He pushed the reticule away. ‘I’ll not take your winnings. And do not concern yourself about the gentlemen betting with you. Those who stayed at the hazard table will have lost it all again. Or will another night.’ He gazed at her. ‘Not everyone is so wise as to stop when ahead.’
‘I was not wise….’ She made a nervous gesture with her hand. ‘To own the truth, I was terrified. The excitement made me lose all sense.’
‘Not all sense, or you would have played until your reticule was empty.’ He finished his brandy. ‘That excitement is all part of the game. I have been a gambler too long not to have felt that same exhilaration.’
‘It makes a person foolish,’ she rasped. ‘I cannot afford to be foolish. It will hurt me, but tonight my foolishness hurt you.’
‘Gambling is always a risk, but remember that this was a risk I agreed to take. This night you won and I lost. Tomorrow it may be different. We will keep an eye on it.’ He reached over again and touched her cheek. ‘Do not fear. I will not let you be harmed by it.’
Her eyes grew wider and her fair skin glowed like an angel’s.
Xavier was right when accusing him of wanting to make her a conquest. He wanted her as intensely as a man could desire a woman. But Rhys also genuinely liked her. He felt a kinship with her.
It was rare for him to feel kinship with anyone. He’d long ago accepted that he was alone in the world. He even expected to lose Xavier’s friendship eventually, when the man finally found a woman he wished to marry. Xavier’s allegiance would shift, as it should, to a wife and family of his own making.
Or perhaps his friendship with Xavier was ending over Celia.
Rhys dared not hope for anything more than temporary with Celia. No doubt her secrets would eventually separate them.
As his secrets might from her.
But for the moment he relished her company. When had a woman ever made him feel such sympathy as he felt towards her? He wished he could make Westleigh pay for killing her father, for bringing her such pain.
He wanted to enfold her in his arms and take all her pain away.
He looked into her eyes. ‘I like you, Celia Allen.’
Her eyes darted around the room. He’d frightened her.
She smiled nervously at him. ‘You have been … like a friend. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for paying me to gamble. For enduring my fit of tears over Westleigh.’
He held up a hand.
She twisted the laces of her reticule. ‘I should go. My coachman will be here soon.’
He stood and offered her his hand. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet, but did not stop there. He pulled her into an embrace.
He could not tell if she was alarmed or pleased.
‘I suspect we are two of a kind, Celia,’ he said. ‘I am glad you are in my employ. I am glad I will see you night after night.’
Her eyes grew huge and her voice trembled. ‘You are holding me. Are—are you going to kiss me?’
‘Is it what you wish?’ He could feel the rise and fall of her breast against his chest.
It fired his senses, but he waited. She must want this, too.
She rose, no more than an inch, but it was all the invitation he needed.
He lowered his mouth to hers.
Her lips were warm, soft and tasting of brandy and he wanted more, much more. She melted into him and her lips pressed upon his, as if she, too, could not get enough. He lost himself in the pleasure of her, his hands eager to explore her, undress her, pleasure her—
She broke away. ‘This is not wise, Rhys,’ she cried.
His body was still humming with need, but he forced himself to give her the space she needed.
‘You are sounding like Xavier.’ He smiled. ‘It probably was not wise to hire you in the afternoon and kiss you in the night, but I do not feel like being wise with you, Celia. I want more from you.’
Her eyes grew big. ‘More from me?’
Did she not understand?
He would be clear. ‘I want you in my bed.’
She stepped away. ‘I—I do not know.’
He honoured her distance. ‘It is your choice, Celia. No matter what you decide, our employment agreement still stands.’
Her expression turned puzzled. ‘My choice,’ she said to herself.
The clock on his mantel chimed four bells, causing them both to jump.
She rubbed her forehead. ‘I must go. I am already late. My driver will be concerned.’
He reached out and took her hand. ‘Tomorrow, give your driver a later time.’
She looked like a frightened deer.
He did not wish her to bolt. ‘Do not distress yourself,’ he spoke in a soothing voice. ‘You know what I want, but do not let that keep you from coming back and gambling. You need not answer me now. I am a patient man.’
She stared at him, but finally said, ‘I will think about it.’
It was not the answer he had hoped for, but he contented himself that it was not a definite no.
‘Do not think.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Feel.’
She made a sound deep in her throat, before turning away from him and hurrying towards the door.
‘Celia,’ he called to her.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him.
‘You forgot your mask.’ He picked up the piece of white silk and crossed the room to her. ‘Stay still. I will put it on you,’ he said.
Her breath accelerated as he affixed the mask to her face and tied the ribbons that held it in place.
‘There you go,’ he murmured.
She stepped away, but turned and gave him a long glance.
He opened the door. ‘I will walk you to your coach.’
As they left the room he kept his distance, but walked at her side down the stairs to the hall where Cummings quickly retrieved her shawl. She put it on herself carelessly, but as soon as they were out the door, he wrapped her in it to protect her from the misty night’s chill. Almost immediately the sound of her coach reached their ears even before it became visible.
She stepped forwards so her coachman could see her. He stopped the horses and Rhys lowered the steps. He squeezed her hand as he helped her into the coach.
He watched her face in the window as the coach started off, disappearing into the mist as if only a dream.
The next day Rhys sounded the knocker at the Westleigh town house. It was time to confront Westleigh. He’d had enough of the man, especially after what he’d learned from Celia.
He was ready to drop the whole bargain with the Westleighs, but Celia wished her revenge and Rhys would not deny her it. He would, however, push along his own dealings with the Westleighs and be done with them.
A footman opened the door.
‘Mr Rhysdale to see Lord Westleigh.’ Rhys handed the footman his card.
The footman stepped aside and gestured for him to enter the hall. ‘Wait here a moment.’
The last time Rhys called at this house, he’d been escorted into the drawing room. Why not now?
Likely Westleigh had left instructions to treat him like a tradesman.
The