Season for Scandal (2 page)

Around the table, the four men unmasked, their expressions ranging from uninterested to hungry to—was that a trace of suspicion on the viscount’s features?

Jane had no choice but to follow suit. With a careless hand, she flicked her mask up atop her head. As she recognized none but her host, she felt sure they would have no notion who she was.

Except the movement of her mask set her jeweled earbobs swinging. Sheringbrook narrowed his eyes. “Those are the Xavier jewels,” he said. “Pigeon’s blood rubies. Famous. Can you be . . . ?”

“I’ve never known Xavier to give the family jewels to a hussy before,” said the cit.

The rake snorted. “Xavier? Before he was married, he never gave the family jewels to anyone
but
a hussy.” This feeble joke was greeted with much more amusement than it deserved.

Jane felt the threads of her disguise unraveling.
Damnation
. She had borrowed her cousin’s jewels to create her character, not unmake it. They were simply for effect, to give the impression of startling wealth that would convince these men to loosen their purse strings. She had never expected the gems to be recognized.

Damned Xavier, with his damned famous jewels. It was horribly fitting that he should be invoked at this table, since he was the reason she sat here. Since he thought she could not be trusted, especially with money.

She squelched the dreadful, sick feeling that he had been perfectly correct. There was nothing for it now but to brazen through.

“Lord Xavier is my husband,” she said, mentally apologizing to her friend Louisa, Lady Xavier. Better to be thought a powerful countess than a doxy. Fortunately, Louisa had mixed little in these dubious circles of society since her recent marriage, and the fringes of the
ton
were not likely to recognize Jane’s falsehood.

Sheringbrook looked doubtful, though. “I’ve seen the earl recently. He mentioned his wife, but I had the idea she was a dark lady.”

Jane blessed her nondescript coloring: eyes the color of dying grass, hair the color of sand. She could be described as blond or brunette, with eyes brown or green or hazel.

“As you see.” She smiled with deadly force. “Should you doubt me, I can tell you that his lordship has a rather horrible-looking scar on the inside of his right thigh.”

Her words were quite true, as she was the one who had given her cousin that scar a decade before. It was his fault for insisting that she learn how to fence, then being unprepared when she proved an excellent student.

The four men exchanged glances, shrugs. She had disposed of their doubts, at least well enough to continue the play. As Sheringbrook slid Jane a fresh deck to cut, she held on to the mien of a countess. Until she climbed out of her sudden, startling debt, it was much safer to be someone besides insignificant Jane Tindall.

A gloved hand touched her shoulder, jostling her arm as she separated the cards. “Jane?”

Jane closed her eyes.

She knew few enough people who would run in Sheringbrook’s questionable circles. It was the worst sort of luck that one of her acquaintances should attend this ball, then enter the card room. Worse than worst that she should have lifted her mask only a moment before.

The hand gripped her shoulder more tightly. “Jane. How surprised I am to find you here.”

Jane bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from exclaiming. She
knew
that voice, with just a hint of the rough southern coast in its patterns.

Kirkpatrick.

She tipped her face up; as always, her insides gave a longing squirm when she saw him. Six feet of lifelong dreams: dark-haired, blue-eyed, kind and good-humored.

Except right now, he looked quite the opposite of good-humored. Edmund Ware, Baron Kirkpatrick, was one of her cousin Xavier’s oldest friends—which he apparently thought gave him the right to glare at her with a dark, foreboding expression. Rather like Byron, if Byron were protective instead of lusty.

She was in trouble, and not only from her opponents.

Trying to salvage the moment, she replied with lofty unconcern. “I’m surprised to find you here, too, Kirkpatrick. Do you intend to play
vingt-et-un
with us? I would rather expect you to be squiring an assortment of young ladies about the ballroom.”

“One young lady will do. Come with me, Jane.” His grip on her shoulder turned into a tug.

Sheringbrook broke in. “Jane, you say? A . . . maiden?” His look of revulsion would have been comical in another time and place.

“She said Lord Xavier was her husband,” slurred the drunkard. “You ain’t Lord Xavier. So why d’you call her by her Christian name?”

Jane willed her face not to turn a sickly color.

Without a pause, Kirkpatrick answered, “You might have heard wrong. The room is rather loud, is it not? Lord Xavier is this lady’s
cousin
, not her
husband
. The mistake is understandable.”

That was rather clever of him. Jane turned a brilliant smile upon her companions.

But they refused to be dazzled this time. A man might mishear a single word, but they had also used the word
wife
, and there was no explaining that away. Jane had lied, and they knew it.

If only Kirkpatrick had blundered in half an hour later, Jane would have had time to lessen her loss, even turn it into a gain. As it stood now, she was ten thousand pounds in debt, though it might as well have been one hundred thousand. Or one million. Or the whole English treasury. She simply could not repay it.

“I think we have finished our play,” said Sheringbrook. His large hand covered his winnings, a pile of coin and bills and slips of paper. “Perhaps you’ll settle with me, Miss . . . Jane.”

Jane raised haughty eyebrows, flicking through options in her head. She would have to leave them with her vowels tonight. And then . . .

She would have to tell her cousin Xavier what she had done. He would pay the debt, but he would box her up forever. She had proven him right; she could not be trusted. Like a lapdog, she would be leashed and admonished, and she would have no money and never travel away or be anyone else besides poor and plain Jane.

“Of course I will pay,” she said in a voice with no life left. “I will only require a day to gather the money. Excuse me, gentlemen.”

She rose from the table, nerveless hands grasping its edge, stiff arms levering up the dead weight of her body into a stand.

Sheringbrook reached up, crooked a finger into the hem of Jane’s sleeve again. His hand contracted around the fabric. “I believe not. You’ve deceived us, madam, and now you’ll have to pay. There can be no debt of honor without honor.”

Jane stared at the hand on her arm. He dared speak to her of honor; he, who had cheated.

Somehow she managed to beam at the viscount, as if she could imagine no greater pleasure than to have him ruin her sleeve along with her life. “My lord, I promise you I will cover all my debts. Lord Kirkpatrick can vouch for my reliability.”

The viscount settled back in his chair, raking appraising eyes over Jane’s form. “I’m not interested in your promise. I will accept your jewels as surety for your payment. Better yet, as the payment itself.”

A chill bead of sweat slid between her shoulder blades. “Impossible. They are worth far more than what I’ve lost.”

Sheringbrook shrugged. “Then I cannot allow you to leave this room, madam. Which is acceptable to me. I can think of numerous ways for you to work off your debt.”

Jane lifted her chin, as much to keep the sick from rising into her throat as to convince him of her confidence. Impossible to leave behind her cousin’s gems; no other way she would be allowed to escape. The other men at the card table were watching her with interest, as if they wanted a piece of the pie when it was served out. She could not look for help from that quarter.

The femininity that had seemed her advantage a few minutes ago was now her weakness. It was
infuriating.
A man would never have been treated so, especially not a nobleman. Nor even a noblewoman, for that matter. Not the real Lady Xavier.

It was hell to be Jane Tindall. Especially tonight.

A touch at her elbow: Kirkpatrick stood next to her, bracing her arm as her thoughts whirled uselessly. His support was not unwelcome, though it did her no good.

“Permit me to pay, my dear.” His eyes were fixed deep on hers, sending some message.

“Why should you . . .” she began in a low voice, shaking her head. The room was distant and muddy around her, but Kirkpatrick’s blue eyes were clear.

“As your betrothed, it is only right,” he continued. “Your debts will be mine, and therefore my money is yours.”

He reached past Jane to slip his card onto the table before Sheringbrook. “My man of business will take care of Miss Tindall’s debts. You may call upon him at your leisure.”

A nobleman, playing the most important card of the game. How easy it was for him.

Kirkpatrick turned to her. “Shall we go, darling?”

Darling
, he called her, as she had always wanted; yet it was only an act. Her insides squirmed again, but it felt like illness this time rather than desire.

Jane could not speak as he drew her fingers into the crook of his arm. With a curt nod to the bemused
vingt-et-un
players, he helped her to rise and led her to the door.

Away from her fortune. Her future.

Since there was nowhere for her to go, anywhere was better than here.

Chapter 2

Concerning Unexpectedly Large Numbers

Edmund gritted his teeth. The corridor was no place to admonish a woman, even one who deserved it as much as Jane Tindall. Yet he had to listen at two doors before he found a side room free from the grunts and squeals of illicit lovers.

He motioned his
betrothed
through the doorway and booted it closed behind them. A single lamp lit the room, and even before his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, Jane’s voice was beating at his ears.

“I suppose you fancy yourself my savior, Kirkpatrick?”

Well, yes. “Nothing of the sort,” he lied. “I tried to be of service; that’s all.”

“‘
Of service
’? You’ve ruined me, Kirkpatrick. You interrupted my game at the worst of all possible times.”

That was rich. “If you were ruined, it was certainly none of my doing. And considering the way your companions were looking at you, you were about to become more ruined than you could possibly imagine.”

She drew herself up to her full height, which was not very impressive. “I assure you, I had the situation under control. I am more than capable of turning a loss into a gain.”

“I know you are.”

This evidently surprised her; she opened and closed her mouth before choking out a reply. “You know.” She tilted her head. “You know?”

“Yes. I’ve known Xavier—and you—long enough to be aware of your uncommon talent at
vingt-et-un
. Do you remember which cards have been played?”

“Yes. I’ve always been able to.” She was looking at him with a sort of astounded curiosity. Rather as though he had a horn on his head.

Or a devil chasing him.

He shook off the thought. With a lady in distress, and a debt to be dealt with, his own troubles could wait. They had already waited for twenty years.

“That’s a great gift, but it doesn’t matter here.” Edmund considered how best to frame the bad news. “You’d better sit.”

His eyes were adjusting to the light now, and he saw that they were in a small parlor. A harp graced a corner, its strings loose from disuse. The pianoforte’s lid was up, showing missing keys. Bawdy drawings hung on the walls, and a pile of pillows and silks had been flung near a mahogany settee upholstered in dark figured fabric.

Wonderful. They were in a music room turned harem.

The only place to sit, unless he wanted to play the sultan and loll around on pillows, was on the settee. He guided Jane to it, then sat next to her. She began fumbling with the clasp of her intricate ruby necklace.

“Allow me,” he said. She frowned at him, but turned to present him with the back of her neck.

“As I was saying,” Edmund repeated, his fingers tracing metal loops over warm skin, “there was no way that situation was going to end well. Sheringbrook cheats.”

Jane’s reply was unintelligible, except for the word
damn
. Then she twisted to face him. “Everyone knows this?”

“It can’t be proven. But yes, that’s my strong suspicion. How many aces were in play?”

She glowered. “Five. Plus however many more he had stuffed in his smallclothes.”

“There you have it. No doubt his smalls are made with many pockets so he can lay hands on any card that might be needed.” He smiled, hoping to coax a matching response from Jane, but she just looked bleak.

“I’m truly sorry, Jane.” Edmund realized his hand was still resting at the curve of her neck, poised to undo the complex clasp of her necklace. “Why are we taking off your jewelry?”

“Because I cannot be trusted with it.” Jane batted his hand away, and after a few seconds of fumbling, she had the clasp open. She tugged the heavy piece from about her neck and held it out. “Will you take it? As my
betrothed
?”

He ignored both the necklace and the sarcasm. “In most circumstances, and with most other women, I would apologize for presuming upon our acquaintance. But I think the occasion warranted any falsehood that would save you from—well.”

“Speak plainly, Kirkpatrick.” Jane gripped the rubies in a white-knuckled fist. “You think they meant to hurt me.”

“If you declined to pay, yes. Or if you continued playing. I’m sorry for my ruse, but at least it got you away from the table. Sheringbrook’s a nasty character. No doubt you realized as much as soon as he played that fifth ace.”

“I’m a nasty character, too. Unfortunately, I’m also deeply in debt, which considerably decreases my fearsomeness.”

“Not at all.” It was a reflex, to agree with a lady, and it took Edmund a moment to realize that he had just informed a respectable maiden that she was fearsome.