She looked a little like something out of a fairy tale.
No, not a fairy tale, Alex thought, for a fairy tale seemed inadequate. She was dressed in her gold gown, the bare skin at her shoulders and plunging décolletage just as breathtaking as he remembered. Her hair was pinned up again, though the wind or time had released strands to frame her face and trail over her bare shoulders. She was vibrant, this woman, in a way that was completely at odds with the watery, willowy beauty that seemed so popular in current society. She could be Frejya or Aphrodite. A goddess meant to be worshipped. A woman of provocative sensuality made only that much more irresistible by her brilliance hidden within.
And she had come back to him.
Alex rose from behind his desk immediately. “Thank you, Jenkins,” he said to the enormous man who had escorted Lady Angelique to his office. “Please close the door on your way out.”
Jenkins nodded and disappeared as discreetly as he had arrived.
Angelique was left standing just inside the door. Her eyes, shadowed by the decorated mask she wore, surveyed his office before coming to rest unerringly on him. He felt the impact of her gaze spark along every nerve ending in his body. She straightened her shoulders and started forward.
Alex watched her approach, his brows drawing together slightly. She was holding herself stiffly, like a soldier preparing to throw herself into the breach. What he could see of her face was devoid of color, and her hands were clenched at her sides.
Given what the Harris brothers had told him the evening prior, Alex had a very good idea why. Of Gerald Archer, there had been a long list of places he had gone and things he had done with what had appeared to be a wealth of gold coin. Lady Angelique, on the other hand, had flown from the house late in the morning, appearing quite agitated, and spent the day wandering the streets of London, frantically asking after her brother.
Alex was assuming the young marquess had taken her money without her knowledge or acquiescence. Yet Alex wasn’t sure what he should do about it, if anything. The honorable part of him would like to skewer the man for the distress he’d caused his sister. The other, darker part of him was pleased that Hutton’s selfish, idiotic actions may have just forced this extraordinary woman back to his door.
“Good evening, my lady,” he said, coming to meet her as she approached his desk. He caught a faint whiff of her scent—not flowery, as one might expect from a genteel lady, but something more exotic. Stronger.
“Good evening, Mr. Lavoie.”
“You’re stunning.”
That seemed to startle her. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide beneath a swath of brilliant teal feathers that decorated the brow of her mask. “Um, thank you.”
He clasped his hands behind his back, as if to remind himself that this was business. Not pleasure. “I’m glad you’ve returned. I hope you’ve had some time to consider my earlier offer?”
“Yes.” She was worrying her upper lip with her teeth, and Alex had to look away. The force of his desire to kiss her was disturbing.
He waited for her to continue, but she seemed to have run out of words. At her sides, she’d unclenched her hands, but her fingers were now twisting the silk of her skirts.
“Yes, you’ve considered and have come to let me down gently? Or yes, you’ve considered and we might now begin what I believe will be a prosperous partnership?” he asked carefully.
Her fingers stilled. “I’ve come to accept your offer, Mr. Lavoie.”
He’d been expecting it, but that didn’t stop the fierce thrill of satisfaction that gripped him. “You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that.”
“Might I start now? Tonight?”
Alex schooled his expression to reflect nothing but mild interest. There was an edge of something in her voice that she was trying to hide. The same something that was still evident in her rigid bearing. Desperation. Determination. Both. “You’re very…enthusiastic.”
“I see no value in procrastination. Once the theaters let out, your gaming floor will fill, as it does every night. Why wait?”
“A sound argument, indeed, my lady,” he said finally. In the muted light of his office, her eyes were the color of a stormy sea, though it was hard to read them. “Take off your mask.” He needed to see her face before this conversation could continue. Too much of her expression was hidden.
She hesitated but then did as he asked. Her eyes met his without flinching.
“Why did you agree to do this? Work for me?” he asked.
“Because you asked.”
“You could have said no.”
“No, I couldn’t.” It was barely a whisper, but he heard it echo loudly through the tattered remains of her pride.
Alex unclasped his hands and reached for one of hers, finding her skin cold against the heat of his palm. “You walked here again,” he commented quietly.
“It was a lovely evening.” Angelique pulled her hand away from his.
“Mmmm.” They both knew she was lying. The air still held the bite of early spring and was far from lovely. “From now on, you will have the full use of my carriage.”
“That is not—”
“Please don’t argue. You will not win.”
She fell silent. “Then I thank you,” she said after a moment.
“You’re welcome.”
“There is another matter I wished to discuss with you, Mr. Lavoie, regarding my employment.” She lifted her chin.
“Indeed. How much do you need?” he asked.
She jerked like she’d been struck. “I beg your pardon?”
“How much money do you need?”
Her throat worked, but nothing came out. For a moment, Alex wondered if he’d been wrong, until he heard her breath catch and saw her shoulders slump almost imperceptibly.
“I am happy to advance you whatever sum you require,” he said, striving for a casual tone, as though this type of situation was something he experienced every day.
“Why would you do that?” she rasped.
“Because you asked.” He turned her own answer back on her.
She seemed to be struggling to find words. “But I didn’t—”
“And because I can. Because I meant what I said earlier. I can help. With whatever you need.” He meant every word of that, and the fervor that accompanied that declaration unsettled him. He’d long since abandoned his white horse and shining armor in favor of shrewd business and profitable commerce. Unless, of course, he was being paid to ride into battle.
She closed her eyes briefly. “My younger brothers attend Harrow. With the death of my father, some funds have been…still are…um, unavailable. Their tuition is past due. I do not wish to withdraw them.”
“Of course not.” Unavailable? That was one way to put it. “I will make arrangements with the school directly and see it done.”
She looked up at him in startled shock. “That is not necessary,” she said. “I can—”
“I’ll see it done,” Alex repeated. Alexander Lavoie was one of the wealthiest men in London, though there were few that were aware of that fact. He could easily pay the tuition of every student currently attending Harrow. Hell, he could probably buy the damn school should he take a notion to do so.
“Then I thank you.” She was still looking at him uncertainly.
“Will you be requiring a personal advance as well on the week’s wages?”
She looked down. “If you can spare it.” It was barely audible.
“It is of no issue to me, my lady, when you choose to get paid,” he said carelessly.
“I’ll repay you with interest, of course.” Lady Angelique met his eye again.
“Very good.” He wasn’t going to further assault her pride by arguing. “You’ll have your money at the end of the night.”
“Just like that?”
“Would you prefer it now?”
“No. I…er…no.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” he said. “I am more than happy to accommodate such. Your abilities will benefit us both many times over.” Alex reached across his desk and retrieved the crystal decanter of whiskey. He poured himself a measure, if only to give his hands something to do besides touching her again. “If there is anything you require assistance with in the future, please do not hesitate to ask. A good partnership requires a certain amount of trust between individuals, would you not agree?”
“Yes.” It didn’t sound convincing.
“Is there anything else I should know? Whatever you tell me in this office will remain in the strictest of confidence, of course.”
“No.” Clearly, she was not going to confide in him. Yet.
“Mmmm. Is there anything you would like to know? About this club? Anything you’d like to ask me?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if she had reconsidered whatever she was going to say. Her shoulders once again straightened, and her tone, when she spoke, was brisk. “Have you given any thought to the formula you would like me to run?”
Alex nearly lost his grip on the decanter. “I beg your pardon?”
“At least a few of your patrons will need to achieve moderate success, and the occasional player will need to achieve considerable success at the vingt-et-un table if you hope to attract those individuals whose pocketbooks match their greed and belief that the next hand will change their fortune. I will require instruction as to how you wish me to deal in order to maximize both profits and popularity.” She withdrew a small square of paper from a hidden pocket somewhere in the folds of her skirts and held it out to him. “I’ve run some scenarios, allowing for a margin of error that I will not be able to avoid. It’s all basic accounting worked into a matrix of probabilities, but I thought you might want to review it.”
Alex very carefully replaced the heavy crystal on the surface of his desk, struggling to draw a breath. This was not good at all. Forget his alarming charge into the fray on a white horse, he was rather afraid he had just fallen in love.
“You’ve put thought into this,” he said evenly, accepting the paper from her outstretched hand.
“Of course. I take pride in my capabilities, Mr. Lavoie. And I do not wish to be in your debt any longer than necessary.”
He unfolded the paper and examined the neat lines of numbers and the slanted, bold handwriting. In an instant, he saw that she had provided estimations for earnings using a variety of strategies, depending on predetermined rules.
“You’ll see that all probabilities are calculated for cases using either one or two decks. Of course, removing various cards from the game will also affect the outcomes, as will capping the dealer at a particular score during each game.” She paused. “I wasn’t sure what you had in mind.”
He had nothing in mind, because his brain had ceased to function. He found himself staring at her, his heart pounding and desire shredding whatever remaining wits he had.
“Have I overstepped?” She was biting her lip again, though she met his eyes steadily.
“No.” It came out hoarsely. “God, no.” Bloody hell, he needed to pull himself together. He put the sheet on his desk next to the decanter. “You have impressed me immeasurably, Lady Angelique.”
He was rewarded with a smile, one that actually reached her eyes, and the first one he had seen all night. “Good,” was all she said.
Alex cleared his throat and took a judicious step back. Angelique Archer debating gaming strategies would be hard to resist. Angelique Archer smiling at him while she did so would reduce him to an ignoble puddle. He may not have his wits, but he too still had some pride.
“Before we get to that”—he jerked his chin in the direction of her equations—“there is another detail to be dealt with regarding your employment here. Less important, but necessary all the same.” He sent a pointed look at the faint mud stains on the hem of her dress. “The matter of your attire.”
Her smile faltered. “I don’t have anything—”
“I am aware.” He left her where she stood and retrieved a long, flat box from the back of his office. He returned to place the unwieldy package across the top of his desk.
“What is that?” she asked warily.
“A gown.”
“For me?”
“Yes. I’ve discovered the color doesn’t complement my complexion. And the skirts show too much of my ankle. The ladies might riot.”
She frowned. “Very funny.”
“If you recall, we discussed the matter of your gown the last time we met in my office.”
“We didn’t discuss anything. You made…comments.”
“Mmmm.” He smiled faintly. “Well, in this case, I was simply being—”
“Presumptuous?” Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced down at the box.
“See now, I was going to say prepared. I do hate to point out the obvious, but here we find ourselves.”
He saw a muscle tighten along the side of her jaw.
“Come, my lady. Open it. Take a look. See if it meets your approval.”
He watched as Angelique opened the box and peeled back the layer of fine paper. Her hand stilled, and he heard the soft exhalation of her breath. She reached into the box, touching the smooth satin silk with her fingertips almost reverently. It was the color of tropical seas, a sparkling, incandescent turquoise. He had imagined what her skin would look like against that exotic color, the perfect foil for her radiance. He had envisioned the way the bodice would sweep low across the tops of her breasts, the delicate gold and white embroidery along the bodice subtle, yet striking. He had pictured the way the satin would caress each and every curve before flowing over from her waist. What he hadn’t imagined was the way her eyes softened or the way she had pressed a hand against her lips.
He moved closer, never taking his eyes off her. The expression on her face made every penny he had spent on the gown worth it. The fabric had been imported, and it had been expensive, made more so by the herculean demands he had made on the army of seamstresses he’d tasked with having the gown ready. He would have paid it ten times over.
She turned to him and he could see the conflicted emotion on her face.
“The gown is exquisite, Mr. Lavoie. But it’s too much. I can’t possibly accept—”
“You can and you will.” He was careful to keep his tone businesslike. “The patrons of my club expect glamour, extravagance, opulence.” And you deserve that and more. “This is another argument you won’t win, my lady. If you wish to work your probabilities behind my vingt-et-un table, you will do so dressed in a manner befitting this establishment.” He congratulated himself on the detached, slightly mercenary way that had come out. It was better than confessing he had wanted to gift her with something beautiful. And it was far better than admitting he wanted to see her dressed more magnificently than any other woman.
Her eyes strayed back to the box. She reached for the gown and drew it from its wrappings, the satin slipping soundlessly across the desk and to the floor. She held it up to her chest, smoothing a hand down the front. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s incredible.”
“Try it on.”
She faltered. “Now?”
“I see no value in procrastination,” he said, turning her words on her again. “If the gown requires alterations, it will need to be attended to promptly, though I am reasonably confident in the fit. I am a fair judge of women’s measurements.”
Her nostrils flared, and her lips thinned.
“Ah. You’ve heard about my harem,” he said with no little sarcasm.
She blushed furiously, but her chin rose a notch. “Yes. And it sounds positively exhausting.”
A laugh escaped, surprising him. “Doesn’t it?”
“Please be assured that I am not often inclined to believe everything I hear.”
“Unfortunate. A reputation, such as the one I have as a lover, is a tricky thing to maintain. Sensible people such as yourself are a detriment to good gossip.”
Her lips twitched before she seemed to catch herself. “It is not any of my business, Mr. Lavoie, whatever means you use to entertain yourself.”
Alex picked up his glass, studying the pattern of the cut crystal. “On the contrary, my lady. Women use me. I am a dangerous distraction from their reality. I am the scandalous, wicked adventure that they crave in their ordinary, boring lives. And on the rare occasions when it suits me, I let them use me, because I derive pleasure from it too.” He raised his eyes to hers to find a dark blond eyebrow arched in his direction.
“And this makes you happy?”
His fingers tightened on his glass. What an absurd question. “It has never made me unhappy.”
She watched him for a long moment, and he found himself resisting the urge to squirm like a boy. Which was even more absurd. “Despite my reputation, my lady, rest assured my skill in measurements comes not from my harem, but from my sister. Who always seems to require a wide range of…garments, but is often not around for fitting.” Just why the hell was he explaining himself? Since when did he need to justify himself to anyone?
“Your sister.”
“Yes.”
“Does she live here? In London?”
“Mostly.”
“Does she work at your club?”
“She has, on occasion.”
“What does she think of your reputation?”
Alex chuckled. “Perhaps, if you ever meet her, you should ask.”
Angelique’s head tipped. “You also have a reputation as an assassin,” she said.
“Mmmm. It’s a wonder I have time to eat breakfast with all I do.”
“Are you? An assassin?”
“Would it matter?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Do you need someone killed?”
She blinked. “Not at the moment.”
“Just as well. I am fully engaged until mid-October.”
Angelique was still watching him, though she had a thoughtful expression on her face now. “You find this all amusing.” There was no criticism in her words, just a faint note of wonder.
“Generally, yes. Though mostly, I find it useful. Reputations—public opinion—can be manipulated to achieve one’s objectives with startling efficiency.”
“Not always,” she muttered. Her expression had darkened.
“Ah. You’re referring to your past reputation.”
“I beg your pardon?” Her forehead creased.
“The Marble Maiden.”
Angelique stared at him.
“That was what they called you during your season, didn’t they? The marriage mart mamas, the drunken gentlemen, the territorial debutantes.”
“How do you know that?” she whispered.
“I know a lot of things, my lady.”
She had paled, her earlier color draining. “What does it matter what they thought of me? What they called me?”
“It doesn’t.”
“Is this you being cruel then?”
“No, this is me being real, my lady. And honest. I want to know if your past will impede your ability to do your job here.”
“I’m not— That makes no sense.”
“Aloof. Unapproachable. Cold. That is what—and who—they thought you were. Is that accurate?”
“Yes,” she said tightly, though she didn’t look away.
“Yet the woman currently standing before me is anything but.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Do you want it to be?”
“Does it matter?”
“It’s all that matters, my lady.”
Her eyes slid away from his, her fingers tracing the embroidery on the edge of the turquoise satin. “At the time of my season, I thought that my future had already—” She stopped abruptly.
“You thought your future had already been what?”
She shook her head. “It’s irrelevant now.”
Alex rather thought whatever she had been about to say was very relevant. He tried a different tack. “Tell me why they called you the Marble Maiden. What did you present to the world and its observers to cultivate such?”
Angelique’s head snapped up. “Nothing.”
“I think that is exactly right. But I need you to explain nothing.”
Her eyes held his. “You’re serious.”
“Not often. But in this case, yes.” He braced himself on the edge of the desk with his arms and studied her. “In my business, opinion and illusion are often one and the same. The illusions I provide here make me a wealthy man. And if you are to work for me, you will need to become a master at it.” He’d made her uncomfortable, he knew. More than uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Self-conscious. But she’d stood her ground. Hadn’t burst into tears or stormed out. In fact, there was a spark of interest in those intelligent blue eyes. He felt something in his chest squeeze.
“Tell me what nothing means,” Alex prompted again, aiming for a clinical timbre. “I must insist you tell me as objectively and as honestly as possible.”
“Very well.” She paused for a long moment. “I wasn’t good at the things a lady is supposed to be good at.”
“Like what?”
“Dancing. So I didn’t dance.”
“Ever?”
“Maybe once or twice at the beginning.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a terrible dancer. I can’t remember even the most basic of steps.”
“And did you tell this to your dance partners?”
“Of course not. I was too busy trying not to cripple them.” She was looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “Who can’t perform a simple waltz?”
“Me. I’ve never learned.”
“I can’t imagine assassins need to waltz often,” she muttered, though a smile threatened.
“Yes, death by dancing is a horrible way to go.” He saw her lips curl. “And I will not require you to waltz behind my vingt-et-un table. So that is immaterial. What else?”
“I could not make charming small talk. I had a hard time pretending to enjoy conversation that held no interest for me. I did try at first, but the redundant, constant comparisons of material things and the spiteful gossip grew wearisome. I…stopped participating after a while.”
“Understandable. And also immaterial. I will suggest—no, in fact, insist—that you limit any comments and conversation to the cards and the hand being played while you are dealing. I trust you will be both interested and willing to participate in that?”
“Yes. Of course.” She was gazing at him in that thoughtful way again.
“So you didn’t dance. You didn’t gossip. Anything else that you feel distanced you from the masses?”
She looked down at the extravagant gown she still held in her arms. “This may sound shallow and superficial, but my appearance didn’t help either, I think. My mother spent a fortune on my gowns for that season. Pretty, pale dresses designed to, ah, disguise the appearance of my…” Angelique extracted a hand from the turquoise satin and made a gesture toward her straining bodice. “In her words, my somewhat unfashionable figure.”
“Unfashionable?” Alex felt his jaw drop. Her figure was devastating, with curves that made men stupid. He would know.
“My mother wanted me to look my best. She wanted me to look like a proper, elegant lady. I needed to, she said, if I was to attract the right sort of man. The sort that would treat me like one.”
Alex was still trying to understand how anyone could have thought that this woman was anything less than perfection.
Angelique shrugged slightly. “But as such, my gowns were shapeless. Formless. I looked like a wide, pale, ruffled pillar.”
“You dressed to please your mother?” It came out a little harsher than he’d intended, but he was angry on her behalf.
“Of course I did. She was dying. Dressing as she wished me to made her happy.”
Alex felt his stomach drop. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. I’m not looking for sympathy. In her defense, she truly only wanted what was best for me. And in my defense, I was young at the time, and my mother’s opinion was very important. I trusted and believed her judgment of my appearance and did my best to hide my flaws.” She said it with the objectivity he had asked for, which was good.
Because he had lost all of his.
The urge to put his hands all over those stupefying curves and demonstrate exactly how fashionable and flawless they really were had his fingers curling so hard around the edge of his desk, he thought he might crack the rosewood. He wondered if any other man had touched her the way he longed to. Or if he would be the first to peel her clothes from her body and pleasure her until she couldn’t remember her name. If he would be the first one to feel her come apart beneath him, around him, above him. He wanted to hear her whisper his name, over and over, because once would never be enough—
“Is that sufficient, Mr. Lavoie?” she asked.
Alex jerked. “I’m sorry?”
“My explanation behind my past and unfortunate…illusion.”
“Mmmm.” He tore his mind from the dark, debauched places it was sliding and reached for the glass of whiskey he’d abandoned on the corner of his desk. He gulped the remains, though the fiery liquid did nothing to clear his head. It only seemed to heat his blood further.
Bloody hell, he was in trouble. “Thank you for your honesty,” he managed.
“You’re welcome.” She had a thoughtful expression on her face again. “But you should know that I am no longer that insecure girl,” Lady Angelique continued. “I’ve learned a great deal in the years since that season. My past failures will not affect the way in which I conduct myself here.”
“I agree.”
“You do?”
“You’ve already proven what you can do with a gold gown and a bottle of my best French brandy.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” The question echoed again.
He tipped his head. “Do you want it to be?”
This time, a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Yes.”
“Good. Then consider it such.”
“It was never my intention to be different,” she said suddenly.
Alex felt his hackles rise at that. He didn’t want any other version of this woman than the one who stood before him now. “Different is good.”
“Not when one is trying to secure a husband.”
“And is that what you wanted? A husband?”
“Isn’t that what all well-bred ladies are supposed to want? A husband. A grand house. Pretty gowns. All the things required to make one happy.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She sighed. “I thought that’s what I wanted at the time.”
“And now?”
She made a low sound in her throat. “No. But there are times I still wonder if a husband might have been…helpful.”
Alex scoffed. “I must assume you are referring to the current…unavailability of your family’s funds. You believe a husband would solve whatever dilemma you face?”
“Perhaps,” she hedged, suddenly wary. It would seem that, while she was able to discuss her lack of skill on a ballroom dance floor with candor, the topic of her family’s mysterious lack of finances was still off-limits.
“I disagree. I say that you have proven that you are more than capable of helping yourself. If you require further assistance, I am not without some small resources, and I come with the added benefit that I will not require you to marry me.” He ignored the strange thrill that skittered through him. He wasn’t the marrying type, but the idea of such a partnership with this woman and everything that went with it suddenly made the idea a lot more appealing than he’d like.
She stared at him, her eyes wide and her hands frozen on the gown she still held. Her lips had parted slightly, and only the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed that she’d heard him.
Aye, he’d never wish to marry her, nor she him, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t—
He retreated from that precipice as fast as he could, fleeing to the safe footing of business. “Most of my clientele, at least the ones who will part with large sums, are men. Your beauty will catch their attention. The mystery that will surround you will hold it. You will be enigmatic, but not remote. Unaffected, but not unaware. Men will vie for the privilege of playing at the table you control and compete for the opportunity to lose money to you.”
“They will?” She was eyeing him skeptically now.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not that woman. I’ll admit to intelligence. And I certainly possess…physical assets that men find distracting. But I’m not beautiful, mysterious, or enigmatic.” She said it with the same objectivity she’d used before.
“You’re wrong.” He set his glass aside and approached her, taking the dress from her hands and holding it up to the soft light. A tropical sea shimmered from his fingers to the floor. “This gown was made for you, Lady Angelique. But if you wish, you may leave it here. Leave it and go now, and we will part as friends. You will be welcome to play here as often as you like, but it will not be as a partner.” He took a half step closer. “Or you could take a chance. Wear it. Stay. See just how much you might accomplish. Become whatever you wish. Become whoever you wish.” He held the gown out to her. “It’s up to you.”
* * *
There was a second door at the back of his offices that Angelique hadn’t seen the first night she’d been here. It too was concealed, opened by a hidden latch under the lip of the wainscoting, and it swung open soundlessly when Alexander released it. His private rooms, he explained, with the indifference she would expect had he shown her to his kitchens. She was free to use them to change in privacy. She would not be disturbed. He would be right outside the door if she needed anything.
What she needed was her wits.
She had completely lost her mind, she thought as she stood in the center of what appeared to be Alexander Lavoie’s bedroom. Barring Gerald’s sty of a room, she’d never been in a man’s bedroom before. No doubt she was far from the first woman that had seen the inside of Alexander Lavoie’s personal rooms, but still, she felt a little like a voyeur. She should ignore the electrifying thrills that were running up her spine and through her body. She should simply change right here, quickly, and be done with it.
Instead, she laid the gown she held in her hands over a wide chair just inside the door and stepped farther into the room.
This room, like the interior of his office, was not ornate, with the exception of the wide four-post bed that sat in the middle. It was carved from a dark wood that gleamed in the low light and made the lush coverlet the color of dark rubies seem all the more exotic. Embroidered pillows shot through with gold and scarlet were propped up against the headboard, and a throw of the same pattern was draped over the foot. She reached a hand out to touch the plush softness. It was a vast departure from the plain bed that sat in her room, covered with dull grey sheets. But then again, her bed was made for sleeping.
This bed was made for something else entirely.
Her fingers drifted to the decorative silk sashes tied around the bedposts.
I wouldn’t tie you up to get what I wanted. Unless, of course, you insisted on it. Then I would do anything.
He had said that to her once, to set her off balance. A sudden vision of Alexander Lavoie reclining naked against the decadent fabrics made her knees wobbly. A vision of her joining him, having him at her mercy, touching him the way she had already imagined he might touch her, made her belly clench and dampness gather between her legs.
She snatched her hand away from the bed. Alexander Lavoie was the owner of a gaming hell, and while he likely wasn’t an assassin, she did not fool herself into thinking he was not a dangerous man. A dangerous man with a wry sense of humor. And an unexpected sense of honor. And an undeniable sense of gallantry.
And a man who had hired her to deal cards. Not warm his bed.
She turned away and crept farther into the room, the sounds of her feet muffled by the heavy woven rugs that covered the wooden floor. A washstand sat on the far side of the room, dwarfed by a massive wardrobe and flanked by a long cheval mirror. A shaving kit sat on the edge of the washstand, a towel tossed carelessly over the chair beside it. The air was warm, redolent with the faint scent of lantern oil and the richer tones of sandalwood and lemon.
A second door in the corner of the room gave her a glimpse of a copper hip tub, the edges gleaming invitingly in the muted light. She padded forward.
“My lady?” Lavoie’s voice was muffled through the door, and she jumped guiltily. “Do you need assistance yet?”
Yet? Angelique most certainly did not need assistance undressing or dressing from Alexander Lavoie. “No, I’m almost done,” she lied, hurrying back closer to the bed, pulling at the laces to her gold silk gown. What was she doing, creeping and nosing about his rooms like a common thief? A common thief with a depraved imagination at that. Lavoie had been nothing but kind to her. Brutally honest and direct, but she found that incredibly liberating. He did not seem to want her to be anything she wasn’t. He was, after all, the only man who had ever called her fascinating. And clever.
She knew she could do the job. She knew very well that she would make Alexander Lavoie a pile of money at the card tables. What she didn’t know was if she could be beautiful, mysterious, and enigmatic while doing it. Up until now, all her efforts had gone into being plain, unnoticed, and forgettable. But given all he had done for her thus far, he certainly deserved her to make an effort.
And thus she found herself stripped down to her shift, stays, stockings, and a single petticoat in the middle of the bedroom of the owner of the most notorious gambling hell in London.
The gold gown pooled at her feet. When she had reworked this gown from one of her mother’s old ones she had found in the attics, she had made certain to make it possible for her to don it without help. Everything did up the front or the side, easy for her to secure.
But when she reached for the turquoise gown, she found that it was a completely different story. It was a dress unlike anything she had ever seen. The bodice, instead of being gathered high and allowed to flow over her body, clung to her torso, following the curve of her breasts, her ribs, and cinched in to her waist. It was joined to the skirts at her hip, a profusion of delicate gold and white embroidery swirling at her waist and down toward her feet like trailing vines. The sleeves were capped at her shoulder, draping over her upper arm, the same gold and white embroidery gracing the hem of each. It was lavish and unique, risqué and unexpected. But if the entire thing were to stay up, it would require her to tighten the gold ribbon that threaded through the dozens of tiny eye-holes that ran down the back.
She hadn’t noticed the construction when she’d taken the gown out of the box, probably because she’d been distracted first by the extravagance and then by the man who had given it to her.
Do you need assistance yet? She closed her eyes. No doubt Lavoie was finding great amusement at that on the other side of the door.
But she’d come this far. She reminded herself that she was doing this for the greater good, and the luxury of propriety and privacy had been forfeited the moment she’d accepted a job and all the monetary benefits that went with it. The moment she’d stepped into a gaming hell, really.
She pulled the gown on and adjusted the bodice against her breasts, plastering the satin to her front as best she could with one hand. With the other hand, she shoved open the door, girding herself to be as coolly professional with him as he had been with her tonight.
Except he was sitting on the edge of his desk, one hand idly swirling a glass of whiskey, the other holding a letter of some sort. He’d taken off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and suddenly he didn’t look quite so formal. Not quite so imposing. Instead he looked infinitely…touchable. Making him look like every wanton thing she had ever heard whispered in a ballroom, every breathless moan she had heard from concealed alcoves. Everything she had once imagined she might want for herself.
He raised his head and settled his gaze on her, his body unmoving. Her free hand went to the top of the bodice, as if that might provide another small piece of armor to protect herself against the way he was looking at her. His eyes were hot and hard, and it was all she could do not to bolt back into his bedroom.
“It laces up the back.” She’d meant it to be brisk—she would have settled for accusatory—but instead, it came out far more tremulous than she had intended.
He seemed to shake himself mentally, and his eyes cooled, making it easier for her to breathe. “Of course it does,” he said, sliding off the desk. “It’s meant to be extravagant and extraordinary, not pedestrian and practical.” He set his letter and his glass aside and crooked a finger at her. “Come here. I’ll do your laces for you.”
Angelique clutched the gown to her chest, desire coursing through her. Those words, accompanied by his gesture, were the most provocative and arousing things she had ever heard. The impropriety of this was beyond measure, yet all she could think of was how reckless she felt. How free. She moved forward, watching as his eyes shifted again. Watching as he swallowed, watching the way his hands curled around the edge of his desk where he leaned. He wasn’t unaffected either.
She stopped just in front of him.
He pushed himself away from his desk. “Turn around,” he told her. His voice was rougher than it had been a minute ago.
She slowly turned, presenting him with her back, a shiver chasing its way down her spine. It wasn’t as though she was naked. Her stays were securely fastened over her shift, and the gown was pulled up to her shoulders, even if it gaped open to her waist at the back. It wasn’t the first time she’d been dressed by another. Before everything, she’d shared a lady’s maid with her mother when she was old enough, and dressing had always been a chore, something to be endured in deference to whatever fashion demanded.
This was not a chore. This was something completely different. This was an intimacy and a surrender of control that was more breathtaking and dangerous than anything she had ever experienced.
She felt his hands first at the side of her neck, his fingers gathering the rebellious strands of hair that had escaped the knot at the back of her head and sweeping them to the side. He brushed the bare skin at her shoulder blades with his knuckles, sending ripples of gooseflesh across her skin. She could feel his heat at her back, the warmth of his breath as he bent his head to his task. He’d drawn the top of her bodice tight, her breasts pushed up high and hard against the embroidered edge. Her nipples pebbled and sent bolts of pleasure through her body each time the fabric rubbed.
“Tell me if it’s too tight,” he said in a low voice at her ear.
She only nodded because words had escaped her—breath had escaped her—though it had nothing to do with the constriction of the gown. His hands moved lower, down the center of her back, clever fingers that were making her desperate. Desperate for him to put his hands on her properly. Span her ribs, cup her breasts, trace the edge of her hips, touch everything, everywhere, that was begging to be touched. He was at the base of her spine now, securing the laces, the bodice smooth over her body.
“Are you done?” she managed.
“Not quite.” His hands left her back and then they were in her hair, his fingers deftly plucking pins until the weight of her tresses tumbled down her back. She might have protested except the feel of his fingers combing gently through the waves was making her light-headed.
He stepped away. “Now I’m done,” he said.
“Yes.” She needed to say something, and that was the only syllable she could think of at the moment.
“How does it feel?”
Angelique closed her eyes. It felt like she was going to come out of her skin. “Fine,” she whispered with effort. She opened her eyes and glanced down, her hands smoothing the satin over the flat of her stomach to where it flowed over her hips. He had been right. He was very good at measurements.
“Turn around.”
Very slowly, she turned, her heart hammering in her chest, her spine straight, her chin up. She met Lavoie’s eyes and held them for what seemed like an endless minute. He stepped back, his eyes dropping to skim over her bodice, her hips, to the floor, before coming back to hers. Other men had done just this, and in those cases, such scrutiny had made her feel objectified, as if her value was being assessed by the curve of her flesh, the same way a filly might be when led out into the auction ring at Tattersalls. This was different.
Everything with this man was different.
“Is it suitable?” she asked, and her voice was hoarse. “Are you pleased with the effect?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” He nodded in the direction of the open door that led to his bedroom. “Take a look in the mirror.”
Angelique nodded and slipped back into Lavoie’s bedroom. Almost cautiously, she approached the long mirror next to the washstand.
There was a woman staring back at her who looked vaguely familiar. This woman had honeyed blond hair that tumbled over her bare shoulders, making her look a little wicked, as if she had just risen from bed. Or the arms of a lover. This woman wore a gown that clung to her every curve, making her breasts seem impossibly lush and her waist impossibly small. This woman held her head high and looked the way a certain young girl had always dreamed she might look if she wasn’t trying to hide her body behind yards of white muslin.
“What do you think?”
She started, not having heard Lavoie come up behind her. “The gown is incredible.”
“It is, and you look exquisite. But how do you feel in it?”
“Beautiful.” The word popped out without her thinking. And she did. She felt powerful and confident and…truly beautiful. Her eyes met his in the mirror.
“Good.” His gaze was intense. “Now we just have mysterious and enigmatic to conquer.” He lifted his hands and brought them over her shoulders. “Close your eyes.”
Angelique did, feeling the length of him pressed up against her back. It was all she could do not to press herself against that heat, and the sensation of something cool and firm against her face was a welcome distraction. “The gown has a few accessories,” he whispered in her ear.
Like you?
The thought made her heart stutter. She concentrated on taking steady breaths. What had happened to her in the last minutes? What had happened to the woman who had hidden her mind the same way she had hidden her body until circumstance had forced her to reveal both?
She had met Alexander Lavoie. That was what had happened.
His fingers were at the back of her head, securing the ribbon on her mask.
“Can I open my eyes?” she asked.
“Patience, my lady.” His voice was like velvet, and then his touch was gone for a second before it returned.
There was a gentle pressure at her throat, the sensation of something cool settling against her skin, offset by the heat of his fingers at her nape. It was a necklace of some sort, she knew, and the idea that it would be a piece that was on par with the extravagance of the gown stirred up all sorts of strange emotions that she couldn’t seem to sort out. “Mr. Lavoie…” She started to raise her hand to her throat, afraid to open her eyes.
“Alex,” he whispered.
“I beg your pardon?” Her hand froze halfway to her neck.
“When you are not dealing on the gaming floor and are in the privacy of my…office, you will call me Alex.”
Alex. Not even Alexander. It rolled through her mind like sin, like something that she imagined would be whispered in the darkness surrounded by red silk sheets. Something that might slip from her lips as he teased and—
“Open your eyes.”
Angelique sucked in a breath, taking a moment to compose herself. She should be doing everything possible to distance herself from the temptation that was this man. She had thought she had obtained adequate experience with men and the relations that existed between them. Two seconds in the presence of this one and she knew she had been very, very wrong.
She forcibly reminded herself that Alexander Lavoie was not courting her. He was not showering gifts upon her like some lovelorn swain, hoping his generosity might earn him a few fumbling moments behind a potted palm. These were not gifts from an admirer meant to steal her heart. What she wore was nothing more than a uniform. No different, really, than fine livery. The clothes had a purpose. The mask had a purpose. The jewelry had a purpose. Alexander Lavoie had a purpose in having her here and it had everything to do with business.
He had been very direct when he had specified just what type of image he wished her to achieve on his club’s behalf—an image that would benefit them both, of course.
She opened her eyes.
The mask was simple, a gilded gold that matched the embroidery on the gown, with no decorations or adornments other than a tiny diamond at the corner of each eyehole that tipped up toward her temple. It covered the entirety of her upper face, settling lightly over the bridge of her nose and then gracefully sweeping down to the lower edge of her jaw. But she barely noticed the mask.
Instead her eyes were drawn to the necklace at her throat. The chain was not a chain at all, but a string of small diamonds resting against the skin just above her collarbones. From the center, another single strand of diamonds dripped, each stone getting larger as they descended. Her eyes followed them down to where they ended, a breath away from the deep valley between her breasts. It was a design unlike anything she had ever seen—starkly sleek and lacking flamboyant ornamentation.
She brought her hand the rest of the way up to touch the brilliant stones at her throat. They were warm now from her body, and they slid over her skin like a whisper. She trailed her hand down to the end of the strand, to the tops of her breasts, knowing that the design of the necklace, like the dress, had been nothing less than deliberate.
She considered herself in the mirror again. Of the awkward debutante there was no sign. Of the desperate woman in the second-hand gold gown armed with only her wits and a bottle of French brandy, there was no trace.
The woman staring back was a queen. A courtesan. A lady. A lover. All of those, all at once.
“It’s spectacular,” she said, pleased with how steady that had come out. Livery, she chanted in her head. Livery, livery, livery. Made out of satin and diamonds. “I’ve not seen anything like it. Draws the eye down rather…dramatically, does it not? Better than a bottle of brandy, I’ll give you that.” She waited for a witty, cutting rejoinder, but none came.
Behind her, Lavoie remained silent.
Her eyes skipped up to his in the mirror again, where he still stood near her shoulder. He had a strange expression on his face.
“Is there something about my appearance that displeases you, Mr. Lavoie?” she asked, using his proper name deliberately, trying to put another sliver of distance between herself and the vortex that was this man.
“No. Yes.” He was still staring at her in the mirror, and Angelique wasn’t sure he had even heard her. He skimmed her upper arm with his fingertips, pulling her heavy hair back away from her shoulder, letting the cool air kiss the side of her neck.
She shivered.
“You are irresistible.” He bent his head, replacing the cool air at her neck with his lips.
A searing heat tore through her, making her limbs liquid. Dampness gathered between her legs, and a throbbing ache that matched the pounding of her heart radiated through her body. Her breaths came in shallow gasps.
“I want to taste you,” he murmured quietly. His mouth was now at the sensitive skin just below her ear, and his breath was hot, his tongue teasing where his lips had left off. “All of you.”
Her eyes closed briefly, every nerve ending in her body attuned to this man’s touch. She knew what she should say. She knew that all she had to do was ask, and he would withdraw. Except she found herself wanting more. Wanting him. She looked at herself in the mirror, this woman she didn’t recognize. She watched as her head tipped to the side, watched as Lavoie’s dark head bent, his lips trailing fire along her skin. Watched her hand come up to stroke his dark hair. She’d never felt as reckless as she did at that moment. Had never felt as powerful.
He lifted his head, and his smoky eyes met hers in the mirror. “I don’t mix business with pleasure,” he whispered harshly, as if he was reminding himself of his earlier pledge.
She should agree and step away, she knew. End whatever insanity was threatening to overwhelm her.
“I haven’t started working quite yet,” was what came out of her mouth.
He went completely still behind her and then he reached up and pulled at the ties to the gold mask. He set the mask aside on the edge of the washstand and gazed at her for a long moment in the mirror.
“Turn around,” he finally said, and his voice was rough.
For the second time that evening, she obeyed that command.
His fingers smoothed her hair away from her face, tracing the edge of her cheekbone, the curve of her jaw. His touch traveled down the column of her neck to the diamond necklace. “They suit you, these diamonds,” he whispered. “Different. Brilliant.”
Angelique didn’t know what to say. She had spent a great deal of her life trying not to be different. And it had made her miserable. Now in the presence of a man who seemed to consider such desirable, the effect was intoxicating.
He fingered the strand that dropped toward her breasts, and Angelique felt her nipples harden further.
“I’ve wanted to do this from the first moment I saw you.” He dropped the strand of diamonds and raised his fingers to her mouth, running the pads of his fingers over her upper lip and then her lower lip, a feather-light touch. It was torture of a sort she had never before experienced.
“Alex.” His name slipped out, somewhere between a question and a demand.
His fingers went still against her lips, and then they were gone, his expression dark and hot. She dragged in a breath, the scent of whiskey and starch, sandalwood and something undeniably male enveloping her.
He lowered his head, his lips a breath away from hers.
Angelique closed her eyes.
His lips suddenly brushed hers, once, twice, a fleeting, teasing touch. She felt the scrape of the stubble on his jaw, felt the heat of his mouth as he found her lips, first the bottom one, then the top. He withdrew ever so slightly, waiting, one hand sliding along the side of her neck to her throat, his other hand skimming over the curve of her waist, coming to rest against her hip. He bent his head lower, ever so gently replacing his fingers at her throat with his lips, pressing a scorching kiss at that sensitive spot where she could feel her pulse hammering against her skin. Her head tipped back, and her entire body was consumed with a yearning that was almost debilitating in its power.
He lifted his head, his cheek brushing hers, his lips once again poised a breath away. This time it was she who closed the distance, catching his mouth with hers. He made a muffled sound before he increased the pressure of his kiss. He caught her lower lip in his teeth, pulling gently, releasing it only to graze his tongue along its edge. She whimpered softly, wanting more.
His hand at her waist slid around her lower back, pulling her against him, and through the fabric of their clothes, she could feel the hardness of his body against the softness of hers. Her inner muscles squeezed, the throbbing that had started earlier becoming a wicked, excruciating pulse that hammered at the very core of her being. Her own hands came up, sliding over his chest and around his neck, fearful that, if she didn’t hold on to something, she would fly away into a thousand pieces.
His lips covered hers again, though this time they were no longer teasing but demanding. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, and all she could taste was whiskey and heat. She slid her own tongue against his and felt his hand tighten instantly on her back, pressing her harder against his body. She could feel his erection now, trapped between their bodies, his arousal making her own even more potent. His mouth increased its demands, his lips crushing hers.
This is what it felt like to be ravished, she thought dimly, tangling her fingers into the silky softness of his hair. Gloriously and thoroughly ravished, and she wanted it to go on forever. Wanted him to release that coil of want that was twisting within her, wanted him to make love to her body the way he was doing to her mouth. She didn’t want him to stop.
Except he did.
He pulled his lips from hers, resting his forehead against her own, his breathing rapid and harsh. “Jesus Christ,” she thought she heard him mumble.
Her breasts were aching, she was wet and throbbing, and her skin was sensitive to every whisper of breath that touched it. And only now did she hear the knocking that was coming from his office door in the other room.
“Mr. Lavoie?” The query was muffled.
Angelique’s hands slid from his neck, and she straightened. Dear God, what would have happened had they not been interrupted? Her eyes strayed to the massive bed and all of its luxurious coverings. She knew exactly what would have happened. She would have let Alexander Lavoie take her to bed and finish what they had started.
She suspected it would have been different. Something truly memorable. Because with the most subtle of touches, he had already obliterated whatever she had thought she knew about sex. But it could never happen, no matter how much her body regretted that.
Because Alexander Lavoie was a businessman first and foremost. Provided Angelique didn’t scuttle this business arrangement before it ever set sail, this man could provide the help she needed. Steady employment and the income that would come with it. Angelique needed his club more than she needed him, and she would be wise to remember that. She could do nothing to jeopardize this arrangement.
“My apologies, Mr. Lavoie,” she said through gritted teeth. “That will not happen again. It was very unprofessional of me.”
“Of you?” He was still standing before her, though his hands had fallen away and were now tightly clasped behind him.
“I got caught up in the moment, I’m afraid,” she told him. “I suspect diamonds will do that to a girl, even if they are only part of her uniform.”
He was looking at her, his eyes shuttered. “Diamonds.”
“Yes,” she lied. “It was all a bit much, really.”
“Mr. Lavoie?” There was a sharper, firmer knock on the office door, and the muffled voice came again. “There’s a man here to see you. Says it’s urgent.”
Lavoie made some sort of indecipherable noise and turned from her, stalking out of his bedroom and into his office. She heard the door open, and the sound of low voices.
Angelique exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stared at the mirror, trying to reconcile the reflection of the woman in the turquoise gown with the girl who had come here dressed in gold. Except she couldn’t. What was more, she didn’t want to. While there would never be a repeat of what had transpired here tonight, something deep within her had irrevocably changed, and she could not bring herself to regret it.
She let her gaze roam, noting her half-lidded eyes, the flush still in her cheeks, and her slightly swollen lips. She wasn’t skilled or experienced when it came to pleasure. But she wasn’t so naïve that she did not recognize desire when she saw it. When she had stood in front of that mirror, with a man who had never treated her as anything less than his equal, a man to whom she’d revealed more of her true self than she’d ever done with any other, she had witnessed just how much he had wanted her.
And whether he knew it or not, Alexander Lavoie had gifted Angelique with a knowledge that she hadn’t possessed when she’d first come here tonight. She finally understood beauty and the power that came with it. And she finally understood that it had nothing to do with how she looked.
With a bittersweet smile, Angelique reached for the golden mask on the washstand and tied it back over her face. Whoever was out in the office area was still there. And despite her newfound knowledge, Angelique had no intention of emerging from Lavoie’s bedroom looking like a well-pleasured member of his harem.
She squared her shoulders and glided into the office with as much casual nonchalance as she could muster. There was a tall man speaking to Lavoie just inside the door, and it was plain from his lack of evening wear that he hadn’t come to gamble. His clothes were of fine quality, giving him the appearance of a gentleman, but the heavy sword that hung from his waist was completely incongruous. It looked military in appearance, the scabbard scarred and battered, the hilt polished to a dull sheen from use. He held his hat in his hands, and his voice was low, his face grim. Lavoie’s face didn’t look that much better, though he was firing a rapid series of questions at the man now.
Lavoie seemed suddenly to become aware of her presence and abruptly stopped. Both men turned toward her.
Angelique faltered, feeling like she had just been caught eavesdropping. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I can wait in the other room.”
“No. Stay.” Lavoie’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head. “Mr. Harris and I are done here.” The tall man nodded at Lavoie and made some sort of awkward bow to Angelique before he slipped from the room, placing his hat firmly back on his head.
“Is everything all right?” Angelique asked, not really expecting an answer. Not sure if she wanted an answer. Surely the business of running a gaming hell had its unsavory moments.
“Yes.” Lavoie strode over to his desk and found her sheet of probabilities. “But time is getting away from us. Like you said, the club will soon fill, and it will do us no favors if we are not adequately prepared with some sort of plan in place.” His tone, like his expression, was cool. There was no trace of the man who had kissed her senseless in his bedroom.
She supposed she was relieved.
“Let’s talk strategy,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk as he walked around to seat himself behind, putting a solid barrier between them. “I suspect there will be a bit of a trial-and-error period, but I am confident you will handle that with little difficulty. And like you said, we will need to establish winners to draw more players. We will need to devise a system.”
Angelique slid into the offered chair and folded her hands neatly in her lap. She could be as cool as Lavoie. She would tuck the memory of his kiss deep inside, wrapped carefully in the wonder of the discovery that had come with it. She would keep both hidden under a smooth veneer of professionalism because, no matter what, she could not afford to lose this job.
“My lady?”
His address snapped her back into reality. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked if you would prefer to deal with two decks or one?”
She cleared her throat and forcibly reminded herself why she was here. And what she needed to do.
“Two, Mr. Lavoie. Most certainly two.”