The Midnight Rake (17 page)

And then he found it. Winton’s name, scrawled in pencil beside a bet placed less than a week ago, wagering over one hundred pounds. And another listed beneath it. It would appear Winton fell in fairly deep if the notes in the margin read true. Several men at the club held his vowels.

What could Winton be thinking with such rash and indulgent wagering? The man would be on the rocks in no time if he continued in this vein. Could this recent activity be connected in some manner to the situation with Julia? Phin slid his finger across the column to note the date and time of the wager, but stalled when he noticed the bet’s counter participant.

Arlis Ridley.

Angered, he returned the leather-bound book to a waiting footman and meandered to the back of the club. Casting a glance into each passing room, he flexed his fists to temper his mood. It would do no good to cause a problem tonight, but a conversation with Ridley remained in order, no matter how much he preferred not to address the man.

He found Ridley playing piquet in the backmost corner of the club and well on his way to low water. His surly disposition appeared as short as the stack of coins piled on the table before him. Hesitating at first, an interested observer, the fast set who occupied chairs at the table caught sight of him lingering near the doorway and summoned him forward. Intent on gaining any opportunity to understand Winton’s disappearance, he took a fast seat at the table.

Phineas could never be labeled a gambler, but he knew enough of piquet to fare well.

Before long the other players folded, leaving Ridley and his nearly depleted pile of coins.

Undeterred by his lack of funds, Ridley shuffled the cards and dealt. Phin initiated conversation, reluctant to lose the opportunity to discover information.

“I understand you have a significant wager with Lord Winton.” He pushed a few coins to the center of the table as a footman brought him a brandy.

Clearing his throat, Ridley studied his cards before answering, his reply as cocksure as his attitude. “I do. Now that I’ve won Trumpington’s grey, I suppose I should pay for it. Winton is an easy mark. He anxiously accepted my proposition.”

Unwilling to vent his anger about the underhanded method Ridley employed to win the auction, Phin discarded. “And here I thought you were flush in the funds, first with your behavior at Tatts and again this evening, but a few carefully placed questions reveal your parlous financial state. Still you wager freely and take advantage of someone in dun territory.”

Ridley dismissed the comment with an adverse grunt and inimical glare. Cards flicked back and forth and the mood grew tense. Then, after he’d taken a long sip of brandy and all but cleared his coins, Ridley loosened his tongue.

“I’ll accumulate my wealth one way or the other, of that I have no doubt. Winton is in the deep more than I am. His grandfather is making his life miserable, squeezing him between his thumbs and forcing him to choose between his heart and his inheritance. He sat here not a fortnight ago bemoaning his situation and drinking too much. Most of us accepted wagers in his half-witted scheme to win a fortune before his grandfather could send him away on a wedding trip, but I think it’s a lost cause. The old man will win out, Winton will buckle, and we’ll all reap the benefits of his misfortune. I’ve already cleaned him out on more than one occasion.”

With a quick scrape of his chair, Ridley stood and shoved his right hand to the bottom of his trouser pocket. He produced a handful of miscellaneous items and Phineas wondered if he searched for the remaining blunt to continue play or if the game would end. He hoped not, the man proved a veritable font of information.

Ridley continued to sift through the collection in his palm until, satisfied, he reseated and tossed a pair of ruby earrings and a jeweled cameo into the ante at the center of the table.

“It’s all I’ve got this evening, but a pretty price they’ll fetch. Let’s finish this hand and call it a night before I find myself as dished as Winton.”

“As you wish.” Phineas discarded and glimpsed his opponent. Ridley played with such foolish abandonment, it was a miracle the game progressed as long as it did. To the contrary, the duplicitous blackguard held such a talent for ingratiating people and betraying them, he remained extremely wary. “This ends things neatly.”

Phin threw down his cards to reveal a perfect trick, the score of fifteen bringing the total to one hundred points and ending the game. Collecting his winnings from the center of the table, he took a quick sip of brandy and walked away ignoring Ridley’s muttered curses.

It was quick work to use his piquet money to repay a portion of the debt Winton owed the club. He remained unsure what caused the man’s rash behavior, but either way it appeared Winton had reached dire straits and was in need of a little help, despite the news he’d acquired tonight would disappoint Julia immensely.

Only the jewelry remained in hand, and the cameo gave Phin pause. He studied the delicate piece in the dim lantern of White’s parlor. The fine workmanship and intricate detailing of the brooch identified it as valuable. Were he to examine it in daylight, he suspected an engraving would reveal a family name. Anyone would be heartbroken to have lost such a delicate piece. And the devil only knew where Ridley obtained it or by what means. He slipped the cameo into his inside pocket with the intention of investigating it further and exited White’s without another thought.

He has somewhere else he needed to go.

Phineas replaced his pocket watch. Less than a minute would turn the evening into yesterday. He continued across the cobbles deeper into the cemetery, his mood a fitting companion to the low-lying fog, an unsettled creature, clinging to the tombstones, and lending the grass an ethereal gloom. He didn’t believe in specters or ghoulish apparitions although the memories crammed in the dark recesses of his soul held the same power to haunt, at times, rebel, with bold assertion to arrow a shiver straight through his bones. Regret, like a defiant vine, wound tight around his ribs, holding frustration and doubt, at times misery and anger, caged behind his ribs, where hollow emotion caused his heart a perpetual ache.

He discarded the maudlin reflection as his eyes fell upon the marble, his feet accustomed to the path, his body drawn to the location without direction. A flick of his eyes provided a scan of the familiar surroundings; the shadows silent and desolate. Who visited a loved one in the dead of night? Who carried flowers, mourned a lost companion, paid homage to a friend while the midnight hour surrendered to the new day? What was a cemetery anyway but a graveyard full of buried hopes and lost opportunity?

Like always, Phineas stared at the pallid stone, his eyes keenly focused on the carved marble, articulating each letter as if to spell out forgiveness, relieve his regret, and absolve all guilt. Yet as usual he failed; success out of reach.

He fought the sharp jab of desolation that aimed to knock him flat and murmured his apology into the silence before he kindly took his leave.

It was well past midnight before Penelope surrendered to her restlessness and discarded the notion of sleep. With palpable reluctance she climbed from the sheets to light a single candle on the bedside table while her mind replayed Phineas’ actions, his strong possessive embrace as they danced and the deliriously wonderful press of his lips during their stolen kiss. Pleasure and desire intertwined with feelings of disappointment and confusion at his direct dismissal. She no longer trusted her judgment to lead her emotions and her heart ached because of it.

Bending to arrange her slippers, she slipped them on and padded across her bedchamber to the far window overlooking the back gardens. A half moon shone, its glow a misty haze among the pewter sky much like the confusion clouding her heart. How could she continue to entreat Phineas to help her find Simon if standing near him made her pulse beat triple time? Lord, he looked devastatingly handsome tonight. For all his affability and warm amber eyes, his broad, tall frame exuded strength and masculinity. He was composed of all muscle, if that was even possible, from wide shoulders, hard chest to lean flat stomach. And his kiss, it simmered within her, the true cause of her sleeplessness more than anything else.

The sharp scrape of the gate latch forced her eyes from the moon to the gardens below.

As if conjured by the power of her musings, Phineas entered through the iron railing. Not sparing a glance at the house, he took a path to his left and headed out of sight with determined strides.

In a motion faster than her good sense advised, Penelope grabbed her silk wrapper and made for the door. She could manage a little rest if she understood why he’d dismissed her so promptly after their kiss. She doubted she would get any sleep if she didn’t at least try.

Following the same path he’d taken, she stepped with care as an earlier rain shower left the slate stones slick. Blades of grass, damp and supple, feathered the skin at her ankles, their sensitive brush heightening the intensity of her decision. Slipping quietly through the moonlit shadows, she stalled when she reached him.

Phineas leaned against a tall flowering tree at the back corner of the gardens not far from the gazebo where they had shared their near-kiss days ago. The remembrance heated her skin. How she had wished for him to close those few breaths of space and lower his lips to hers. Now having experienced his kiss, the yearning burned with wild abandonment and her pulse beat a traitorous rhythm in her ears, so loud she wondered how he did not hear it and discover her hidden near the trim hedgerow.

With anxious eyes, she watched him remove his waistcoat and hang it over a low-lying branch. His linen shirt, open at the collar, and his chiseled profile, outlined in the moon’s soft glow, presented him as if a secret dream brought to life, a peace-stealing memory. She blinked at his heroic image in the misty night air, surrounded by flower petals and the lambent glint of moonlight, mythical and unreal.

Almost.

The way her pulse jumped, the way her body hummed with anticipation, Phineas existed as no idle illusion conjured by her overactive imagination.

He turned without notice, catching her eyes and spurring her into motion. His concerned murmur met her ears as she took the final steps to bring them together.

“It’s so late. What are you doing out in the gardens? You’ll catch a chill.” An undecipherable emotion passed over his features. “I thought I was the only one who relished the solitude of the night hours.”

It made perfect sense he would ask about her welfare and wish to shield her from harm. Consideration, compassion, protectiveness, all three traits bespoke of his every word and action. That he worried for her, when she had no one but herself to rely upon, overwhelmed Penelope to the core. The solitary realization opened her heart so completely, she would be lost to her emotions if she allowed it.

“I saw you from my window. I thought …” Her voice sounded nervous and she wondered what he would think of her choice to follow him into the gardens. An unexpected shiver pricked her skin and she slid her hands across her arms as if to wipe away the sensation.

An eternity stretched between them though they stood scant steps apart, neither one hurried to continue the conversation. Acute physical awareness flooded the void as an intangible tightening ebbed and flowed with each breath. Heat flushed her skin and she noticed his body tense, as if he strained to remain in place. Her heart gave a tight panicked squeeze.

At last he broke the hold of their eyes and glanced toward the moon. His voice, a sensual murmur, did not buffer his words.

“I shouldn’t have—”

She wouldn’t allow him to express regret no matter how fear nested in her chest. She treasured his kiss far too much. The aftereffects lived in her still.

“I didn’t stop you—”

“You shouldn’t have to stop me.” He pushed from the tree, his voice a dusky vow, and raked his fingers through his hair, the hard edge of his response matching the angry flare of his nostrils as he exhaled. “You don’t understand.”

She released a small gasp at his curt reprimand and the emotion riddling his words triggered a deep ache. When he turned, moonlight caught in the amber depths of his eyes like glinting sparks in a fire and Penelope fancied he looked dangerous, predatory and leonine, defensively stalking in the night hours.

Again, fear of dismissal struggled to take hold, but she forced it as far back into her mind as possible.

“I offered you my assistance and friendship. I never should have overstepped my bounds.”

Her eyes searched his face, unable to reply, and the quiet enveloped them in a misty drizzle, the slightest whisper of rain. She let out a shuddered breath.

Reaching for his waistcoat, he rushed to hold it over her head. She stood beneath the protection of his coat, melting into the heat radiating between them, his act of chivalry causing her pulse to skitter. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, but words failed. The smallest step would place her within the shelter of his wonderfully warm embrace, but Phineas appeared so angry and regretful of their kiss, she stood immobilized by indecision.

“We should go to the gazebo, before you catch your death in only your nightclothes. I can’t have that on my conscience as well.”

He shadowed her as they moved to the enclosure, and while the mention of her state of dress caused her cheeks to heat, she was too busy contemplating the latter part of his statement to consider her embarrassment.

Inside, he draped his waistcoat over the balustrade and turned, his expression unreadable, his eyes hot with a possessive glint. Penelope pushed down an appreciative swallow, no matter bittersweet emotion threatened. While he managed to shelter her from the rain, he’d taken the weather upon himself. His shirt sleeves were damp, the thin fabric molded to his well-defined arms, every movement outlined with incredible detail, shifting sinew and strong hard muscle. She knew well of his strength, but to watch the sensual flex of those same smooth muscles within the close confines of the gazebo while her mind envisioned being captured in his arms and carried to his bed, stole her breath away. Her body reacted with elemental desire. She traced her fingers over her palms in a desperate attempt to keep her hands busy.