if all men hid their true colours.
Of course, she disguised herself, too. She pretended to be a respectable lady, but she visited a gaming hell at night. Once there, she disguised herself again by wearing a mask and pretending to be a gambler, when gambling and gamblers were what she detested most in the world.
The tenor playing the Caliph’s part stepped forwards to sing of his love for Zétulbé. Celia closed her eyes and tried to merely enjoy the music. An image of Rhysdale flashed through her mind. Like the tenor’s, Rhysdale’s voice had teemed with seduction.
Rhys watched the door from the moment he opened the gambling house. He watched for her—the woman in the black-and-gold mask.
‘Who are you expecting?’ Xavier asked him. ‘Someone to make our fortunes or to take it all away?’
He shrugged. ‘The woman I told you about last night.’
Xavier’s brow furrowed. ‘This is not the time for a conquest, Rhys. Your future depends upon making this place a success.’
Xavier was not saying anything Rhys had not said multiple times to himself. Still, he flushed with anger. ‘I will not neglect my responsibilities.’
Xavier did not back down. ‘Women are trouble.’
Rhys laughed. ‘That is the pot calling the kettle black, is it not? You are rarely without a female on your arm.’
‘Women attach themselves to me, that is true.’ Xavier’s blue eyes and poetic good looks drew women like magnets. ‘But I’ve yet to meet one who could distract me from what I’ve set myself to do.’
‘I did not say she was a distraction. Or a conquest.’ Rhys tried to convince himself as well as his friend. ‘I am curious about her. She is a gamester like me and that is what intrigues me.’
Xavier scoffed. ‘Is that why you warned me away last night?’
Rhys frowned. ‘That prohibition still stands. I do not wish to have you distract her.’ He paused, knowing he was not being entirely truthful. ‘I want to see what transpires with this woman gamester.’
Xavier gave him a sceptical look.
Truth was, Rhys did not know what to make of his attraction to the masked lady gamester. Xavier was correct. The woman did tempt him in ways that were more carnal than curious.
But not enough to ignore his commitment to the gaming hell, not when his main objective was to show the Westleighs he could succeed in precisely the same world in which his father failed.
The buzzing of voices hushed momentarily. Rhys glanced to the doorway as she walked in, dressed in the same gown and mask as the night before. Sound muffled and the lamps grew brighter.
His body indeed thought of her in a carnal way. ‘There she is.’
He left Xavier and crossed the room to her. ‘Madam, you have returned. I am flattered.’
She put a hand on her chest. ‘I have indeed returned, Mr Rhysdale. Would you be so kind as to find a whist partner for me once again?’
Xavier appeared at his side. ‘It would be my pleasure to partner you, madam.’
Rhys glared at him before turning back to the masked woman. ‘May I present Mr Campion, madam. He is a friend and an excellent card player.’
She extended her gloved hand. ‘Mr Campion.’
Xavier accepted with a bow. ‘I am charmed.’ He smiled his most seductive smile at her. ‘Do me the honour of calling me Xavier. No one need stand on ceremony in a gaming hell.’
Rhys groaned inwardly.
‘Xavier, then,’ she responded.
He threaded her hand through his arm. ‘Do you wish to play deep, madam?’
She did not answer right away. ‘Not too deep, for the moment. But neither do I wish a tame game.’
Xavier nodded in approval. ‘Excellent. Let us go in search of players.’
He looked back at Rhys and winked.
Rhys knew Xavier well enough to understand his intent was merely to annoy. Xavier would always honour his wishes in matters such as this. Rhys was less certain about the lady. Most women preferred Xavier to Rhys. Most women preferred Xavier to any man.
Rhys went back to patrolling the room, watching the play, speaking to the croupiers running the tables. He kept a keen eye out for cheating in those winning too conveniently and desperation in those losing. Gamblers could easily burst out in sudden violence when the cards or the dice did not go their way. Rhys’s plan was to intervene before tempers grew hot.
His eyes always pulled back to the masked woman. She sat across from Xavier, posture alert, but not tense. Tonight her handling of the cards was smoother than the night before. She arranged her hand swiftly and never belaboured a decision of what card to play. She’d said she preferred games of skill and she was quite skilled at whist.
She was a gamester, for certain. Rhys could wager on that. He’d also bet that she remembered every card played and that she quickly perceived the unique patterns of play in her partners and her opponents.
He strolled over to the table to watch more closely.
‘How is the game?’ He stood behind the masked woman.
Xavier looked at him with amusement. ‘We make good partners.’
Judging from the counters on the table, Xavier and the masked woman made very good partners indeed. Card partners, that was.
Rhys stood where he could see the woman’s cards. If it bothered her, she gave no sign. He watched the play for several hands. She was clever. Deal her four trump and she was certain to win with three of them at least. Give her a hand with no trump and she took tricks with other cards when trump was not played.
She was a gamester all right.
He instantly looked on her with respect.
But, as fascinated as he was watching her play, he needed to move on. No gambler wanted such acute attention to his or her play, especially by the house’s proprietor.
Rhys sauntered away.
An unmasked Ned Westleigh approached him. ‘How are things faring?’ Ned asked in a conspiratorial tone.
Rhys lifted his brows and raised his voice. ‘Why, good evening, Lord Neddington. Good to see you back here.’
‘Well?’ Ned persisted.
‘We are near to recouping the original investment,’ Rhys replied. ‘So all is as it should be.’
‘Excellent.’ Ned rubbed his hands together.
‘There is more to our bargain, do not forget,’ Rhys added.
He expected these Westleighs to try to renege on the earl’s obligation to claim Rhys as a son. More than once Rhys wondered why he’d made that part of the bargain. Another man might wish for the connection to the aristocracy such an acknowledgement might bring, but Rhys cared nothing for that. Neither was the money he’d reap from this enterprise a motivation. He could always make money.
No, all Rhys really wanted was to force his father to do what he ought to have done when Rhys was a child—take responsibility for Rhys’s existence. Once that was accomplished, Rhys was content to spurn him and his sons as they had once spurned him.
‘Hugh and I do not forget,’ Ned said in a low voice. ‘Our father … requires some time.’
Rhys lifted a shoulder. ‘I will not release the money until that part of the promise is assured.’ The Westleighs, in their desperation, had ceded all the power in this matter to him.
Rhys glanced over to the masked woman and caught her looking back. She quickly attended to her cards.
Rhysdale