Page 19 of To Dare the Devil

They ate, with Barnaby a convivial companion and Louis César picking at his food and saying little. He was never a man who chattered about nothing, but neither was he this withdrawn and remote. Barnaby sent him anxious glances from time to time, encouraged him to eat a few bites of dinner like some anxious mama, and frowned when Louis ordered another bottle. Max wondered what the trouble was and regretted that he knew neither of them well enough to ask if he could help.

Once their plates had been taken, with Louis’ practically untouched, Max thought it about time he made his excuses and left. Before he could, a familiar voice greeted them.

“Gentlemen, what a surprise. Vane, did you not have other plans for this evening? Or was it just other company you were seeking?”

Max suppressed a sigh as he looked up. Kilbane’s expression was bland, but Max could sense the man’s annoyance at finding him here.

“A last-minute change of plans, that’s all. We only came to eat. I’m still not playing cards,” he added, just in case Kilbane thought to manipulate him into playing.

“Cards? There’s a game?” Louis demanded.

Max looked up in surprise, for the comte was known for never playing cards.

“Really, Louis? You want to play?” Barnaby said, echoing Max’s disbelief. “When I cannot even get a game of whist out of you?”

“Oh, yes, monsieur. Do come and play with me,” Kilbane said with a wink, smiling with an expression that made all the hairs on the back of Max’s neck stand on end.

“No. Don’t,” Max said, alarmed now. Kilbane was a terrifyingly good card player, and that was before he cheated. Max often suspected he didn’t need to cheat to win, he just enjoyed behaving as people expected him to… i.e., badly.

Louis glanced at him, interest flickering in his eyes. “Why not?”

Max hesitated, not wanting to insult the man, but Ciarán’s expression was sharp, glinting with mischief, which was a bad sign. “Kilbane is an excellent player, Louis, and whilst I mean no disrespect, if you rarely play, it might not be wise. The game is for high stakes and—”

Louis got to his feet. “Lead on,” he said to the marquess, whose slow smile made Max’s stomach drop. He turned to Barnaby, who was looking just as alarmed, but there was damn all they could do to stop him now.

Barnaby got up and grasped Max’s arm. “Come along, perhaps we can stop him from losing the shirt off his back,” he muttered, and hurried after his friend.

26th May 1842, Church Street, Isleworth, London.

Kathy added up the long row of figures and smiled as she drew a line under the total. Perfect. It had taken her an entire afternoon of haggling with the cloth merchant and her head was still aching, but it had been worth it. She had saved twenty-five percent on the cost of the uniforms, without compromising the quality, and that extra money would go towards games for the children’s recreation time. Added to the money she had saved on the bibles and prayer books—for some fool had ordered expensive copies with lots of gold and fancy bindings—she ought to have a decent budget for them now. There was still an unresolved matter concerning the deliveries of building materials, though, and the discrepancies in the quantities the site manager had showed her. She had an unpleasant nagging sensation in her gut about that, but she was reluctant to take it to Vane until she was certain. Yet, if she was right, he ought to know at once. Muttering crossly, she decided she had best see him first thing in the morning. Providing he knew it was only a suspicion, it ought to cause no harm. He seemed to be a fair man who was doing his best to do a good job and she did not believe he would dismiss anyone on the strength of suspicion alone. She wished that she could avoid him though, for she certainly had not planned on seeing him again so soon.

The man she had seen recently bore too much in common with the sleeping prince she had spun such romantic stories about. He was handsome and kind, funny too, but she was no longer a foolish child with fairy stories in her head. Now, she was an adult, and one who knew his pretty exterior could hide all manner of sins.

Kathy sighed as she remembered how she had imagined him waking up from his fever and falling head over heels in love with her at first sight. Somehow, he would know it had been Kathy tending him, she who had snatched him from the jaws of death and forced him to hold on to life. She had promised him his life would be good, that he was loved, and she wanted him to live, that she would be waiting for him. Kathy had begged him to stay, to stay with her, and he had. Except then he had revealed his debauchery in crude language that she’d barely understood, though she’d comprehended enough to understand this man was no prince, but a libertine who took his pleasure wherever he chose and damn the consequences.

Foolishness, she chided, shaking her head. He wasn’t the devil any more than he was a saint. She had been at the receiving end of respectable gentlemen’s opinions, those well-bred men who thought of her as something less than they, because she did not know her parents. Lord Vane had never treated her like that. He had never given her cause to believe he thought her blood tainted, that she was less than a lady. But many of those gentlemen had. Kathy knew she could never consider marrying a man she did not respect and admire as well as love. Though she had not discussed it with anyone else, she knew her best hope lay with the kind of man who would not be invited to any ton event. A man who worked for a living and shared her values. But she had a beautiful new wardrobe, and her mother was excited for her, and so she must go through the motions, for this season at least. She would not let her parents waste such ridiculous amounts of money on fripperies again. Not when it was all for naught.

Sighing, Kathy set her pen down and regarded her ink-stained fingers. Unbidden, Vane’s handsome face returned to her mind, along with the soft look he’d had in his eyes when he’d assured her he’d been offering her a compliment. He’d looked like the embodiment of her every dream, so handsome, his expression open and full of kindness and understanding. Her heart twisted with regret.

“Stop it,” she muttered, shoving the chair away from the desk.

The Earl of Vane was of no interest to her. No matter his attempt to be a better human being, their past would always stand between them. He was an earl, and she was simply someone who worked for him. She must put her foolishness behind her and not get drawn in by that handsome face again. Keeping her distance was for the best. Except she would need to speak to him first thing tomorrow morning. Muttering crossly under her breath, Kathy turned down the lamp and made her way up to bed.

26th May 1842, Grant’s, St James’, London.

Louis watched Kilbane as the marquess studied the shuffled the cards with apparent nonchalance. He was good, as Max had said. Extremely good. Unfortunately for the marquess, that was not nearly good enough to beat Louis. Not even if he cheated, which Louis suspected he was contemplating doing now. Louis knew all the tricks, and could employ them too, if he chose, which he might just for the hell of it tonight. He was angry, a furious simmering anger which he had thought he’d rid himself of years ago. Whether or not it was rational, he could not shake the familiar sensation of being abandoned that had haunted his childhood. He wanted to destroy something, or someone, for no good reason other than that he was hurting, and he could not make it stop. This was what he had feared, the person he would become if he lost Evie. If he lost his grip on the good in the world, the darkness would swallow him up as it had tried to do so many times before. Except this time, he would not bother fighting it.

Kilbane dealt the cards, and Louis noted the sleight of hand as he dealt from the bottom of the deck. It was neatly done, and he doubted anyone else would have spotted it. He smiled, holding the marquess’ gaze as he took his hand, which was predictably poor. Well, two could play at that game. Louis allowed Kilbane to win the set, and took the cards back to shuffle, making a grand show of it as the cards flew between his hands. Murmurs rippled around the room as it became clear Louis was no ordinary card player. Kilbane laughed, clearly delighted, as he sat back and watched with appreciation.

“You are the very devil, monsieur,” he said, grinning.

Louis’ mouth twisted into a grim smile. “You have no idea,” he murmured.

Waving a hand at a passing waiter, Louis ordered another bottle of wine. He could sense the tension among those watching the game. Barnaby and Max had folded after the first hand but kept their places at the table. Systematically, Louis had taken each of the remaining four players with ease, until only Kilbane remained, though they too had stayed to watch. The pot in the middle of the table held a staggering six thousand pounds, and the tension in the room was electric. Louis felt certain Kilbane knew he was toying with him simply because it amused him to do so. He thought perhaps the marquess was enjoying himself, even though he was about to lose an obscene amount of money. If the rumours were true, he could well afford it.

A disturbance at the door had Louis glancing up, and he experienced a pang of guilt and regret as he saw his brother standing there, glaring at him. Louis returned his gaze and gave a slight shrug. What did it matter now?

Nic had forbidden him to play when they’d come to England. He had not wanted Louis to remind everyone that he had been just as involved in their scandalous nightclub in Paris. They had fed the ton the lie that the nightclub was entirely Nic’s affair, but that was far from true. Louis had run it with him, and it was his devilish luck with the cards, alongside robbing many of their patrons, that had earned them the money to make it into the exclusive place it was now. Rouge et Noir had made them wealthy beyond their wildest dreams, but Nic had wanted more for Louis. He’d wanted him to retake his place in society, to earn the respect of his peers by marrying well. And where had that got him, exactly? The only woman he wanted was being wooed by a strapping Scot in the wilds of some godforsaken land, and he was here, alone. He no longer gave a damn what the ton thought. He had no doubt that Gabriel Knight had been behind the man prying and asking questions in Paris. Evie’s father was shrewd enough to know he’d only discovered the half of it when Nic had married Eliza. By now he’d have a full report on exactly who the Comte de Villen was, and any chance he had with Evie was doomed.