there,’ he murmured, realising he sounded like his mother. His own throat tightened with the memory of her loss. Another deed he could throw at Westleigh’s feet. His mother might have lived a long happy life if not for that cursed man.
She pulled away, wiping her eyes with her fingers. ‘I am so sorry.’
He handed her his handkerchief. ‘Do not say so.’
‘It is the surprise of seeing him.’ She blew her nose. ‘I wondered how it would be. I did not know I would turn into a watering pot.’
He suspected that weeping was not something she often allowed of herself. ‘What would you like me to do about Westleigh?’
She gaped at him in surprise. ‘Do about him?’
‘It cannot be comfortable for you that he comes here. I can prevent him, if you like.’ Rhys disliked seeing the man here anyway.
She finished her second glass of brandy. ‘I do not know what to say. I do not know what to think. I do not want him to know who I am.’
Rhys did not know who she was.
Her face hardened. ‘I would like to make him pay in some way.’
‘Revenge?’ He well knew the need for revenge.
‘Yes!’ She covered her mouth with her hand. ‘I suppose that is wrong of me.’
A corner of his mouth turned up. ‘Quite natural, I would say. You are probably one of many who would like revenge on Lord Westleigh.’
She peered into his eyes. ‘You detest him, as well.’
He could explain to her that Westleigh was his father, but, at the moment, the idea that the blood of such a man flowed in his veins filled him with disgust. He did not wish to take the chance she would feel the same.
They could each keep their secrets from the other, could they not?
He held her gaze. ‘I detest him. It will give me pleasure to throw him out for you.’
She stared for a moment, as if thinking, then shook her head. ‘It would not do to ban an earl from your gaming house, would it? Especially one who likes to gamble. I would never ask this of you.’
‘Nonetheless,’ he responded. ‘It would be my pleasure to do so, if it will ease your mind.’
She reached over and touched his hand. ‘It is enough to know I have an ally.’ She withdrew her hand almost as quickly and turned away. When she turned back, she smiled the ghost of a smile. ‘Perhaps there is some restitution I can force on him. Engage him in a card game and win all his money …’
As if he had any sum of money to lose, Rhys thought.
She straightened. ‘At least that would be something, would it not?’
He would have preferred an excuse to toss Westleigh out on his ear, although her course was undoubtedly the wiser for both of them. He preferred a more subtle revenge, one that would cause Westleigh even greater pain.
‘It will be as you wish.’
She dabbed at her face again and folded his handkerchief. ‘I will launder and return this.’
He waved that away. ‘It is of no consequence.’
She picked up her mask. ‘I have taken up enough of your time. We should return to the game room, do you not think?’
Leaving her was the last thing on his mind, but she was correct. He should get back. ‘You may stay here, if you wish. Stay until it is time for your coachman.’
She shook her head. ‘I think it is like falling from one’s pony. One must remount immediately.’
She’d ridden a pony? Riding a pony seemed unlikely for an actress.
He’d pursue that thought another time. ‘Then I will go down first. You may follow a moment later. It will not seem as if we have been together.’
She gave him a grateful smile.
They both rose. She lifted the mask to her face and fussed with its ribbons. He stepped behind her and tied the mask in place.
She stood very still as he did so.
When he finished, his hands hovered over her shoulders, wanting to explore more of her.
Instead, he stepped away and walked out of the room.
Down in the game room, he found Westleigh almost immediately, laughing at something his companion had said. Westleigh caught his gaze and froze for a moment, an icy expression on his face. Rhys returned the unfriendly glare and resumed his patrol of the room.
In a few moments Celia appeared, searching the room, her reaction to finding Rhys as warm as Westleigh’s had been cold. She appeared perfectly composed, strolling to where Sir Reginald stood.
Sir Reginald greeted her like a long-lost friend. This man was a member of the aristocracy who Rhys could like. Sir Reginald was kind and friendly to everyone.
Westleigh also noticed Celia’s entrance. Rhys watched him leave his friend and make a beeline to where Celia stood.
Xavier appeared beside Rhys. ‘Would you mind telling me what all this is about?’
‘All what?’ Rhys countered.
Xavier inclined his head towards Celia and Westleigh.
Rhys waved a dismissive hand. ‘Nothing of consequence, I am certain.’
Xavier frowned. ‘Between Westleigh and the woman who captivates you? Do not take me for a fool.’
Celia watched Westleigh make his way across the room and knew he was coming after her. She cast a glance towards Rhys. He stood close by.
She turned to Sir Reginald. ‘Do you need a whist partner tonight, sir?’
Sir Reginald smiled in a jolly way. ‘Is that an invitation, madam? If so, I would be honoured.’
Westleigh came up to her side. ‘There you are, my dear. I feared I had lost you forever.’
She inclined her head slightly and spoke without expression. ‘Lord Westleigh.’
He bowed. ‘Are you ready for our game of whist?’
He presumed she would play cards with him? ‘I fear you are too late.’ She managed to sound civil. ‘Sir Reginald and I will be playing.’
That did not daunt him. ‘Whist? You will need partners, certainly. Allow me and my companion to challenge you to a game.’
Whist had been the game that Westleigh had played with her father that fateful night.
Her eyes narrowed.
Sir Reginald broke in. ‘Madam, I am completely at your disposal. We do need partners, but I leave it to you to say who that should be.’
She glanced over to Rhys, who had stepped away from his friend, but looked her way.
He was still near.
It emboldened her. ‘Very well. Sir Reginald and I will play whist with you.’
Westleigh fetched his companion. Celia wondered if his companion had been his partner when Westleigh engaged her father in play. If so, why had the man not intervened? Someone should have stopped such folly.
They took their places at a card table and the cards were dealt.
Soon Celia focused on the play instead of the detested player who sat at her right, too often brushing his arm against hers or fussing over her counters as if it were his job to tend to her.
The play was tame. Westleigh and his partner were particularly predictable in which cards they put down and when. Even Sir Reginald’s limited skills more than outmatched them. Westleigh could not have been a challenge to her father, who