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 was very good at whist. Her father would have had no reason to cheat.
That knowledge was like a burden lifted from her shoulders. She now had no doubts that the charge of cheating against her father had been unfounded.
It also made Westleigh’s actions that night all the more reprehensible.
Perhaps the revenge she could enact against him was to play cards with him as often as she could. To take as much of his money as she could. It would probably not put a dent in an earl’s fortune, but it would be some restitution—the sort of restitution her father might admire.
While Sir Reginald shuffled the cards for the next hand, Celia glanced around the room, as she often did, looking for Rhys. Instead, her gaze caught upon Lord Neddington.
It did not please her that this young man was so frequent a visitor to this place. She had no wish for Adele to be enamoured of a gambler.
Celia watched Neddington walk through the room aimlessly. He turned towards her table and she quickly averted her eyes, but Neddington was not concerned with her. He was scowling at Lord Westleigh.
At least that was in the young man’s favour.
Between hands Celia kept tabs on Neddington who walked around, but never seemed to gamble. How odd. It did make her a bit less concerned about his character, though.
After several games Westleigh’s partner threw up his hands. ‘No more!’ He turned to Celia. ‘You have emptied my pockets, madam.’
He was even worse a player than Westleigh.
She smiled good-naturedly. ‘Perhaps you would like a rematch another night, sir.’
He laughed. ‘A night when luck is with me.’ He winked. ‘At least I won when you played hazard. We must coax you back to the hazard table, must we not, Westleigh?’ He turned to the earl.
‘It would be my pleasure to play whatever game the lady wishes.’ Westleigh eyed her in the same manner her husband had done before they were married.
It made her cheeks burn.
Sir Reginald, so harmless and friendly, said, ‘Well, madam, you may count on me to partner you any time.’
‘You are an excellent partner, Sir Reginald.’ She dropped her counters into her reticule and stole a glance at her watch. It was nearly time for her coach to arrive.
She stood.
Westleigh took her elbow. ‘Shall we play more hazard, my dear?’
‘Thank you, no.’ She drew her arm away. ‘I bid you gentlemen goodnight.’
She looked for Rhys, but he was not in the game room, so she made her way to the cashier and repaid the hundred pounds she’d not touched in her play. At the end, she carried away over seventy pounds. The huge sum filled her with guilt. Winning at hazard would cost Rhys directly. It was a poor way to repay his generosity.
Celia wanted to see Rhys before she left. After cashing out, she glanced in the supper room, but he was not there. She asked the hall servant where Rhys was.
‘Drawing room,’ the man told her.
Celia climbed the stairs. As she neared the doorway to the drawing room, she heard Rhys’s voice and held back.
‘Your concern is unfounded, Xavier,’ Rhys said. ‘And insulting, as well.’
‘Insulting?’ His friend’s voice rose.
‘I am well able to make my own decisions about business and about women.’ Rhys spoke with heat. ‘I do not caution you against dallying with any of the several women who vie for your attention, you know.’
‘There would be no need.’ Xavier’s tone was just as angry. ‘I know how to handle women.’
‘And I do not?’ Rhys countered.
‘Come now.’ Xavier turned placating. ‘This infatuation with the masked woman is something else. You do not know who she is. Or what she wants.’
‘She wants what I want. Money,’ Rhys answered. ‘And she has given me her name. That is enough for me.’
‘Rhys—’ Xavier began.
‘Enough,’ Rhysdale broke in. ‘I need you as a friend, not a nursemaid. Do not press me further on this matter.’
Celia stepped away from the doorway as Xavier strode out of the room. Seeing her, he hesitated only briefly, long enough to look half-apologetic, half-provoked. He continued on his way down the stairs.
She knocked on the door.
‘May I speak to you, Rhys?’
Rhys turned in surprise at the sound of her voice. ‘Celia! Come in. Close the door.’
She looked wounded, as well she might. He’d been about to pour himself some brandy. Now he needed it even more.
He lifted the decanter. ‘Would you like a glass?’
She nodded.
‘How much of that did you hear?’ he asked as he poured.
She took the glass from his hand. ‘Enough to know that Mr Campion does not like that you hired me.’
He’d been afraid of that.
‘It is none of his affair,’ he assured her. ‘He thinks he is acting out of friendship.’
‘If my employment causes you a problem—’ she began.
‘You cause me no problem.’ He reached over and gently removed her mask. ‘That is better.’ He brushed a lock of hair off her face and gestured to the sofa. ‘Please sit, Celia.’
By God, she looked lovely this night. The white of her gown was embroidered with a cascade of flowers created from shimmering silver thread.
