But he was becoming distracted.
And much too poetic.
He could almost hear Xavier’s voice in his head, admonishing him to keep his focus on the gaming house. He would tell his friend later about employing her—not of almost kissing her—both had been too impulsive to meet the approval of his friend.
Not that Rhys cared if his zealously protective friend approved of his employing Miss Allen. Or of wanting her in his bed.
He fixed his gaze on her again. To call her Miss Allen seemed wrong to him. He had no wish to be so formal with her.
‘Will you object if I address you as Celia?’ he asked. ‘You may call me Rhys.’
She coloured.
Her discomfort made him wonder. A woman of the theatre would expect the presumption of intimacy of using given names.
She paused before answering. ‘If you wish it.’ She met his eyes. ‘Not in the gaming house, though.’
Clever of her. ‘Of course not. You are exactly right. No one must know you are in my employ. They will suspect us of manipulation.’
‘Manipulation?’ Her lovely brows knit in anxiety.
‘I hire you because your presence in the gaming house encourages patrons—men—to gamble. You are not expected to do anything different from what you were doing before.’
She nodded.
He leaned closer and put his hand on her wrist. ‘That is not my only reason for hiring you, however—’
A knock at the door interrupted. She slipped her hand away and Rhys straightened in his chair.
MacEvoy entered with the tea tray, managing to give her an un-servant-like look-over. Undoubtedly Rhys would hear Mac’s assessment of the lady later.
‘Shall I pour?’ She looked rattled. ‘How do you take your tea?’
‘No milk, no sugar.’ He’d accustomed himself to drinking tea that way from times when he could not afford milk and sugar. It pleased him that he did not need those inconsequential trappings of wealth.
He gestured to MacEvoy to leave.
MacEvoy closed the door behind him and Celia handed Rhys his cup of tea.
He lifted the cup and took a sip.
Perhaps it was for the best that Mac had interrupted him. His desire for her was making him move too quickly. When he got close, he sensed her alarm, another clue that his theory about her identity might be wrong.
He changed the subject. ‘I should explain something else about your employment here.’
She gave him her attention.
‘Some time ago, before I owned this gaming house, a woman came here in disguise to play cards. It is where I got the idea to set up the place as a masquerade.’ He waved that tangent away. ‘But no matter. About this woman. She created a stir. Men were taking wagers on who would be the first to unmask her.’ He paused. ‘And who would be first to seduce her. Men came and gambled merely for the chance to win the wager.’
She paled. ‘You wish me to offer myself as some sort of prize?’
He shook his head. ‘No. No, indeed. I am merely warning you. Some men who come to gamble may ask more of you than merely to partner them in a game of whist.’
Her eyes narrowed in calculation. ‘Like that man who so distressed you last night?’
Westleigh, she meant.
His voice hardened. ‘Yes. Men like him.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I will be near if any men ill treat you. Do not hesitate to alert me or Xavier. We will protect you.’
She put her hand on her heart and glanced away.
He took another sip of tea. ‘You are a good card player. And that is all that is required of you. None the less, your feminine allure will attract admirers.’
‘Feminine allure?’ She looked surprised.
How puzzling. Did she not know she was alluring?
‘You are a beguiling mystery. A lovely young woman who knows how to play cards. You will—you do—attract men. Men will want to partner you, play against you, sit next to you.’ He gave her another direct look. ‘But they must not cross the line of proper behaviour. If they do, you must let me know.’
She became absorbed in stirring her tea. Finally she answered. ‘If such a thing should happen, I will let you know.’
He became even more convinced he’d been wrong about her being an actress. If not someone connected to the theatre, who was she?
‘May I know more of you, Celia Allen?’
She turned wary again, like a deer about to bound away. ‘There is nothing else I can tell you.’
He must not push her further. He would learn about her in due time, he resolved. Even though he knew solving the mystery of her would not diminish his desire.
She placed her teacup on the table. ‘The terms of payment are what we agreed upon last night?’
He nodded, regretting the conversation turning businesslike. The desire to taste her lovely lips grew more difficult to resist. ‘One pound per night, plus all your winnings. I stake you one hundred pounds, which you will return if you win. I will forfeit if you lose.’
She stood. ‘I will try not to lose.’
‘I know you will try not to lose. You are a true gamester.’ He rose with her. ‘Chance sometimes does not favour us, though, Celia. You will lose. At hazard or faro, at least, but those losses will come directly to me, so I do not credit them. Play all the hazard and faro you like. At whist or vingt-et-un I suspect you are skilled enough to win most of the time.’
‘I hope I do not disappoint.’ Her lips formed a tremulous smile. ‘For both our sakes.’
That was another thing. Why did she need money so urgently?
She pulled on her gloves. ‘I will try to come to the gaming house as many nights as I am able.’
What might keep her away? She was one mystery after another, even without her mask.
‘Good.’ He adopted her businesslike tone. ‘When you arrive, stop at the cashier. He will be instructed to provide you your stake.’
‘Is there anything else?’ she asked. ‘I must leave now.’
‘One thing more.’ He extended his hand. ‘We must shake on our agreement.’
Slowly she placed her hand in his. He liked the feel of her long graceful fingers and strong grasp.
He drew her closer to him, just short of an embrace. ‘I am glad of our partnership, Celia Allen,’ he murmured, his lips inches from hers.
Her eyes widened. The deer wished to bolt, he feared.
He released her and she started towards the door.
‘Will I see you tonight?’ he asked.
She reached the door and turned. ‘If I can manage it.’
He let her walk out on her own, but when he heard the front door close, he stepped to the window and held the curtain aside to watch her.
She paused for a moment on the pavement, as if getting her bearings. Seeming to collect herself suddenly, she walked down the street with purpose.
He watched until he could see her no more.
‘I’ll solve the mystery of you, Miss Celia Allen,’ he said aloud. ‘And I will see you in my bed.’ He dropped the curtain. ‘Soon.’
Celia gulped in air and tried to quiet her