Luck Is No Lady(76)

Roderick felt a moment of panic as the muscles in his legs twitched with the urge to move, to get downstairs to the woman’s side. He didn’t understand the nature of his reaction and he resisted, narrowing his gaze, eliminating the distractions of his mind and body. In a moment of serendipity, the woman turned to accept a glass of champagne from one of her admirers. Something in the tilt of her head drew his immediate notice.

And then she smiled.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered violently under his breath. He pushed away from the balcony and took long, angry strides toward the stairs.





Twenty-four


Emma was winning. It felt amazing, like a buzz spreading through her body from her bones to her skin, from head to toes to fingertips. She felt alive and powerful as the cards flipped consistently in her favor. It was easy to see how such a thing could become addictive.

She had been at the faro table for just over an hour, and despite the champagne-induced relaxation of her mind, she was able to keep an accurate accounting of each wager, loss, and win. If things continued as they were, she would have enough to pay Hale by the end of a few hours.

Unfortunately, the next couple of rounds revealed the tides of fortune turning in another direction. It was time to move on. Emma swept up the last of her winnings and smiled at the others gathered round the table.

“If you all would excuse me, I believe it is time to explore other diversions.”

Everyone loved having a winner in their midst, and a general sound of disappointment followed her declaration. As she turned to step away, more than one gentleman tried to jostle toward her through the crowd, eager to offer their escort.

The brown-haired gentleman who had first approached her upon her arrival stepped closer at the threat of encroachers, circling his arm around her waist. The others called him Glenville, and he had remained at her side throughout her time at the table.

Emma stiffened at the overly familiar way he touched her. He had been executing similar advances over the last hour. At first they were subtle enough that she didn’t realize it was intentional when he shifted his weight and brushed his shoulder against hers. It became more obvious he was trying to exert some sort of claim to her, either for her benefit or for the benefit of the other gentlemen present, as he continued to take every opportunity to press his hand to hers or sweep his fingers down her back or across her shoulders.

Though it made her uncomfortable, Emma witnessed similar displays of casual intimacy performed between the other men and women present. It seemed a common enough means of interacting as the women, some with gowns cut frighteningly lower than her own, accepted such advances with wide smiles and coy looks. Though Emma did not directly protest the familiarity, she could not bring herself to overly encourage such behavior either.

“Back to your play, mongrels,” Glenville warned convivially. “I shall escort our lucky lady to her next distraction.”

“You just want some of her luck to rub off on you,” accused a robust older gentleman.

“Ha! That’s not all he wants to rub off.”

The crude comment roused a roll of laughter through the crowd, and Emma tensed. She didn’t understand the exact meaning of the comment, though she had a general idea what it referenced.

Glenville laughed and flashed Emma a bold grin as he led her away from the table.

She had no intention of feeding whatever expectations for the night he may have gotten into his head, and stopped once they were free of the crowd. Withdrawing from the circle of his arm, she smiled at him, hoping he would accept her rejection without taking it personally.

“Though your company has been delightful, it would not be fair for me to claim your attention for the entire evening when I am certain you wish to seek your own enjoyments.”

“I shall enjoy nothing if it is not with you. You have won my heart.”

She laughed at his dramatic tone, as she was meant to. “I do not recall wagering for your heart,” she replied.

“It is yours nonetheless.”

“You have won mine as well.”

Emma fought back a groan of dismay as she turned to see who had added his declaration to the mix. A young man no more than a year out of university stepped forward and offered Emma a courtly bow.

She recognized him immediately as a member of Lord Epping’s set, a young man who had called on Portia more than once. Her spine stiffened. Would he recognize her as the spinster sister who had sat in the corner of the parlor during those visits? She held her breath as the young man gave her a rakish grin.

When she saw not even a spark of recognition in his eyes, she exhaled a long breath of relief.

“Leave off, Kitson,” Glenville replied haughtily. “You wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to entertain a woman of such elegance. Go play with your toy soldiers.”