The Irresistible Lady Behind the Mask Page 6

  Tempest hid a smile behind her handkerchief, for she was already aware of the other outrageous things the bored aristocrats placed bets on. There was an ongoing bet between some of the single dukes on who would succeed in making the latest opera singer his mistress. Another was on a widow; who would be the first to take her to bed when her mourning period was over?

  “Your aunt isn’t taking you to have ‘tea in town’ this evening?”

  Tempest’s heartbeat jolted with a start. Although her expression was bland, showing no emotion (after years of practice), she wondered if she had imagined the sarcasm dripping from her father’s words.

  Did the man know what ‘having tea in town’ truly meant? It would come as a great surprise if he knew because he had never given any indication in the past. She doubted sarcasm would be his only reaction at knowing his daughter was a working woman!

  “I don’t think so, Papa,” she prevaricated smoothly, “I’m a little bit tired. I’ll retire early this evening.”

  With a curt nod of his head, he departed from her presence. Tempest waited until she could no longer hear her father’s carriage riding down the street before casting aside her book to prepare for her evening tryst. She hurriedly took the stairs to her room to change her clothing with the help of her maid.

  Minutes later, she descended the set of steps and was handed into her carriage by the footman. As the carriage pulled away from her father’s townhouse in Hyde Street, heading towards St. James Street, Tempest felt the usual rush of exhilaration that went up her spine anytime she was heading to her secret place.

  A complete outcast she would be if anyone other than her aunt got to know that she secretly owned and operated a notorious gaming parlour. Her father would have a fit, and he might just banish her to his country home for the rest of her life. Of course, she wouldn’t go there without a fight, but it was one battle she was sure to lose.

  During a heated argument with her father one day over the general topic of her resolution to remain a spinster, she had almost divulged her secret to the baron until she recalled her aunt’s words.

  “There’s no shame in working, but best you keep it to yourself, my dear. The society we live in would frown heavily at a woman working. Not that I give two hoots about what those hypocritical lots think, let’s just say it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  And so, she had been forced to keep her mouth shut in place of telling her father one of the reasons she wouldn’t do well as a married woman. No self-respecting man would want his wife to work, let alone own a gaming parlour, a notorious one at that!

  As the carriage ran through the streets of London, past White’s bow windows, she was glad her father didn’t frequent her gaming parlour as much as he did the most exclusive private gentlemen’s club in England. There wasn’t any chance of him discovering she was the owner of the establishment, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

  The carriage finally pulled up in front of the single-storey building where the gaming parlour was situated. Reaching for her gold mask, which deftly shielded her identity, she placed it on her face and ventured out of the conveyance. Sighting several crested carriages parked along the street, she nodded with satisfaction that business was going well as usual.

  Her footman helped her down the steps of the carriage, and in a twirl of lilac silk, she entered the place. It was no different from when she had first set foot there years ago. Only a few changes had been made over time.

  A memory of the first time her aunt had told her she would take her into town for tea flashed through her mind. She had refused at first, wondering why her aunt, who she had always known to be an exciting woman, would want to engage in such a boring pastime. When the woman insisted, Tempest had given in and ridden with her to the place.

  Excitement had bubbled inside her when her aunt handed her a mask before putting on one herself when their carriage stopped in front of the building. Tempest, in her young mind, had wondered if they were going on a robbery. They weren’t in the outskirts of London, so she didn’t think they wanted to play highwaymen.

  Aunt Beth had led the way into what Tempest recognised was a gaming parlour. Men were centred on low tables, smoking, and drinking while playing card games. Women, adorned in the finest silk, also had masks on their faces and were either seated as customers or hanging around the patrons as employees.

  “This is your inheritance,” her aunt had whispered to her.

  Astounded that she might not have heard right, Tempest had curled her body towards her aunt.

  “What?”

  “I’m giving this to you,” the woman had announced in a low voice. Tempest had moved her stunned gaze from the woman to fix it on the bustling activity going on in the parlour.

  “Tempest,” her aunt continued, “amongst my nephews and nieces, you’re the one who has shown the most promise. I couldn’t possibly think of leaving it to any of the others who might run it down. I believe you have the will and intelligence to make the place even greater.”

  “But ... but …” Tempest had been lost for words. “I don’t know anything about running a business,” she had finally blurted.

  Laughing softly, the woman took her hand and led her away from the main parlour to one of the inner rooms that served as her office.

  “I’ll teach you all you need to know, Tempest.”

  Indeed, she had. Within a year of her introduction to the place, Tempest had grasped all she needed to know about it. She had shared some ideas with her aunt, who readily accepted them.

  Over the years, the establishment became a source of independence for Tempest, which was why she resolved never to get married as her income increased.

  When her aunt relinquished ownership of the place to her, formally taking a back seat, Tempest had made sure the place succeeded. She had worked so hard and tirelessly that the gaming parlour became one of the most frequented in England, but only to the extremely wealthy.

  She understood, through her aunt, the inner workings of the average man, and employed only the most beautiful of women and that served as the attraction of the club, luring extremely wealthy men and women to patronise it.

  But even as she allowed the lecherous men to feast their eyes on her attractive employees, she also hired able-bodied men as guards. Some of the men (particularly the ones who just came into wealth) got so much into their bottles that they forgot themselves, thinking they were in brothels and endeavoured to paw not only her employees but the few women customers who visited the place.

  At such times, her bodyguards reminded the men that they would do well to keep their hands to themselves. Some of them got cross that men who they considered mere servants dared to speak to them in such a disrespectful manner. The inebriated and disgruntled lords would try to throw punches at her guards.

  Most of them would miss and land soundly on the carpeted floor. Some of them would struggle to stand on their feet again and want to continue from where they stopped.

  Such scenes were usually hilarious to watch, but she did all she could to prevent them. It wouldn’t bode well for her business if it were known to be a place where a brawl could happen at any time.

  Her guards had been instructed to inform her immediately trouble was brewing. She would use her years of experience learning from her aunt to soothe raw nerves.

  The imposing Anthony Grant, her second-in-command, who also served as one of the bouncers in the club saw her arrive and walked up to her. Typically, she felt like a dwarf when he towered over her.

  The man was built like a machine, standing over 6’5 inches, muscularly built with broad shoulders and long, strong hands. The intimidating sight of him made some of the patrons think twice about causing trouble unless they were drunk.

  The man never smiled. His unwavering loyalty to her and the club was highly cherished by her. Whenever she couldn’t be at the club, principally if her identity could be threatened (sometimes when her father visited), she was assured that he would run
the place like clockwork.

  “Good evening, mistress,” Anthony dipped his head in greeting as he escorted her through the main parlour that was filled with smoke as men and women engaged in various card games. Even if she lived to a thousand years, she would always wonder what men enjoyed in gambling. Why risk so much money, landed properties, and valuables on something that wasn’t certain? The card game was a game of chance. Thus she questioned why people were willing to bet their last guinea on it.

  She shook her head slightly as her eyes fell on some of their regular customers who never missed a night coming to the club. There were times, rarely though, that made her question the sort of business she had chosen to run; one where lives were ruined; compulsive, excessive gamblers were ready to stake their last guinea just for the sake of pride or whatever pushed them into such stupid acts.

  “If you don’t do it, someone else will,” Aunt Elizabeth had told her when she voiced her concerns to her, “so why not you? Besides, they all know the risks involved. You don’t come to the Salisbury’s gaming parlour if you can’t stand being either a pauper or a debtor.”

  Satisfied by her aunt’s words and laughing, Tempest had come to terms with what she did for a living. Indeed, it wasn’t her fault that the men and women couldn’t stay away.

  As her eyes travelled through the occupants of the room, a small smile graced her face as they narrowed on her quarry. Tonight was a good a night as any to set her plans in motion.

  This was the third night Hudson Danvers was visiting her gaming parlour. The man had indeed returned to London to get his bride. Unbeknownst to him, he would be leaving without one.

  Her body moved into the shadows as she studied him, something she did since the first day he started patronising the place. Even though he wouldn’t recognise her because of her mask, she had always given him a wide berth. He was seated with three other men at one of the round tables. His expression was flat as he stared at the cards he held in his hands. Striking an indolent pose with his long legs stretched out under the table and his shoulders slumping, he looked every inch the scoundrel Valerie had described.

  His pose opened his burgundy jacket to reveal a white shirt with a cravat tied beneath his strong chin and well-tailored black trousers. Something nagged at her, but she pushed it away. Perhaps it was just memories of the past that wanted her to halt her plans. The man who was seated a few paces from her was no longer the boy she used to know.

  “Anthony, I believe tonight is the night we put my plan into play,” she whispered to the man standing quietly beside her.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Chapter 7

  Aunt Agnes would be disappointed in him. Of that, Hudson was sure. After informing her that the sole purpose of him leaving Strombridge for London was to get a special licence so that his wedding could take place within the week, he hadn’t stepped out of his London abode in Upper Brook Street except to visit the gaming club he had heard so much about.

  The ailing woman would also be ashamed of him; gambling like he didn’t have a care in the world. She was the one person he truly cared about outside his immediate family, but he felt he needed these few days of recklessness before he was bound in the chains of matrimony. She couldn’t know he was marrying just to please her.

  What was the rush, anyway? He would get the licence; the nuptials would be announced in The Times, the wedding would take place, and then, he would head back to his estate with his wife.

  His wife!

  Why did the word suddenly send a shiver of trepidation down his spine? A nasty grimace contorted his face as his eyes smouldered with brazen intensity. His hand reached for his glass of whisky on the table to throw the spirits down his throat.

  At present, he was recalling the suggestions of suitable brides that had been made by his friends when he told them of his intention to be wed before the month ran out. When Valerie Haddington had been mentioned, it had struck a chord of displeasure within him before he had briskly negated the idea.

  But something in him had thought it was a perfect idea. When she was pointed out in Hyde Park, and he saw the beauty she was, he had instantly complied with the concept of wedding her. She was from a good family, had a sizeable dowry to her name—not that he was interested in it—and she was ready to settle down to be his wife and bear him children. What more did he want?

  After interacting with her in the presence of her chaperone, he had presumed that she would do. Not overly bright; however, that wasn’t the reason he needed a wife. A long time ago, when he was still a young lad, he had thought of love playing a significant role when he chose to wed. How foolish! That notion soon disappeared when he was flatly turned down.

  Valerie Haddington would do. A small smile of regret touched his lips. He wished now that his offer for Tempest Haddington had been a known fact. Gossipmongers would have had something to talk about— that he offered for two cousins and was marrying one of them.

  He would then deign to escort Valerie to every soiree just to get the tongues wagging harder. One part of the realm would have congratulated him for succeeding where he had once failed while the other would cast aspersions on his character for sure.

  Hudson shook his head. No. He wasn’t one to enjoy being an object of gossip although some people lived for it. Rather than make a public affair of his marriage, he would prefer doing it quietly and retiring to his home back in Strombridge.

  Although he would have preferred to ask for Valerie’s hand in person, the day he had called upon her to do just that, she had been away. Consequently, he had left her father to tell her the supposedly good news.

  It did appear queer to him that the last time he had seen his bride-to-be was over two weeks ago. After calling on her twice, with the butler acting weird, he had retired to Strombridge to inform his aunt of his coming nuptials.

  “I’m all in,” the Duke of Devonshire declared, pushing forward all his chips to the middle of the table and cutting into Hudson’s thoughts. He stroked his thin-lined moustache as he surveyed profoundly the other men at the table.

  The Earl of Gloucester also pushed forward his chips and smiled, displaying his cards as a cheroot hung between his teeth.

  Sir Roderick sighed heavily and withdrew. Apparently, he had less than the earl and the duke.

  Shrugging, Hudson also pushed forward his stack of chips and revealed his cards. The duke was no longer smiling when he saw the three kings Hudson had turned over.

  “Damn it, Danvers. You have the mothers of luck,” His Grace grumbled good-naturedly.

  ***

  But not for long.

  Tempest had been watching the exchange from her secret place in the shadows. Now that Hudson had won the hand, she nodded at the two women she had stationed to begin the chain of events that would set her cousin free from the blackguard. Even if he had lost, the plan would have still taken shape.

  But even as the women came forward to do as she had instructed earlier, she wondered that if her childhood friend was so good at gambling, why was he so indebted?

  A second later, she chided herself for her poor reasoning. The answer was as glaring as the spot near her nose. The man was so good at gambling; he didn’t know when to stop. It was more often than not that after winning, he would continue betting until he lost it all again.

  ***

  “Mr Danvers, may we offer you our congratulations on your win. As compliments from the club, we would like to offer you one of our exclusive private rooms to continue your gaming. With us, of course,” a sweet and seductive voice purred into Hudson’s ears.

  Surprise had him turning in her direction, and the first thing he saw was a set of perfectly moulded breasts made available for all eyes from the top of a daring red dress.