Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Edmund’s eyes widened as he watched the elegant woman rise to her feet – albeit with bad grace, if her features were anything to go by.
“An unbiased observer!” He said, thrusting a hand towards the woman as she approached their table. “There, Mr Groats, you cannot possibly protest against such a lovely thing.”
And she was lovely. If Edmund had not been in such a precarious position, with Mr Groats clenching his fists and all those wonderful silver coins still lying on the table between them, Edmund would consider the young lady now standing between them as someone worthy of his full attention.
If possible, he had underestimated her beauty. She was all curves and softness, dark eyes and yet light golden hair, an intoxicating mixture he had never seen before.
“You called, sir?” She said haughtily, looking him up and down as though he was a rat who had clambered out of a hole.
Edmund’s face must have fallen, for the crowd still watching him gave a laugh and someone wolf whistled.
“I did indeed, and I am beyond grateful that you answered that call,” Edmund said quickly, regaining his composure quickly. All he needed to do was for this pretty young thing to pat him down – perhaps in some areas more than others – and prove he was no cheat.
Then he could take his money, get back to his rooms, pay the rent that had been due two days ago, and forget about this evening.
Not that he would ever be able to forget about her.
“I would like nothing more to get this over with as quickly as possible,” the woman said dully, somewhat dampening Edmund’s growing ardour. “Arms out, please.”
As she came closer to him, Edmund breathed in her scent, a heady mix of lavender and something else he could not quite put his finger on. Her fingers moved to the pockets of his waistcoat, pulling out a scrap of paper and a small ha’penny pencil.
“Nothing there of interest,” she said quietly, more for the crowd’s benefit than anything else.
Edmund grinned. It was invigorating, having a beautiful woman like this so close to him. God, if they had met years ago when he had been in his element – at the Pump Room in Bath, perhaps, or Almack’s in London – he would have had her hanging on his every word.
No one would have passed up the chance to speak to the Duke of Northmere’s heir.
But now…
“Is that it? Can I go now?”
She was standing up before him, her hands on her hips, evidently eager to leave the spectacle he had created for her.
Edmund smiled. “I think you missed somewhere to look.”
If he had thought she would be scandalised, he was wrong.
Her eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile crept across her face. “I must tell you, sir, that I already looked there, but I could not find anything worth speaking of.”
Mr Groats guffawed at the shocked look on Edmund’s face. “Ah, but she has one over you, sir!”
“And I have one over you,” countered Edmund, trying to ignore the heat of embarrassment surging through his body. “For though she has not found anything of interest, she has also found no cards. Your coin, sir, as per our agreement.”
The dirty smile that adorned Mr Groats’ face vanished, and he glanced at his companion.
Edmund held his breath.
The companion shook his head imperceptively, and Mr Groats threw down two half crowns.
“Until next time,” said Edmund, his voice a little hoarse after the breath he had been holding escaped. “Always good to play with you, Mr Groats. Now, where do you think you are going?”
His hand reached out and grabbed at the wrist of the pretty young thing who had searched him. She could not be much older than eighteen, and yet she looked world weary. Someone who had a little coin on them ready to lose, perhaps.
“Going?” Her voice was cold and it matched her eyes, which were glaring at him. “My work here is done, sir. You have proven yourself no liar and no cheat.”
“But am I any good at cards, or is it just luck?” Edmund sat down and opened his arms expressively. “Come and find out. Play me, join our game.”
He had expected the woman to laugh, to scoff and walk away; the final part of the play which they had acted out for the benefit of all the inhabitants of the King’s Head.
But she did not. The woman smiled slowly and looked around the table. “Our game, sir? I see no others who are willing to play you.”
“Then prove them wrong,” countered Edmund. God, he could quip with this woman all day. Beauty and brains, a deadly combination. “Show them how a lady plays, and prove them all cowards for refusing to take a seat at the table where luck is smiling down upon me.”
Ninety nine women out of one hundred would have walked away from him at that point, laughing at his nonsense and chalking him up as a bit of a scoundrel.
But not this one. Her dark eyes moved over his face, as though searching out some sort of truth from them. Edmund allowed his smile to widen ever so slightly. She would not be able to resist.
“What is your name, sir?” Her voice was gentle, and she took one step closer to the table.
Edmund swallowed. He had always promised himself he would never lie, never give a false name, but for some reason the instinct to lie did not surface with her.
“Sir Edmund Northmere.”
The room stirred a little as faces turned to look at him.
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Sir Edmund, is it? Seems like a strange place for you to be the day before Christmas, Sir Edmund, if that is your real name.”
“And what is your name?”
His question caused her smile to widen. “Molly. Molly Kimble.”
Molly Kimble. It suited her perfectly from her golden hair to the practical and frequently mended gown to the sensible shoes.
Molly Kimble.
“Well then, Miss Kimble,” Edmund said quietly. “Are you ready to play?”
For a moment, perhaps one that he did not see clearly, a flicker of hesitation moved across Miss Kimble’s face.
“You…you will teach me?”
Edmund’s smile widened. Even better, a complete novice. He could take a few shillings from her and be home within the hour.
“I will do my best to teach you the rules of the game,” he said magnanimously. “Come.”
Pulling out a chair, he indicated that she should be seated.
Why was his heart beating so rapidly? Why did it suddenly matter that this woman, a woman he had literally picked out of the air and knew nothing of, sat beside him? Why did he need her closer?
Miss Kimble lowered herself slowly into the chair, and smiled nervously. “I only have one shilling to bet.”
Edmund smiled kindly. “Well then, let me let you half a crown – no, I insist Miss Kimble! Anything for a lady who has done me such a service.”
Her dark eyes widened as he pushed the pile of silver totalling half a crown towards her. “And those are the cards?”
Edmund’s hands picked them up and started shuffling them rapidly. “These are the cards.”
It took but five minutes to explain the simplest form of poker to her, though Edmund had to focus to ensure he taught them correctly. Those dark eyes followed his fingers and darted towards him so often that he found he dropped a few, and was forced to pick them from the table.
“I am sure I understand now,” she said with a slow smile. “Are…are we ready for the first hand?”
There was something so innocent about her, so gentle and soft. Edmund wanted to wrap her own in his greatcoat and carry him to his bed, but he could not think like that. He needed to win back that half a crown, and more.
The cards were dealt and he looks at his carefully. A bad hand, damnit. He could potentially get a two pair if another seven appeared from the deck, but he may have to cut his losses on this one.
“And then we bet?”
Edmund smiled. “Now we bet.”
She was eager to throw money down, and as the five cards appeared on the table, Edmund’s heart soared. Two pairs, and one pair was Jacks. Even better, she had bet the entire half a crown he had loaned her, along with another six shillings of her own.
Miss Kimble’s smile was a little hesitant, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her excitement. “And now we reveal?”
Edmund’s smile, never far from his face since she had sat down with him. “Indeed – oh, and yes, I have two pairs. Now you must not be too disheartened, Miss Kimble, I can lend you another shilling or two.”
Edmund had already reached forward to pull his winnings towards him when Miss Kimble’s voice interrupted him – and the soft and innocent tone had disappeared.
“Do you mind, Sir Edmund? Those are my coins you are taking there – I’ve always known a flush to beat two pairs.”
Edmund looked up and saw a knowing grin on Miss Kimble’s face.
“Really,” she said pityingly. “You may be a knight, but you are very stupid.”
Molly swallowed and tried not to take too much pleasure from the look of genuine horror on her opponent’s face.
Sir Edmund, indeed. What a ridiculous name to give oneself – he could have made anything up, and he chose that?
“What I may have failed to mention, Mr Northmere,” she said sweetly, “is that I have been playing poker since I was seven, and winning almost every hand since I was nine. Did I forget to mention that?”
A strangled noise came out of Mr Northmere as she leaned forward and swept the coins into her purse. That was almost a pound in silver: over a month’s earnings with her brothers. What she could do with that sort of money…
“You have the advantage of me,” Mr Northmere managed to say.
Molly grinned “I know. Ready for the next hand?”
She should not do this, she really should not. This was a part of her old life, the life she had just spent the best part of an hour convincing her brothers she did not want.
But there was nothing like this: the thrill of the chase, the thumping of your heart as you played the gentleman, that little smile you gave him to push him over the edge and make him grasp for what he knew was too good to be true.
Look at him. All dark hair and handsome features – for there was no denying it, he was handsome. But there was just a hint of fear in his eyes, and he looked a little too disappointed that the best part of a pound had disappeared into her pocket.
“One more hand then,” she said generously, leaning forward slightly so that her gown dipped at the front.
Mr Northmere swallowed and Molly hated herself. Was that all she was, then? Feminine wiles to get what she wanted, a pretty little bird, honey for the pot?
Didn’t she want to be something more?
“Thinking about it though, I must get back,” she said hastily, rising from the table. “I need to – ”
“No, stay.”
He had spoken so gently, but that was not the reason Molly hesitated. Up until now, Mr Northmere had believed himself to be the conman, and now he had realised he was the one being conned.
But his voice; it was soft, gentle, with no pleading or wit. Just honesty, pure honesty.
It had been a long time since she had heard that.
“I am sure some other gentleman will wish to play with you, now your luck has turned,” Molly said lightly. She would not allow herself to become entangled with a gentleman.
The last time she had fallen to a soft voice and a handsome face, she had ended it watching that man hang from rope.
“I am sure they will,” Mr Northmere said wryly. “But I would like to play with you.”
Molly hesitated. Every fibre of her being wanted to stay with him, and that was not a reaction typically stirred by gentlemen in the King’s Head.
Mr Northmere was different. Whether or not his foolish title was anything to go by, he was evidently a man who had fallen on hard times. The waistcoat was fraying at the edges, but it was real silk, and at least half the buttons were still brass.
The others had been replaced, poorly, by wooden replicas carved poorly.
A gentleman then, at least. One who knew his way around a pack of cards, likely lost his fortune to gambling.
That was surely the only reason he could be here.
His grey eyes caught hers, and Molly’s breath caught in her throat. He was so handsome, and the way he was looking at her was so intoxicating. She could barely breath, and a hand unconsciously moved to her chest.
“One more hand,” she said finally. “And do not allow me to regret it, Mr Northmere.”
Molly lowered herself back onto the table and made a promise to herself in silence. It really would just be one more hand. She would not allow herself to get tied up in all that nonsense, for though Mr Northmere was certainly cut from a different cloth as her Charlie, it was the same pattern.
“So,” she said lightly as he dealt out another hand. “What is a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”
Mr Northmere snorted and picked up his cards. “Quite a presumption, Miss Kimble. How do you know I am nice?”
And you have made quite a presumption, Molly thought silently as she glanced down at her cards, that I am Miss Kimble. But then, how could he know? She had sold the ring for what little gold there had been in there months ago.
Two queens, and a queen on the table. Interesting.
“‘Tis not hard to fathom, Mr Northmere,” she said quietly, placing a shilling into the middle of the table. “The way you speak, the way you sit. You were raised a gentleman, weren’t you?”
Her eyes glanced at him and she allowed just a hint of a smile. He returned it and placed a shilling in the middle of the table.
“Born and bred,” he said easily, leaning back in his seat. “But that does not immediately follow that I have followed the teachings of my childhood.”
Molly snorted. “I would not have guessed so, finding you in this place.”
Mr Northmere did not immediately respond, instead placing the next card on the table. Molly did her best to keep her face impassive. A Jack, worse luck. She needed that fourth queen.
“Actually,” he said quietly, and Molly was forced to lean a little closer to catch his words, “I am not nice at all, Miss Kimble. Quite the reverse, I am afraid.”
Molly stared at him, genuinely intrigued now. “I do not believe it. Look at you, I bet you have family absolutely rolling in gold. You do not need to be here, winning small pieces of coin from me.”
And neither do you, she told herself silently, though her heart rate was quickening. Why are you sitting here with this gentleman, when you should be over there, forcing your brothers onto the straight and narrow?
Because, a small part of her heart whispered, because this man makes you feel exciting. Makes you feel wanted. You can see the way he looks at you. He desires you, and it has been too long since a man looked at you with anything less than indifference.
Besides, he is a gentleman. It was pleasant to sit her and exchange quips. It almost made her feel like a lady.
Mr Northmere chuckled, but Molly knew enough of pain to see that it masked sorrow. “My family has disowned me, Miss Kimble. I am a knight, to be sure, but I should have been something far greater.”