Devil in Spring

Pandora had never imagined being vulnerable to this kind of temptation, never guessed at how difficult it would be to resist. Meeting him in secret, at night, would be the most genuinely disgraceful thing she’d ever done, and she wasn’t entirely certain that he would keep his promise. But conscience was putting up the flimsiest, most feeble possible defense against a desire that seemed shameful in its blind power. Weak with nerves and hunger and anger, she made her decision too quickly, the way she made most of her decisions.

“I’ll finish the game,” she said crisply. “And before the night ends, the entrance hall will be echoing with your stirring rendition of the national anthem. All six verses.”

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I only know the first verse, so you’ll have to settle for hearing that one six times.”

In retrospect, Pandora shouldn’t have been surprised that the last hand of whist proceeded in an entirely different manner than the first two hands. Gabriel’s playing style altered drastically, no longer cautious but aggressive and swift. He won trick after trick with miraculous ease.

It wasn’t a fleecing. It was a massacre.

“Are these cards marked?” Pandora asked irritably, trying to inspect the backs of them without revealing her hand.

Gabriel looked affronted. “No, it was a sealed deck. You saw me open it. Would you like me to fetch a new one?”

“Don’t bother.” Doggedly she played out the rest of the hand, knowing already how it would end.

There was no need to tally up the points. He’d won by such a large margin that it would have been a pointless exercise.

“Cousin Devon was right to warn me,” Pandora muttered in disgust. “I’ve been flamboozled. You’re not a mediocre player at all, are you?”

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “I learned how to play cards from the best sharpers in London while I was still in short trousers.”

“Swear to me these cards weren’t marked,” she demanded, “and that you weren’t hiding any up your sleeve.”

He gave her a level glance. “I swear it.”

In a turmoil of anxiety, anger, and self-blame, Pandora pushed back from the table and stood before he could move to help her. “I’ve had enough of games for now. I’m going to sit with my sister and the other girls.”

“Don’t be cross,” Gabriel coaxed, rising to his feet. “You can back out if you wish.”

Although she knew the offer was meant to be conciliatory, Pandora was highly insulted nonetheless. “I take games seriously, my lord. Paying a debt is a matter of honor—or do you assume that because I’m a woman, my word means less than yours?”

“No,” he said hastily.

She gave him a cold glance. “I will meet you later.” Turning on her heel, she walked away, trying to keep her stride relaxed and her face expressionless. But her insides had frozen with abject fear as she thought of what she would soon face.

A rendezvous . . . alone with Gabriel . . . at night . . . in the dark.

Oh God, what have I done?

Chapter 11

Gripping a brass candleholder by its finger ring and thumb hold, Pandora made her way slowly along the upstairs hallway. Black shadows appeared to slide across the floor, and she ignored the illusion of movement, grimly determined to keep her balance.

One flickering candle flame was all that stood between her and disaster. The lights had been extinguished, including the hanging lamp in the central hall. Aside from the occasional flash of distant lightning, the only source of illumination was a faint glow coming from the threshold of the family room.

As Gabriel had predicted, a storm had rolled in from the ocean. Its first rise was rough and furious, as it wrestled with trees and flung stray twigs and branches in every direction. The house, built low and sturdy to accommodate coastal weather, endured the gale stoically, shrugging off sheets of rain from its oak-timbered roof. Still, the sound of thunder made Pandora shiver.

She was dressed in a muslin nightgown and a plain flannel wrap, its sides folded around the front and tied with a plaited belt. Although she’d wanted to wear a day dress, there had been no way to avoid the nightly ritual of bathing and taking her hair down without making Ida suspicious.

Her feet were tucked into the Berlin wool slippers Cassandra had made, which, owing to an accidental misreading of the pattern, had resulted in two different sizes. The slipper for the right foot was perfect, but the left one was loose and floppy. Cassandra had been so apologetic that Pandora had made a special point of wearing them, insisting they were the most comfortable slippers ever made.

She stayed close to the wall, occasionally reaching out to graze it with her fingertips. The darker her surroundings, the worse her equilibrium, the signals in her head refusing to match up with what her body told her. At certain moments, the floor, walls, and ceiling might all abruptly switch places for no reason, leaving her flailing. She had always relied on Cassandra to help her if they had to go somewhere at night, but she couldn’t very well ask her twin to escort her to an illicit meeting with a man.

Breathing with effort, Pandora stared fixedly at the hushed amber glow down the hallway. The carpeting stretched like a black ocean between her and the family parlor. Holding the wavering lit candle far out in front of her, she took one step after another, straining to see through the shadows. A window had been left open somewhere. Moist, rain-scented air kept whisking against her face and across her bare ankles, as if the house were breathing around her.