Her eyes showed interest. ‘Do I still receive the two pounds a night?’
He was not that big a fool. ‘One pound. Plus your winnings.’
She calculated again, her eyes on his. What did she look like under her mask? He imagined lifting it off her face, discovering the treasure underneath.
In the back of his mind he could hear Xavier’s voice, questioning his motives, accusing him of succumbing to the first pretty lightskirt who’d caught his eye in a long time.
She was not a lightskirt, but Rhys would wager she belonged on the fringes of society as did he. His money was still on her being an actress.
She opened her lovely mouth and, God help him, all he could think of was tasting her lips. She was about to agree—he could feel it.
Celia was so tempted. He’d handed her a way to gamble without losing her money. What could be better than that? What did it matter, then, if she succumbed to the excitement of the game? Losing would not imperil her.
It was as if he was handing her the future she so desired. To see Adele well settled. To retire to the country and live quietly within her means with no one directing her life but herself.
Rhysdale did not press her. He poured her another glass of wine and waited.
She accepted the glass gratefully and took a long sip, but even the wine did not loosen the knots of panic inside her.
He’d offered her this help as a friend. When had she last had a friend? For that matter, when had she last been able to trust a man? Even her beloved father broke promise after promise.
What if she refused Rhysdale’s offer? Her mind spun with what she would have to do to economise. She’d have to try to pay back most of the creditors. She’d have to give up her coachman, her carriage, her servants. She’d have little left for rooms to let and food to eat. Adele did not deserve such a life. Even her mother-in-law did not deserve such a life.
Rhysdale’s gaze was patient and, she fancied, sympathetic. ‘You are not required to decide this minute. Come to me tomorrow, in the afternoon.’ He glanced about the room. ‘We can discuss it without anyone around.’ His voice deepened. ‘If you refuse employment, my offer of a loan still stands.’
She felt tears prick her eyes. ‘You are kind, Rhysdale.’
A smile grew slowly across his face. ‘Do not say so too loudly or you will ruin my reputation.’
She almost laughed.
Some gentlemen entered the room and she came to her senses. ‘What time is it?’ She fished into her reticule to check her timepiece. ‘I must take my leave.’
He stood and offered his hand to assist her.
As they walked towards the door, they passed the older man she’d seen with Rhysdale when she’d arrived that night.
‘Charming supper room!’ the man remarked to his companion.
When he spied Rhysdale, his eyes hardened to ice. He walked past them without a word.
Even the air seemed chilled as he passed.
Celia inclined her head to Rhysdale. ‘Who is that gentleman?’
Rhysdale’s entire manner changed into something dark and bitter.
‘No one you need know,’ he answered.
It pained her to see him so disturbed. ‘Does he come here often?’
‘Never before.’ Rhysdale’s voice rumbled with suppressed emotion. ‘But I suspect he will come again.’
He led her out into the hallway and down the stairs to collect her cloak. As had become his custom, he escorted her into the street to wait for her coachman.
Clouds hid the stars and made the night even darker than usual. Celia’s own woes receded as she stood waiting with him for her carriage, an overwhelming desire to comfort him taking over.
She touched his arm. ‘Rhysdale, it will not do for the both of us to be glum.’
He covered her hand with his and his typically unreadable face momentarily turned pained and vulnerable. ‘Come this afternoon. Let us talk more about my offer.’ His grip on her hand tightened. ‘Do not leave me entirely.’
She blinked and her throat constricted. ‘Very well. I’ll come.’
He smiled and his gratitude was palpable. He leaned down, his eyes half closing.
Celia’s heart thundered in her chest as the night itself wrapped around them and his head dipped lower and lower. She wrestled with an impulse to push him away and a desire to feel his arms around her.
The clop-clop of a horse team sounded in her ears and he stepped away. Her carriage approached from the end of the street. When the coach pulled up to where they stood, he put the steps down and reached for her hand to help her into the couch.
When she placed her hand in his, she suddenly turned to face him, her words bursting from her mouth. ‘I will do it, Rhysdale. I will come work for you.’
His face broke out in pleasure. ‘Indeed?’
She smiled, as well. ‘Yes.’
For a moment he looked as if he would pull her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, he gently cupped her cheek. ‘We will talk more this afternoon.’
‘Until then,’ she whispered.
She climbed into the coach and he closed the door. As the carriage pulled away, her heart raced. Had she been afraid he would kiss her or had she yearned to feel his lips on hers?
A gnarl of nerves amidst a flutter of excitement, Celia donned her hat and gloves. It was half-past twelve, barely afternoon, but she wished to be finished with her interview with Rhysdale before two, when no respectable woman dared walk near St James’s Street.
She supposed she was not truly a respectable woman. Not when she spent her nights gambling in a gaming hell. But that did not mean she wished to suffer the taunts and catcalls of dandies who loitered on corners for that very purpose.
Her mother-in-law descended the staircase. ‘And where are you going?’
Celia had hoped to slip out before her mother-in-law knew she was gone. ‘I have an errand. I shall be back shortly.’
‘Do you take Younie with you?’ the older woman snapped. ‘Because I have need of her.’
Celia kept her tone mild. ‘She is at your disposal. My errand is not far. I have no need of company.’
‘Hmmph!’ her mother-in-law sniffed. ‘I expect you will not tell me the nature of this errand of yours.’
‘That is correct.’ Celia smiled.
Lady Gale continued to talk as she descended the stairs. ‘Most likely it is to pay a bill or beg for more credit from shopkeepers who ought to be glad to have our business. Needless to say you are not off to meet a man. My son always said you were frigid as well as barren.’
The barb stung.
The cruelty of this woman was rivalled only by that of her son. Ironic that Lady Gale was blind to her son’s faults, but took great enjoyment in cataloguing Celia’s.
Primary among Celia’s shortcomings, of course, was her inability to conceive a child. Neither Gale nor his mother had forgiven her for not producing sons, but neither had they ever considered how crushing this was