A tinkling laugh rang out. Nick glared down the length of the dining table at Miss Cecilia Lilly, whose lips were parted, eyes sparkling, as she reacted to some tale told by Andrew Lovell, with Fetch adding a few chortles as he leaned in to hear every word. Devil a bit! You could take the courtesan off the market but not wipe the flirt from her soul.
“Miss Lilly!” All conversation ceased. “You will attend me in the bookroom. Now.” Ignoring the green eyes, wide with shock, Nick stalked toward the door, attempting to shut out the clink of silverware, the rustle of chairs as his men stood up . . . and Fetch’s hiss of “Do y’ want me to come w’ye, miss?”
She must have rejected his offer, for she was alone when she followed him into the library. She sat in the chair in front of his desk, defiant, if a bit puzzled, matching him scowl for scowl.
“I’ll thank you to keep your courtesan tricks out my house.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon? Have you gone mad?”
Perhaps he had. Nick plunged his head into his hands, ran fingers through his hair.
“Truly, Mr. Black, what have I done? I have never before seen you lose your temper over nothing.”
The foolish girl had no idea . . . A few turns around Hyde Park, flaunting her as his mistress, and he was the one who’d fallen for the ruse. He, the jealous lout who thought he owned her.
Not that he didn’t, of course, but he tried not to be obvious about it. He’d given her freedom to roam about, treated her comments on his charities with respect. The same respect he should have given her efforts to be at ease with the men who worked for him. Having just made an ass of himself, Nick retreated behind his mask of cold indifference.
“I merely wished to ask you to curtail your visit to Boone Farm tomorrow. “We will be attending the opera,” he said, pleased to hear his usual cool tone, “and I wish you to spend your time making certain you look your best.”
“No!” Terror looked back at him. “Surely . . . anywhere else?” she pleaded.
“Longmere goes to the opera tomorrow. I have acquired the box opposite his.”
Acquired. How acquired? Cecy wondered. She hoped only money had exchanged hands, that he hadn’t killed anyone for it. “Very well,” she murmured, “but I truly needed to go to Boone Farm tomorrow. My friend Holly—”
“Your friend will keep, the babes continue to grow, whether you go tomorrow or the day after.”
Cecy could only hope her eyes were delivering her message of outrage as she managed a thin, “Of course, Mr. Black. Clearly, I must obey your every whim.”
“How gratifying to know you realize that, Miss Lilly.”
“Is that all? May I go now?”
He’d swear her chin was attempting to point at the ceiling, even as it was impossible to tell which emotion sweeping through him was going to win—the urge to spank her or the urge to kiss her senseless. So, being Nick Black, he retreated further into himself, damping down any semblance of genuine emotion. He flicked a hand, dismissing her almost as rudely as he did Fetch.
An indignant huff, and she was gone. Nick sat for a long time, head down, recounting his sins, one by one. Charles Stark and Guy Fallon stuck their heads in the door, took one look, and backed out, pausing ten steps away to exchange knowing looks and shake their heads. “The blasted brat is right,” Nick’s man of business grumbled. “Never thought I’d see the day. The chit’s got him by the bollocks and doesn’t even know it.”
“The question is,” Nick’s secretary offered, ‘Does he know it?’ The family connection looms large. He may have fooled himself into thinking that’s all there is to it . . .”
Fallon snorted. “The family connection’s been there for thirty-some years. It’s only now it’s made him angry.”
Charles Stark absorbed the implication, finally nodding his agreement. “You’re right, but I’m still not certain either of them sees what’s happening.”
“Nick does,” Fallon asserted. “I’ve known him since he was little older than Fetch. Believe me, even though lust scrambles a man’s wits, he knows. But if there ever was a man in control at all times, it’s our Nick.”
“That’s what we saw at table tonight?”
After a long moment of silence, Guy Fallon slapped his companion on the back. “I doubt we’re going on the stroll tonight. What say you to port in the Green Salon?” With that, Nick Black’s most trusted lieutenants made their way to a cozy room at the front of the house, overlooking Princes Street, where they rang for Pike and ordered port and two glasses.
Everything at the Royal Opera was just as Cecy remembered, the roar of a thousand voices, smoke from the lantern chandeliers sparking glints off a king’s ransom in jewelry, the sheen of silks in every hue. Their box overlooked the stage, exactly opposite Longmere’s. Naturally. Why should Nick Black settle for anything else? The marquess was present, with his usual coterie of sycophants, including a spectacularly beautiful woman Cecy had never seen before. Nick Black, his hand firm around her arm, thrust her into a seat directly on the rail. “Smile!” he ordered, teeth flashing in a grimace that might have fooled others into thinking it was a pleasant social expression, but Cecy knew better. “You adore me. You are infinitely pleased to flaunt our liaison before your former lover.”
Epithets she would like to call him clanged through her mind, but she bit them back, leaving them unsaid. Unlocking her gritted teeth, Cecy summoned her polished courtesan smile, the one filled with promise, though in this case the depths of her green eyes spoke of retribution rather than seduction. From a distance she was confident no one could tell one emotion from the other, as long as her lips curled upward.
She failed to repress a gasp as she felt a hand on the back of her neck. Her pearl necklace with emerald teardrop disappeared into Nick Black’s pocket, and in full view of at least half the audience, he fastened something else around her neck. Flashes of diamond-bright brilliance caught the light; the touch of the cool stones took her breath away, as three tiers of precious gems filled in her décolletage, a large pear-shaped diamond flirting with the cleft between her breasts. Stunned, she scarcely noticed his fingers at her ears as he removed her pearls, replacing them with the weight of diamond eardrops.
The lantern light rainbowed around her, matching the swirls inside her head. Breathless, Cecy swayed. Firm hands clasped her shoulders, holding her upright. Even with her eyes closed, she knew every eye was fixed on them. Nick Black, who never favored any woman, had just given her a necklace fit for a queen.
Charade! All a charade. Of course it was. And when the night was over, he would take back the jewels as coolly as he’d presented them.
As he sank into the chair next to her with all the arrogance of a man who owned not only her but half the audience, as well as most of the population of St. Giles, Cecy called on a lengthy list of stalwart ancestors—noble, gentry, and yeoman—for courage. Leaning in and favoring Nick with a smile that said he was the most wonderful man in all London, she kissed him on the lower cheek, just short of his mouth, and was rewarded with a hissed breath of surprise. Ah, hah! She’d actually shaken the beast, at least for a moment! Applause rang out, a few cheers. Cecy sat tall, turning toward the main body of the audience, displaying the gift that must have cost more than the yearly income of most of those present. From the corner of her eye, she caught Longmere’s scowl. Good. Hard as it was to endure the memories of her last evening at the opera, she suspected tonight was going to be worth her sacrifice.
Longmere and his party left before the third act. Without a word, Nick scooped her up and followed. Cecy’s eyes widened when she saw the marquess’s destination, a gaming club on Bennett Street, known for catering to the tastes of London’s most noble gentlemen. “We can’t follow him there,” she protested. “They’ll never let us in.” Meaning they would never let him in. To the best of her knowledge, ladies of the evening, properly escorted by gentlemen of the ton, were never turned away.
“I own it.”
Of course he did. Again, the more the fool, she.
“I usually go in the back,” Nick confessed, “but tonight I believe we’ll go straight in the front.” A torch-bearer lit the way as a footman opened the carriage door and Nick climbed down, turning to offer his hand as if she were a duchess. A frisson of fear, and then she was ready. She grasped his hand, grateful for the reassurance of his strong grip, the cool gray eyes that ordered her to be brave. It was not, after all, the same gaming club she had attended with Longmere that terrifying night.
The burly guards at the door came close to genuflecting as they passed by. Merciful heavens, it was true. Her escort was a living legend. Or else he paid his employees exceptionally well. The maître d’hôtel rushed forward to greet them. As he removed her cloak and handed it off to a minion, gasps rippled across the entry hall and continued to follow them from room to room. The diamonds? Cecy wondered. The fact Nick Black had claimed Longmere’s mistress? Or was it because a suspected molly man had ostensibly taken a mistress?
As they made their way from table to table, game to game, room to room, with Nick always nodding, smiling, greeting the players by name, pausing here and there to chat, doubts crept into her assessment of her employer. Truth was, he was the most masculine man in the room, more hardened and impressive than the bully boys at the door or those standing quietly in each room, backs to the wall, arms folded over their chests. He even exuded more power than the array of noblemen at the gaming tables, all seemingly eager to transfer their fortunes to Nick Black.
Was it possible she had been wrong about his indifference to women? If so, it was well past time for her to be afraid. Just how far did he plan to carry this charade?
“Cecilia!” Lady Juliana Rivenhall popped out of the crowd, enveloping her in a hug. “My dear,” she exclaimed as she stepped back, eyes fixed on the necklace, “surely Longmere never gave you that.”
“Ah no.” A swift glance around revealed her employer talking to a man Cecy had never seen before. “It is part of the charade,” she confided quietly. “Mr. Black wishes Longmere to think I am his mistress.”
Lady Rivenhall continued to stare at the expanse of sparkling gems. “My dear, for that he will undoubtedly expect more than a charade.”
“I’m sure he plans to take it back,” Cecy returned quickly, panic creeping in.
Juliana Rivenhall finally raised her lovely amber eyes from the necklace. She drew in a breath. Paused. “Cecilia . . . I fear too much Nonconformist doom and gloom rubbed off on you before you saw the light. I strongly suggest you might wish to rethink your vow of celibacy. You have attracted the attention of a man more difficult to impress than all the dukes in the kingdom, including the royal princes. You might not wish to throw his regard away.”
“But he’s a mo—”
“Miss Lilly, allow me to present Mr. Wolfe, Lady Rivenhall’s escort for the evening. Wolfe, Miss Lilly.”
Color flooded Cecy’s face as Nick Black spoke. What if he’d heard . . .? She curtsied, clinging to good manners to see her through—in addition to a strong spurt of curiosity. Every girl in The Aphrodite Academy had heard of Darius Wolfe. Rumors that Baron Rivenhall had shared his wife with his man of business refused to go away. It was said Wolfe still visited Thornhill Manner under cover of darkness, but no girl could claim to have actually seen him. Frankly, Cecy considered the whole thing a hum. Yet here were the two of them, together at a gaming club on Bennett Street. Wait ’til she told Holly about this!
“The game continues,” Mr. Wolfe said, an anticipatory gleam in his luminous brown eyes as he bowed. “I am delighted you are here to see it, Miss Lilly.”
She was going to kill him—Nick Black, that is. She seemed to be the only person who didn’t know what was going on.
“It’s all right,” Lady R said, patting her arm. “While the men dabble in dangerous games, I will attempt to explain. Come.”
As the two women followed their escorts deeper into the maze of gaming rooms. Cecy stifled a gasp, exchanging an uneasy nod with the girl she recalled only as Scarlet. She and the other three participants in Cecy’s night of horror were gathered around a hazard table. Cecy hurried to catch up as the men swept on into a room where Jason, Marquess of Longmere, sat at an oval table, covered in green baize and marked by the distinctive shape of a faro dealer’s card box.
She paused beside Lady R, watching as Darius Wolfe and Nick Black, with no more than the mysterious eye exchanges gamesters were wont to use, joined the faro game. Only the marquess curled his lips in disdain, though one or two other players turned a bit pale, presumably at the sight of Nick Black.
“I thought the house never played,” Longmere challenged.
Nick’s gray eyes, expressionless, flicked over him. “I occasionally make an exception. But you needn’t worry. I don’t need another townhouse. I am quite satisfied with Princes Street.”
A languid young dandy Cecy had never seen before shuffled the deck of cards and placed them in the dealing box, a device designed to keep the banker from being overly creative. A casekeeper stood by with an abacus-like device on which he would keep track of each card played. The dandy turned up a card to the right of the dealer’s box, another to the left. Play had begun.
Although she had no taste for gaming, Cecy quickly mimicked the possessive stance of Longmere’s latest lady of the evening, who stood a few feet behind her man, closely following his every bet. Determined to play her role, Cecy became so absorbed in the game that she forgot to pursue Lady R’s promise to explain. Nick was going to win, of course. He was going to make Longmere appear a fool. A much less wealthy fool . . .
But he didn’t. He was losing. Not badly, but losing nonetheless, as was Darius Wolfe, though not as disastrously as the other men at the table. The blond dandy and two other players dropped out, leaving only Darius Wolfe, Nick Black, and Longmere. Cecy’s frown grew as two of the most clever minds in London continued to play with seeming skill, yet gradually their losses mounted. Finally, she turned to Lady R, motioning her to follow her to a shadowed corner of the room. “What’s happening?” she demanded when they were private.
“Longmere holds the bank and appears to be doing very well,” Lady Rivenhall returned calmly.
“I can see that, but why? Surely that’s not what was planned.”
“Did you not hear Darius and Mr. Black discussing the new investment they are considering, the very grand opportunity for anyone who invests before word of it spreads any further?”
Anger surged. At Nick for not telling her. At herself for not recognizing their ploy when she witnessed it. Truth was, she had wondered why they had so casually mentioned something that was allegedly a secret.
“That is why we are here,” Lady R continued. “So Longmere can win, feel expansive, and be interested in transferring a good deal of the money he has in the funds to this golden investment opportunity.”
Cecy spun around, turning her face to the wall lest Longmere look up and catch the shock on her face. Fraud! Their men were enacting a carefully constructed play, with Longmere the mark. She’d seen some clever schemes during the years she’d been on her own in town, but this? This was fraud on a grand scale, and it looked very much as if Longmere was taking the bait. As she and Lady R moved back toward the table, Cecy saw her employer nod to the maître d’hôtel, who swiftly stepped forward and paid his employer’s debt. Mr. Wolfe, however, apologized for not having enough blunt to settle up on the spot. “I’ll come to Cavendish Square tomorrow, Longmere. Will one o’clock do? I could fill in some of the details about that investment opportunity, if you’d care to hear more.” So casual, so very casual. When it came to feigning indifference, Wolfe was clearly Nick Black’s equal.
“Until tomorrow then.” Longmere sketched a bow and strode out. As he disappeared into the next room, Darius Wolfe offered Lady Rivenhall a wink.
Nick Black merely offered Cecy his arm. “Time to go home, Miss Lilly.”
Awe filled her as she and Nick exited through the back door of the club, leaving Lady R and her escort to depart through the front. No wonder Nick Black was so feared. No wonder Darius Wolfe had turned the Baron Rivenhall’s modest wealth into one of the greatest fortunes in England. And together? Together they were so good she almost felt sorry for Longmere.
Almost.
In spite of the chill night air, warmth glowed inside her. She was a fallen woman, a runaway from an obscure a village in Lincolnshire, from a family that could claim to be no more than modest gentry. And yet two of London’s most powerful men were enacting an elaborate plot just for her.
She didn’t deserve it. But, truthfully, it felt quite wonderful.