelique’s cards still lying facedown on the table.
There was a single card remaining in the deck. The nine. If the baron turned it over, he would be well over twenty-one and forfeit his hand. If he stayed, her twenty would beat his nineteen. Either way, Angelique would keep the pantry filled for another week, the worst of the creditors at bay, and most importantly, the remainder of her younger siblings’ tuition paid.
The baron looked up at Angelique. “Nineteen, milady. A fine score. I’ll stay.” He picked up his brandy and swirled the remnants before downing it in a single gulp. “Now show me yours, my pretty.”
Angelique took a deep breath. This was the critical part. Let the losers down easily, tuck her winnings away, and slip from the club unnoticed. Luckily, she had had a lifetime of experience being invisible.
Nobody ever remembered Angelique Archer.
* * *
Alexander Lavoie had noticed the woman in the gold dress the minute she had entered his club tonight. Not because she was overly conspicuous, but because she had done everything possible to remain unnoticed. Which, surrounded by hordes of men and women who came here to see and be seen, was in itself remarkable.
She had been in here twice before, and it wasn’t to socialize. Nor was it to indulge in any of the extras Alexander made available for his patrons, extras that he was famous for and that made his club so popular. She avoided the tobacco and liquor that Alex brought in from his network of smugglers in Hastings and Dover. She ignored the exotic sweets and fine foods that were rarely found in even the best London dining rooms. She seemed immune to the talented musicians who provided a beautiful background to the many conversations she never participated in. And there was no particular gentleman with whom she met, either openly on the gaming floor or illicitly in one of the club’s more private rooms.
What Alex did know for certain was that she was all business. She controlled the vingt-et-un table from the moment she sat down. Somehow, she kept the tone at the table light, even as she systematically divested her opponents of substantial sums each time. Oh, she lost the occasional hand, but Alexander had seen enough to know that the hands she lost were paltry. He was quite certain that, when she lost, she did so deliberately to avoid suspicion.
But at the moment, he had no idea who she was, other than a very, very clever card player who was trying very, very hard to appear as anything but. Which intrigued him immeasurably. And it took a lot to intrigue Alexander Lavoie these days.
She was certainly not one of the women who came into his club on a regular basis. Wealthy widows, the occasional actress or opera singer, and jaded, bored ladies seeking the thrills and excitement that their perfectly ordered lives couldn’t give them. These women, despite their masks, were recognizable, at least to Alex, and they spent more time flirting, drinking, and laughing than playing any of the games of chance.
The woman in the gold dress was something different altogether. And the fact that he hadn’t yet identified her chafed.
She was a lady, of that he was reasonably sure. Her carriage and her speech patterns identified her as a woman raised in and accustomed to elevated social circles. She wasn’t overly tall, nor would she be considered petite. Her hair was dark blond, shot through with honey-colored strands, and tonight it was pulled back in an uninspired twist. Her eyes, what he had seen of them behind her mask, were blue, though she had never had the occasion to look directly at him.
He suspected that was not an accident.
The gold gown she currently wore was elaborate, though in this crowd of women who pushed the very limits of risqué fashion, it would be considered quite ordinary. But the curves that the gold silk graced were anything but and her current opponent, the Baron Daventon, had yet to raise his lecherous gaze north of her neck.
Alex wasn’t surprised when the woman laid down a pair of queens and neatly relieved Daventon of all his remaining money. But what did surprise him was the ridiculous sense of satisfaction he felt when she did it. The baron deserves it, Alexander thought before catching himself up short and wondering why he should care. Or at least, why he should care beyond the parts that affected Alex’s own interests. Like how much more Daventon might yet lose of his newly acquired fortune, and how much of those losses might be funneled directly into Alex’s coffers. Or to what extremes the baron might go to recoup his money, if any. If Daventon was a man easily provoked into challenges or threats or any other form of idiocy, Alex preferred to know ahead of time.
Because cleaning up blood in his club was tedious. And expensive. And inconvenient if he was required to entertain the law for an extended period of time.
Alex pulled out his timepiece, noting it was still a little before two in the morning. The woman in the gold dress would be leaving soon, he knew. If her previous visits were any indication, she never stayed more than three hours. Long enough to get what she had come for. Not long enough to be remembered by anyone.
Except him.
As if on cue, the blue-eyed stranger stood, the gold silk that clung to her body shimmering in the light as she subtly deposited her winnings into a matching reticule. The baron did not look pleased, and for the first time since Alex had begun watching, Daventon finally dragged his eyes up to her face. His hand shot out and wrapped around the woman’s wrist as she tried to turn.
Alex straightened abruptly, watching as the woman flinched, though she stood her ground and her expression didn’t change. She wasn’t wearing gloves, and he could see the discoloration of her skin where Daventon’s fingers dug into her flesh. A wash of what felt like possessive anger caught Alex off guard, even as he started forward. Across the room, he caught the eye of one of the leviathans he employed to keep the peace on his gaming floor. The goliath had also noticed the altercation and was already heading toward the subtle disturbance.
Alex waved him off. This was a situation that warranted his personal attention. And it would give him the opportunity to determine once and for all the identity of the clever card player in the gold dress.
* * *
The baron had been shocked into silence as Angelique had laid her cards on the table, though his companions had jeered and laughed loudly. Angelique kept a watchful eye on the stricken man as she deftly gathered her winnings, resisting the urge to stuff the money into her oversize reticule and run like a common thief. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and another bead of cold sweat slid down her back. No matter how many times she did this, it never got easier.
Angelique thought she was clear until the baron’s hand shot out to grasp her wrist as she turned from the table.
“Where do you think you’re going, my pretty?” he asked, his fingers biting painfully into her skin.
It required a monumental effort on her part not to give in to the desire to yank her hand away from him in revulsion. Above all, she needed to keep her head. She couldn’t afford a scene—couldn’t afford to bring any attention to herself. So instead of kicking the baron in the shins the way she longed to, she leaned into the man, her hip pressing up against his chest, ignoring the way her skin crawled. “I thought it might be time to seek out a new diversion,” she purred. “The night is still young, after all.”
The baron’s grip loosened slightly, though not enough for her to pull free. “You stole all my money,” he said, the words uneven.
“Hardly,” she soothed. “I won but a mere card game. If it makes you feel better, remember that it is a drop in the ocean for a wealthy man like yourself.” Her experience had taught her that men like this were better handled when their egos were being stroked.
The baron seemed to consider this. “Maybe,” he slurred. He wrenched on her arm, pulling her closer to him. “But maybe you should think of another way to make me feel better tonight.” The fingers of his free hand reached up and squeezed her left breast.
Angelique struggled for balance, trying to tamp down the futile fury that was starting to claw its way up into her throat. She was not like the other women here in this club. Women who were experienced in the art of seduction, veterans at wielding their feminine wiles as expertly as they wielded their painted fans. Angelique had never excelled at those life lessons. At least, not when it had mattered, anyway.
“I’ll trouble you to remove your hands from my person,” she said coldly.
“I’ll put my hands wherever I wish,” Daventon sneered.
“Then are you planning on fondling all the players at the table, my lord?” she asked. “Or only the ones within easy reach? Because the gentlemen beside you might have something to say about that.”
There was a chorus of intoxicated snickers and guffaws from across the table. Clearly, there would be no assistance coming from these cretins who seemed only to find her predicament funny.
“I think you’re confusing this club with Almack’s,” the baron replied. “I’ll do as I like.”
“And I think you’re confusing this club with a brothel.” It was a monumental effort not to simply drive her elbow into his nose. But aside from the unwanted spectacle it would create, blood was devilishly hard to get out of gold silk.
“But you have my money in your possession.” Daventon’s breath was foul. “Surely I should get something for it.” He increased the pressure on her breast.
Angelique twisted, stopping abruptly as she saw one of the hulking men who patrolled the gaming floors start toward them. She was relieved when he stopped and turned away. The last thing she needed was to draw the notice of—
“Good evening, gentlemen. And my lady.”
She froze, her eyes closing briefly in horror. She recognized Alexander Lavoie’s voice instantly. She’d studied the owner of this club covertly and heard him speak a number of times, though whenever he’d drawn near, she’d kept her head down and made every effort never to look directly at him. Made every attempt to remain unnoticed at all costs. And it had seemed to work. He spoke often with the men who gambled, conversed with the women who fluttered their fans and their lashes. But he had never looked twice in her direction. Which was exactly how she wished it.
She needed this place, she needed the men who came to gamble at the vingt-et-un table, and she needed the money they brought with them. She could not afford to catch Lavoie’s attention or for anything to happen that might somehow jeopardize her access to what had become her family’s only source of income. But now, it seemed the worst had happened.
“I believe, Lord Daventon, that you have your hand on something that does not belong to you,” Lavoie continued behind her, sounding bored.
“This does not concern you,” Daventon griped.
“I must disagree,” Lavoie said mildly. “This is my club, and thus very much concerns me. Because I am feeling generous this evening, I will extend you all the courtesy of reminding you that this woman is a lady, not a whore. I will take grievous exception to those who may think otherwise.”
Across the table, the two other men who had been playing abruptly stood and excused themselves, one of them knocking a chair over in his haste. He righted it, his eyes darting toward Lavoie before he vanished.
Angelique remained motionless, her back still to Lavoie and her cheeks burning in mortification. It was just as well that he couldn’t see her face.
Her wrist was still caught in Daventon’s meaty hand and the baron looked past her, his lip curling slightly. “This lady took a great deal of my money,” Daventon said. “And she was just thinking of ways to make it up to me.” His fingers squeezed her breast again, and Angelique tried to jerk herself away. Her arm felt like it was being pulled from its socket.
“Was she indeed?” Lavoie mocked, his voice dropping.
Angelique wanted the floor to open up beneath her and swallow her whole. She was embarrassed, she was furious, and she was terrified that she was losing any opportunity to extract herself from this situation without everything blowing up in her face.
“Do you know who I am?” Daventon demanded.
Behind her, she could hear Lavoie chuckle, a sound devoid of humor that sent shivers across her skin.
“I do. You are a small man who happened to make a smaller fortune on a drugged and drunken whim. Though I might caution you on spending too much of it. Because your partner, with whom you made that prosperous investment, might one day sober up enough to remember and realize that he was never paid his share. It’s a wonder no one has thought to tell him so already, isn’t it? Fortuitous for you, though, because I have been advised he has a terrible temper. And a fondness for pistols.”
Angelique felt her mouth fall open even as Daventon’s grip on her wrist suddenly loosened. She staggered backward, nearly tripping over her skirts. A strong hand steadied her, catching her at her lower back, warmth bleeding through the layers of her clothing. Another shiver chased its way across her skin, this one entirely different from her reaction earlier. This one was laced with heat and the insane urge to press herself farther into the contact.
Unsettled, Angelique shied away, and Lavoie’s hand dropped almost instantly. She should have been relieved. Instead she felt almost disappointed.
“I suggest you find further entertainment elsewhere, Daventon,” Lavoie said quietly near her ear. “Some other establishment where I won’t need to witness your appalling lack of judgment and be forced to think of ways in which I might correct it.”
The baron had paled beneath his whiskers, and he was opening and closing his mouth like a landed carp. After a moment, he heaved himself to his feet, his eyes skittering around them as if ascertaining who might have overheard Lavoie’s words.
“Get out,” Lavoie repeated. “Now.”
The baron staggered away from where Angelique stood without a backward glance, headed for the door, and vanished out into the darkness. Angelique stared down at her hands still clutching her heavy reticule and wished she could do the same. Wished that she could just disappear into the night.
But wishes, she had learned, were utterly useless.
“Are you all right, my lady?” She felt Lavoie move, coming to stand directly in front of her, while she tried to collect the shreds of her dignity and figure out just how she might remove herself from his attention.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
There was no help for it. She would need to address him or risk making more of a spectacle by simply fleeing like a scared rabbit caught in a cabbage patch. She lifted her head and met his eyes. And stared.
She had seen him from a distance, of course, but never this close. In the daylight, his eyes would probably be called hazel. In this low light, they were a dark amber, and the intelligence that shimmered in their depths was unmistakable. He was a head taller than she, his body lithe and lean. He had dark hair that fell carelessly over his forehead and around his ears, framing sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. His complexion was a shade darker than common, and a long, thin scar ran from his upper lip over his right cheek to the top of his ear.
She’d heard the rumors, of course. That he was a retired assassin. A retired spy. Or maybe not so retired at all. He kind of looked like an assassin ought to, she thought disjointedly. Dark. Dangerous. Unyielding. For a wild, reckless moment, Angelique wondered what it would feel like to touch such an untouchable man. Wondered what would happen if she ran her fingers along the edge of that scar. Wondered if his lips were as soft as his face was hard. Wondered—
She recoiled inwardly, appalled at the direction her thoughts were slipping. What in God’s name was wrong with her? Alexander Lavoie was not a man to be objectified or trifled with under any circumstances, never mind the debacle that had made her the object of his scrutiny. He had the power to take apart what remained of her life should he wish it.
He seemed to be waiting for her to answer something. Her mind floundered before it came up with the appropriate response. “Ah yes. Yes, thank you. I’m quite fine.”
“And I’ve been remiss. Allow me to introduce myself. Alexander Lavoie at your service.”
“A pleasure.” If he was expecting her to return the favor of introduction, he was in for a long wait.
“I believe Baron Daventon will offer you no further difficulty. Though you will alert me if that proves not to be the case.” He said it like he was inviting her to comment on the weather.
“You were rather, ah, persuasive.” It sounded better than threatening. Especially since she was having a hard time meeting his eye.
“Persuasive,” he repeated with pleasure, as if trying that word out for the first time and discovering that he liked it. “Indeed. Well, I do make it my business to know exactly who is in my club. And I make it my business to know why they are in my club. I find such details infinitely valuable.”
Her heart missed a beat, and another ripple of clammy sweat prickled at her skin. Dear God. She didn’t even want to consider the very real likelihood that Lavoie knew exactly who she was. And the possibility that he knew about every shovelful of family dirt she’d tried so valiantly to sweep under the rug. She needed to go. Now.
“Thank you again, Mr. Lavoie.” She edged away.
He followed her. “Perhaps you will honor me with your company? It troubles me to know that you were put in an…uncomfortable position while in my establishment.”
“Um…” Think, she ordered herself. Say something that will facilitate your escape without offending him. Her eyes darted in the direction of the door, but no words presented themselves. Why couldn’t she think?
“In the future, I will ensure that you will not suffer such unwanted attentions while you are here,” he continued smoothly.
The idea that he believed her helpless suddenly loosened her tongue. “While I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Lavoie, please rest assured that I did not require rescue. I can handle myself.” She dropped her eyes, instantly regretting her tone. Picking a fight with Alexander Lavoie was not smart or helpful.
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Lavoie sounded as though he found her outburst amusing. “If your winnings are any indication, you can handle yourself quite admirably.”
Angelique’s head snapped up, her gaze colliding with his. There had been an excuse on the tip of her tongue, an explanation that would defuse any suspicion. Except her breath caught and her clever words fled under the impact of his intense gaze.
“Regardless, I must insist you come with me.” His eyes hadn’t left hers.
Angelique tried to remember how to breathe under the potency of his stare. “I can’t. I have to go home.” She hated the words the moment they were out. They made her sound like a scared little schoolgirl. And she’d stopped being scared a long time ago.
“And you will.” His unnerving eyes flickered over her shoulder and then down to her heavy reticule. “Unfortunately, I think we have drawn more attention to ourselves than either of us would like. And I will not send a lone woman out into the night with a bag full of money. I will arrange an escort home for you to ensure both you and your winnings arrive safely.”
Angelique gaped at him, unable to help herself, even as her mind struggled to produce all the appropriate excuses to facilitate a faster escape. “Thank you, Mr. Lavoie, but I am with someone here tonight. I won’t be alone.” There was still a chance he didn’t know who she was. So he certainly couldn’t discover where she lived. He couldn’t discover anything about her.
“Lying does not become you, my lady.” Lavoie’s voice was conversational. “Now, we can discuss this here in front of all and sundry or we can find a more private location to work out the…details of our arrangements.”
Angelique’s stomach dropped toward her toes. Briefly she considered simply bolting.
“You won’t be able to run far in that gown, my lady.” It was as if he was reading her mind, which was horrifying. His lips twitched, pulling at his scar. “And it’s raining now. It would be a much colder walk home than it was on the way here.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Angelique gaped at him. How could he have possibly known she’d walked?
“The hem of your gown, my lady. There is mud on it near the back. You would be better to have worn the dark green gown you wore four weeks ago in inclement weather such as this. While the gold is exceedingly flattering with your coloring, the darker fabric would have been better at hiding the mud stains.”
Whatever illusions Angelique had that she’d remained invisible were effectively shattered. And had he just…complimented her at the same time he’d called her a liar?
“You saw me.” It was a ridiculous thing to say, but Angelique’s mind seemed to have stalled.
An enigmatic smile touched his austere face. “Of course I saw you. You’ve generously purchased a full bottle of French brandy from one of my serving girls at the beginning of every evening on behalf of your opponents. Expensive, but I expect that the effects of the alcohol on the average gentleman’s acumen are well worth the investment. You alternate the green and gold gown, though you’ve used a different mask on each occasion you’ve been here. Nothing ostentatious or particularly memorable, which, I suspect, is your aim. Though I might suggest that the clever tailoring of what exists of your bodice is designed to obliterate whatever masculine wits the brandy didn’t.”
A bubble of something was rising in her throat, and she wasn’t sure if it was hysterical laughter or a hysterical sob.
“Your play is what intrigues me the most, however, my lady. Small wagers early on, larger wagers as the hands progress and the deck wanes. Tonight your winnings appear to be greater than your previous evenings combined, which is saying something, indeed. You win far more than can ever be attributed to luck, yet I have seen no evidence that you have ever cheated.” He left that last part hanging, and Angelique thought it sounded more like an accusation than a comment.
She was done. Alexander Lavoie would bar her from his club. And Angelique would be out of options. Or at least options that she could bring herself to consider. Another wave of impotent fury rose fast and hard, nearly choking her.
Curse the circumstances that had brought her here. Curse the fates for creating her a woman instead of a man. And curse the one who stood before her, so quick to label her as something less than clever.
“I don’t cheat,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“I know. Which makes you all the more fascinating.”
“Fascinating?” Angelique repeated it stupidly. Was he complimenting her again?
“Yes. Fascinating.”
She was still pinned under his intense gaze like a bug on a collector’s board. Never had she felt so exposed. And she despised the thrill that coursed through her that a man such as this one should find a woman such as she fascinating. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, unsettled by how easily he left her unbalanced.
“You’re very welcome. But please, just grant me one favor.”
“Yes?” Was she agreeing or asking?
“Excellent.” Clearly he thought the former. “You will accompany me,” Lavoie said, holding out an arm. “So that I can make the necessary arrangements to see you home safely tonight.”
Angelique’s exhilaration burst like a soap bubble jabbed by a needle. She’d been outmaneuvered by charm and pretty words. Anger rose again, though it was directed at herself now. Lavoie had just manipulated her as easily as…well, as easily as she manipulated the men she had sat across from at the card table. Yet somehow he had managed to fold gallantry into his manipulation, which made it unreasonable to refuse his request. Despite herself, she was impressed.
“Would you prefer I walk you home?” he asked into the silence, and now there was an edge to his voice.
Angelique knew when she didn’t hold a winning hand. This was one of those times. “That won’t be necessary. It would be my pleasure to accompany you.” Her words were devoid of conviction, but she slipped her fingers under his arm anyway, still clutching her reticule with her other hand.
Lavoie led them across the club, past the richly papered walls and gleaming furniture and through the milling, laughing crowds. An occasional glance was cast in their direction, but never with anything more than idle curiosity before the patrons quickly returned their attention to their own pursuits of pleasure. Angelique knew that a masked woman on the arm of Alexander Lavoie was a common sight. But she had not, in a million years, ever wanted or intended to be one of them.
She tried to keep her touch light, but she could feel the strength of his body beneath her fingertips. Halfway across the room, he covered her hand gently with his, and the feel of his skin against hers was instantly electrifying. She’d forgone gloves because it was impossible to play cards with them, but she regretted their absence now, if only for the barrier they might have provided against his caress. If only to dull the sensations that were winging across her skin, licking through her veins, and crackling deep within her body. Never had she met a man who set her on edge as much as this one did. And for an entire host of conflicting reasons.
There was a part of her that still clung to her furious humiliation. Made worse because Alexander Lavoie had intervened. She did not appreciate being manipulated. She did not need his help. She certainly did not need him to rescue her from a drunken, grey-haired lecher.
Yet there was another part of her that was thrilled he had. It was the same pathetic part that had reveled in his compliments and had made her pulse race when he had offered his protection and assistance as though she was a princess worthy of such veneration, and not just a vingt-et-un player he might have considered a cheat at one point in time.
They approached a heavy wooden door at the rear of the club and a monster of a man who looked like a cross between an ox and a pugilist stepped aside, opening the door for his employer.
“Have my carriage brought around back, would you please, Jenkins?” Lavoie said.
“Of course, Mr. Lavoie.” The ox-man nodded, and as they stepped inside the room, he closed the door behind them as quickly as he had opened it. The sound of music and conversation abruptly ceased.
“You may take off your mask, my lady,” Lavoie said, moving behind a polished desk where large ledgers lay open.
“Why?” Angelique demanded.
“Because there is no one here except you and me. And I’ve been told such things become devilishly itchy after an extended period of time.”
“It’s not itchy,” she lied, fighting an urge to scratch. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the somewhat sparse, if masculine, furnishings. Paintings of fast-looking horses hung on the gleaming wood walls. Two leather-covered chairs were placed by the hearth, the low fire chasing shadows across the woven rug on which they sat. A bookcase flanked the wall closest to her, though whatever ledgers or volumes it held were concealed by wooden panels, each with its own keyhole. All things that one might expect to see in an office such as this. All things that told her nothing important about the man who stood across from her.
Lavoie looked up at her briefly before shrugging and fishing a key out of his coat pocket. “Suit yourself.” He slid the key into a lock on a drawer of the desk and turned it. In the muffled silence of the room, it made a soft click. “Put your money on the desk, my lady,” Lavoie said.
“No.” Angelique clutched her reticule more tightly against her.
Lavoie looked up, his strange eyes finding hers. “I’m not going to steal it,” he said, and Angelique wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t laughing at her.
“What do you want with it?” She knew she sounded like a suspicious fishmonger, but she was past the point of caring. If he was going to prevent her from ever setting foot in his club again, then she would need every farthing until she could find another solution.
“I was going to convert your winnings for you. So that it’s not quite so bulky. And obvious.” From the desk drawer, he withdrew a flat wooden box and placed it on the center of the desk.
“Oh.” She made no move to obey, eyeing the box with distrust. It looked like one of her brother’s dueling pistol cases. She was aware he was still watching her.
“I only rape and rob virgins on Mondays and Wednesdays, you know,” Lavoie said dryly, leaning a hip against the massive desk. Now she knew he was laughing at her.
“I’m not a—” she started to snap, only to bring herself up short, her face burning again with furious horror. Furious that he should find such amusement at her expense. Horror that he had nearly managed to goad her into blurting out something so inappropriate. Though perhaps it no longer mattered.
Because Lady Angelique Archer was standing in a gaming hell, alone with a probable assassin, clutching a bag of money she had won gambling. And all because a boorish baron had kept squeezing her left breast. The issue of her virtue was moot at this point.
“I’m not an idiot,” she tried to recover anyway, raising her chin.
Lavoie looked down briefly before raising his head again. “I never thought you were. I apologize. That remark was crude and uncalled for. I was trying to put you at ease.”
Angelique looked away. “It doesn’t matter.” It really didn’t anymore. A happily ever after was no more in the cards for her than a castle in the clouds. In the cards. She would have laughed at the pun had she not felt so desolate.
Lavoie opened the box that still lay on his desk. In the candlelight, the gleam of gold caught her eye. He gestured at her reticule.
“Let me help,” he said.
Those three words almost undid whatever composure she still clung to. He was the first person to ever say that—to offer help, though he couldn’t possibly know just what she wished that meant. Because the truth of the matter was that Lavoie couldn’t really help her. She was in this alone.
But he could exchange money.
Angelique stiffened her spine. “If you insist.” She dropped her reticule on his desk.
Lavoie gazed at her a moment before reaching for the bag, pulling at the strings and letting her winnings spill out across the surface of the desk. “Would you like something to drink while I count this?” he asked.
“No.”
“Something to eat?”
“No.”
“Would you like to stand here and watch me count this?”
“Yes.” She raised her chin.
“Very well.” He began stacking coins in neat rows.
Angelique crossed her arms and watched, her eyes drifting to the ledgers next to the growing stacks of coins. The one closest to her was open and looked like a delivery ledger, documenting everything that had been purchased by the club this past week from brandy to bread. No different, really, than the one she kept for her own household, except that there seemed to be a lot more zeros involved. Her eyes skipped down the neat columns of numbers before frowning slightly as she reached the totals.
“Is there something the matter with my counting?” Lavoie asked, still stacking coins.
“Of course not.” Did the bloody man have eyes on the sides of his head?
“Are you sure? Because you look like you just swallowed a lemon.”
Angelique’s frown deepened. He was laughing at her again. “There is nothing wrong with your current counting, Mr. Lavoie,” she replied coolly. “But your weekly accounting is another matter altogether.” In the next second, she bit her lip, cursing her loose tongue. What the hell was wrong with her tonight? No matter what Lavoie said to her, no matter how much fun he might poke at her, she would be prudent to simply nod and smile. And keep her mouth shut.
Lavoie stopped counting her winnings and raised his head. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s nothing. I spoke out of turn.”
“Clearly you don’t think it’s nothing.” He was staring at her in that relentless way of his, making her feel exposed all over again.
Angelique cleared her throat and looked down at the ledger. “Since you must know, your weekly cost total for all purchases is incorrect.”
Lavoie raised one sleek brow. “I find that unlikely.”
“Why would that be?”
“Because I do the weekly accounting. And I am not in the habit of making errors.”
“Of course. Forget I said anything.” Angelique looked away, reminding herself that none of this was any of her business.
She could still feel his eyes on her. “And no one can do sums that quickly. Reading upside down at that.”
“Like I said, forget I mentioned it.”
But Alexander Lavoie didn’t seem to wish to forget anything. He abandoned her stacks of coins and pulled the ledger closer to him.
Angelique felt her stomach sink in dismay. “Perhaps you might just finish counting the coins, and I’ll be on my way—”
“Not yet.” He was running his finger down the totals column, his forehead creased in concentration. He got to the bottom, and now he was frowning too. “You were right.”
There was no victory in that revelation.
“How?” he asked. “How did you do that?”
“Lucky guess. Now, if I might just collect—”
“Bloody hell,” he breathed. “I’ve heard of people like you.” Lavoie straightened, pinning her immobile again with those strange eyes of his.
“Really, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She backed away from his desk, as if she could hide behind the empty space between them.
“Two hundred and eighty-six multiplied by three hundred and fifty-four.”
One hundred and one thousand, two hundred forty-four.
“You just did that in your head, didn’t you?” He was still watching her.
“No,” she lied.
“Divided by eight.”
Twelve thousand, six hundred fifty-five. And a half.
“You can’t help yourself.” Those amber eyes were seeing far too much. “You know exactly what the answer is.”
“No,” she lied.
“You…see numbers. Is that accurate?”
Angelique shook her head. She had managed to conceal her unnatural aptitude for numbers from an early age, though her mother had become at least somewhat aware that she had far more success understanding complex conjugates than the steps to a cotillion. Especially after she’d caught Angelique filching her brother’s mathematics schoolbooks from his room the Christmas that she’d turned eighteen. If Angelique ever wanted to secure an advantageous marriage, she needed to focus on lessons befitting a young lady, her mother had counseled firmly as she’d plucked the books out of Angelique’s hands. And geometry was not one of them.
Besides, her mother had whispered, gentlemen―at least the sort that a lady would desire to marry―did not like women whose abilities outstripped their own when it came to masculine pursuits. So Angelique had obeyed, hiding her abnormal tendencies while trying her very best to be what her parents, and society as a whole, had expected.
For all the good that had done her.
“My lady?” Lavoie snapped her out of her musings.
“I’d like to go now,” Angelique said.
“Mmmm.”
She edged closer to the desk again, her eyes darting to the money still on the surface. She could not leave without her money.
“You count the cards.” Lavoie was tapping his finger absently on the open page of the ledger. “You remember what’s already been played. And you use that to determine the odds of the next hand. Tell me, do you use a points system? Or can you actually remember each individual card?”
“Again, I have no idea what you speak of,” Angelique insisted, though her voice sounded reedy in her ears. Numbers simply stacked and catalogued themselves in her memory.
Lavoie leaned forward. “You remember every card, don’t you?”
“I don’t know—”
“My lady, it’s a yes or no question. Do yourself and your considerable intelligence a favor and just answer it.”
Angelique blinked. “Yes.”
“Thank you.” He’d stopped drumming his fingers on the ledger and had gone quite still. “I haven’t had the vingt-et-un tables very long,” Lavoie said presently. “I didn’t want the hassle of hiring competent dealers, and to be honest, I didn’t expect the game to become as popular as it has. I’ve left it up to the players to deal in rotation, as you know. But that doesn’t make the club much money. In fact, the only money that game brings in is what I make on the liquor and anything else my patrons choose to purchase while they play.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’ve never seen a vingt-et-un player with your capabilities before. It makes me glad that it was Daventon’s money you took and not mine.”
“Capabilities?”
“Yes. Which makes you even more fascinating.” He paused. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a job?”
“A job?” She was aware she was repeating him like a half-wit, but she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around the last minute of conversation.
Capabilities.
Fascinating.
Job.
Good Lord.
“Yes.” Lavoie leaned forward slightly.
“Ladies don’t have jobs.” Angelique tried to put some conviction into that statement, knowing it was what she was supposed to say. Such knowledge had been drilled into her since she was old enough to walk. Ladies grew up and married well and became wives who lived out their lives in genteel comfort. They did not partake in industry. Or gambling.
At least they didn’t until they did not marry at all, much less well, and their parents died, their family fortune went missing, and their newly titled brother couldn’t stay sober long enough to look for it. Then ladies did what they had to do to hold their families together.
She glanced up at him, but her sharp reply, like everything else, had only seemed to amuse him.
“A strange thing to say for a lady who already treats my vingt-et-un table as her personal place of business.” Lavoie’s lip had curled, his scar making it look more like a smirk than a smile.
She looked away, despising the truth in his assessment. “I do no such thing. Ladies don’t have jobs,” she repeated, though it was a pitiable attempt at her defense.
“Ladies don’t have jobs that people know about,” he countered.
“What? What does that mean?” Angelique’s eyes snapped back to his.
Lavoie moved out from behind his desk and leaned back against the front of it. He crossed his booted feet casually, never taking his eyes off her. “It means, my lady, that once you stop pretending to be aghast, and you understand that I offer the potential to earn more money in a single night than you will earn in three at the card tables, you might wish to reconsider. I wish you to deal a high-stakes vingt-et-un table that can accommodate at least six players who will be playing against the house and not each other. Who will be playing against you.”
Angelique was at a loss for words.
“I don’t need to have your answer now,” he said, tipping his head. “You know where to find me. I will pay you for your time, of course, and you will also receive a percentage of whatever you—my club—wins. I promise that your identity will remain concealed. And unlike the men you have had to endure thus far at the tables, I promise that I won’t touch your breasts. And anyone else in my club who might attempt to do so in the future will answer to me.”
She felt her face heat all over again, even as another hail of unwanted thrills crackled through her like a summer storm.
“Tell me you’ll think about it,” Lavoie prompted.
“Very well.” The shock was wearing off, and Angelique was trying her best to collect her scattered thoughts. She’d be an idiot to deny him outright. She didn’t trust him entirely, but her current situation didn’t leave her many choices. And she couldn’t deny that his offer, like the man himself, was more than a little…intriguing. Exciting. Fascinating.
Lavoie pushed himself off the desk, coming to stand directly in front of her. His eyes skimmed over her hair, her mask, her gown, as if he was evaluating—admiring—what he saw. “With a mind such as yours, I think you would be brilliant,” he murmured. “I think that you and I would make splendid partners.”
The breath was snatched clean from her lungs. Being complimented by Alexander Lavoie was a little like how she imagined being run down by a team of carriage horses might leave one feeling. Breathless. Dazed. Boneless.
He reached up a hand and touched the edge of her mask, his amber eyes following his fingers. And then, without warning, his fingers dropped to her skin, and his touch trailed along the bare skin at the top of her shoulder until it met gold silk. She shivered, and gooseflesh rose.
I promise that I won’t touch your breasts.
But for one wild moment, Angelique wondered if he might not consider kissing her.
Lavoie’s hand dropped. “I’d get you a better mask,” he said. “Something that will cover more of your face. And a different gown. Something…” His eyes drifted over her figure. “Without mud stains.” He turned back to the desk and began withdrawing gold coins from the flat box.
Angelique gasped, trying to fill her lungs with much needed air, attempting to regain a sense of balance. Belatedly, she realized Lavoie had filled her reticule with gold and was now drawing the string closed and tying it neatly.
“Your evening’s earnings, my lady,” he said as he turned and held the reticule out to her.
“Thank you,” she mumbled as she took it, careful not to touch him. She frowned. She knew how much she had made this evening. She knew how much each of the gold coins was worth. The conversion was simple, and something wasn’t adding up. “It’s too heavy,” she said, testing the weight in her hand. “You’ve given me too much, and I will not be beholden to you for your charity.”
“Think of it as an advance,” Lavoie said smoothly.
“I haven’t agreed to work for you.”
“Then you can return it with your refusal tomorrow.”
Angelique narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t afraid I won’t steal it? Never come back?”
“You’re not a thief, my lady. I know who you are. And I know where to find you.”
It was like being doused with a barrel of icy water. That fact had been forgotten under the intoxicating influence of his silvered tongue and heated touch. Now it sat like a heavy weight on her chest, and Angelique recognized that what remained of her honor and good name, and that of her family, was at the mercy of this man and his whims, simply because he knew what no one else did.
He knew who she was.