“Fiona—”
She pushed the wet present toward Jack with her foot. “You may keep this, too. I would rather have nothing from a man who cares for my concerns than all the gifts in the world from a man who thinks his amusements more important than my feelings.”
Anger flew through Jack. He stood. “I am retiring to the library. When you are ready to talk calmly, I will be there.”
“I am through talking,” Fiona said, fighting the bitter disappointment of her stupid mistake. “You are not willing to give any part of yourself to this relationship, and I am through hoping for more.”
For an instant, Jack wanted to tell her that he was willing to give something of himself. The problem was, he wasn’t sure how. He’d been alone since he was sixteen, and he didn’t know how to open his life to someone else. Not without losing himself in the process.
Maybe he simply couldn’t be in a close relationship. Maybe that’s the way things were supposed to be. “I don’t know what to say, Fiona. I have never misled you.”
“No, you haven’t,” she said, her voice breaking, and for a horrid moment, he thought she would cry. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and said firmly, “I have learned my lesson. I will not ask again. You can have your life back; I want no part of it. As soon as I am with child, I will leave.”
Jack’s hands clenched into fists, his chest tight with anger and something else. “Very well, madam. If that is what you wish.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “It is.”
There was nothing left to say. Gritting his teeth, Jack turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Seventeen
Some say magic is what ties nature and man together and binds them until ye can’t tell one from t’other. I think ’tis love that binds nature to man, and nothing else.
OLD WOMAN NORA OF LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD NIGHT
Jack looked at the paper. Devonsgate had listed all twelve footmen: John, Mark, Luke, Thomas…Bloody hell, his butler had hired the entire New Testament.
He threw the list onto his desk and rose, stretching as the clock chimed nine. He had been working steadily in his library since the argument with Fiona. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well do it on a full stomach.
He glanced at the piles of papers on his desk. Mr. Troutman had been so ecstatic over Jack’s request to review the investments that he’d sent a portfolio and begged Jack to avail himself of the contents until their scheduled meeting.
After Jack’s argument with Fiona, he’d been glad to have something to throw himself into. It was difficult to stay focused on the facts and figures though, and he frequently found himself pacing the room.
Fiona was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met. Once she decided something, she refused to move from it. She wanted Jack to be something he was not: a family man. A man who devoted himself to his wife and children. He was not that sort of man and never would be, and Fiona would just have to accept that.
So why, if he was in the right, did he feel wrong? He shoved his chair from the desk and crossed to the fireplace to stir the flames.
He wasn’t wrong, damn it. Fiona had forced this marriage on him—on the man he was. Therefore, she had to accept that he had no obligations. This unease merely came from the distastefulness of having an argument—no one liked having his peace cut up. He would wager Fiona felt as bad as he did.
The thought made him look at the door. Perhaps he should speak with her. He remembered the look on her face and sighed, rubbing his tight neck. Maybe he’d give her more time to calm down.
But what if she was upstairs crying? What if she thought him the coldest, most unfeeling man on earth? What if—
Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? Disgusted, he returned the poker to the stand with a clang. A gentle chime from the ormolu clock informed him that it was now a quarter past nine, and he wondered if Fiona had eaten already. He hoped she was not feeling so horrible about their fight that she couldn’t eat.
Perhaps by now, she was calm enough to have a rational conversation. She might even apologize for her surprising outburst.
That was a pretty picture, Fiona begging his forgiveness. He paused for a minute to savor the image. Perhaps if he magnanimously invited her to share supper with him, some of their awkwardness would disappear. Jack could then present her with the chemises he’d purchased for her. She would be very sorry then, once she saw the exquisite sheer linen and delicate lace. She would beg his forgiveness, and he would accept. They might even make love.
The thought made him smile. He’d never shared such passion with a woman before. Still, he could not allow that to interfere in his life. After he and Fiona had settled their argument, he would call for the carriage and go about his evening entertainment. After all, a man had to make a stand.
Feeling better already, Jack rang the bellpull. Almost immediately, Devonsgate stood in the doorway. “My lord, I was just coming to speak with you about—”
“Good! I am famished. I had no idea it was so late. Inform Cook that Lady Kincaid and I will have dinner in the dining room. After that, I shall want the carriage.” Jack entered the foyer.
“My lord,” Devonsgate said, hurrying after Jack. “The carriage is gone.”
Jack halted, then turned slowly to the butler. “I beg your pardon?”
The butler flushed. “Her ladyship has the carriage.”
Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or…Hell, he didn’t know what to do. “When did she leave?”
“Not thirty minutes ago, my lord.”
Bloody hell! “Why was I not informed?”
Devonsgate stiffened. “My lord, you’ve never asked us to tell you when her ladyship comes and goes.”
He hadn’t, blast it. But he would have if he’d known his wife was planning—What was she planning? Jack had a sudden sinking feeling he knew where she’d be. “Did she mention her destination?”
Devonsgate exchanged a pained glance with one of the footmen. Jack turned to the man. Younger, with wispy blond hair and protruding eyes, he stood at rigid attention, only the shine on his forehead portraying his unease.
What was the man’s name? Ah, yes. “Thomas?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Did you speak with her ladyship this evening?”
“Yes, my lord. She came downstairs dressed to go out.”
“Dressed?”
“Yes, my lord. She looked quite elegant.”
Bloody hell, she was probably wearing some of the clothes he had bought for her, looking charming in a gown he had chosen. “Did she tell you where she was going?”
“Yes, my lord.” Thomas sent a wild glance at Devonsgate. Jack could not see the butler, but whatever gesture he’d made, Thomas swallowed noisily, stiffened his straight back even more, and said in an expressionless voice, “Her ladyship said she was going to a real, authentic gaming hell.”
“Which one?” Jack asked grimly.
“Lady Chester’s, sir.”
Lady Chester was a fast widow who lived on the fringes of society. She ran one of the most dashing gaming hells in town. Every rakehell, scoundrel, and wastrel would be there. Jack knew, because he was acquainted with them all. “Did she say anything else?”
Thomas swallowed again. “Yes, my lord. She—she said she was going to gamble away your entire fortune.”
“She did, did she?”
“Yes, my lord,” Thomas said miserably.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, my lord. She also stated that she was going to drink until she was tipsy, and—” Thomas seemed unable to go on.
“Finish it,” Jack said in a harsh tone.
“And flirt with every man in sight.” Thomas said the words so quickly they blurred.
The absolute nerve of her! To go out on the town and gamble with his funds, drink until tipsy, and flirt with his friends—it was untenable.
&nbs
p; In a blaze of white anger, he said through gritted teeth, “Was there anything else, Thomas?”
“Yes, my lord. She was talking to herself quite a bit, muttering as if she was angry about something. She said she was finished taking good advice and her life turning out bad, so perhaps it was time to take some bad advice and hope for something better. At least that way, if it didn’t work, she wouldn’t be surprised.”
“What does that mean?”
Devonsgate cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold as to interject, sir. After her ride this morning, her ladyship mentioned that her brothers had given her some bad advice. She wished to know if mine had ever done the same.”
“She is taking advice from Gregor and Dougal? I cannot believe they’d suggest she visit a gaming hell. An unescorted lady would be prey to all sorts of unwelcome behaviors.”
“She didn’t go alone.”
Jack stiffened and turned back to Thomas.
“She—she sent word to a Mr. Campbell that she hoped to be out. He replied almost immediately that he would be glad to meet her there.”
“Hell and blast! Campbell is the worst of the lot!”
Thomas paled. “I—I—didn’t know, my lord!”
“What is she thinking?” Jack snapped. “Have the phaeton brought around.”
“But my lord,” Devonsgate said, “it has no cover. The weather has been very unpredictable of late.”
Unpredictable didn’t begin to describe it. “Bring it. I will be returning in the carriage, anyway.”
“Very good, my lord.”
It wasn’t good. It was infuriating. Muscles tense, Jack ran up the stairs to change, his mind and emotions whirling. Fiona, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?
But he already knew. She was mimicking him. All the way to hell.
Just as Jack was speeding away from Kincaid House, Fiona arrived at the gaming hell.
Campbell met her outside on the walk, impeccably dressed as ever. He was all smiles and compliments, flatteringly eager to escort her.
Looking up at the brightly lit and noisy house that rose before her, she couldn’t help but be glad for the company.
“You look ravishing,” Campbell said as they climbed the stairs of the establishment.
She stopped on the top stair. “Campbell, before we begin, I think you should know I am only here because Jack and I had a huge row.”
“I know.”
She lifted her brows, and he smiled.
“A married woman does not invite her husband’s enemy to escort her unless she is making a point.”
Fiona flushed. “I do not mean to use you poorly.”
“I didn’t think you would.” He captured her hand and pressed a light kiss to her fingers, his blue eyes twinkling at her. “Who am I to refuse to escort an intriguing woman to her first taste of sin?”
She removed her hand from his. “I am glad to know I am not inconveniencing you.”
“Not at all. I am always willing to discomfort Jack Kincaid.”
“Why? What has he done to you?”
“He has more,” Campbell said with a shrug of his shoulders.
“More what?”
Campbell’s gaze met hers. “Everything.”
Suddenly uncomfortable, Fiona turned back to the doorway. “Shall we go in?”
“Of course.” He bowed and gestured for her to precede him.
Lady Chester’s looked exactly the way a gaming hell should. The foyer left Fiona with a mad impression of a swirl of rich red tapestries and deep wine-colored draperies, gilt-edged mirrors, and pictures depicting Roman debaucheries.
Fiona looked around the crowd, seeing one or two faces she knew but many more she did not. This was the demimonde, those who hung about the fringes of society, mixing only with those who deigned to come down from their lofty perches to visit for such amusements as these.
One of them, Lady Pendleton, who relied on her distant relationship to the duke of Rotheringham to gain her entrance into most houses in London, swooped upon them.
An excessively silly woman given to gossip, Lady Pendleton rushed forward, giggling loudly. “La, there you are, Lady Kincaid! I thought that was you, though I couldn’t be certain in this light.”
It certainly was dim. Fiona glanced up at the candle sconces and was surprised to see the light blocked by small panels of waxed paper.
“And Alan Campbell!” Lady Pendleton exclaimed, looking between him to Fiona and back with an arch gaze. “I am so surprised to see the two of you here together! That just goes to show that you never know about people, do you?”
Fiona’s cheeks burned. Campbell must have sensed her distress, for he quickly bid Lady Pendleton goodbye and bustled Fiona into the front parlor.
“Odious woman!” Fiona said.
“Very much so,” Campbell said, smiling down at her. “But please, do not allow her to destroy our pleasure. You wished to see a gaming hell, and this is the best to be had.”
Fiona managed to smile back, though she was vastly uncomfortable. The room was filled with cigar smoke and raucous laughter. Tables were crammed into the space with barely any room to walk between them. Everywhere Fiona looked, she witnessed immodest behavior.
The women were all dressed in the height of fashion, though they’d subtly altered their gowns. Fiona tried not to stare, but with so many flashing bosoms in the room, it was difficult not to. “Heavens,” she said weakly when a lady with a particularly low décolletage walked by. “I don’t know where to look.”
Campbell chuckled and pulled her arm through his. “You don’t need to look anywhere except at me.”
Fiona wished she’d asked Gregor or Dougal to bring her instead of Campbell, but she’d known her brothers would never have allowed her to come, no matter how much she begged. Looking around at the drunken crowd, she thought they might have been right.
Either way, she was here now, and she might as well enjoy herself. At least until Jack arrived. If he came. She refused to think what she would do then.
“Lady Kincaid—Fiona,” Campbell said. “Let’s find a table and try our hand at bucking the tiger.”
“Bucking the tiger?”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling down at her. “That’s what you call it when you play faro. It’s a very simple game but quite swift-moving. I think you’ll like it.”
She nodded, relieved to have something to occupy her mind. Campbell led her to a nearby faro table and seated her in a plush, gilt-edged chair. “Mr. Chumbly, Lord Penult-Mead, Lady Oppenheim, allow me to introduce a potential partner. This is Lady Kincaid, and she is new here in London.”
Lord Penult-Mead brightened immediately. “New, are you? Excellent! Excellent! I am the banker tonight, my dear. If you need a line of credit, just say the word, and I’ll open one for you.”
She glanced up at Campbell, who stood behind her chair. He bent and whispered, “Shall I frank you, my dear? Would that suit you better?”
She flushed. It wouldn’t suit her at all, but she would rather owe Campbell than a stranger. “Would you mind?”
He bent low and pressed a heavy coin into her hand. “It’s a pleasure to frank such a beautiful player.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I will pay you back, of course.”
He laughed. “As you wish. Just start low in your bidding. When you feel as if you’ve lost too much, then quit.”
That didn’t sound too bad. “Thank you. I am afraid I don’t know the rules.”
Lady Oppenheim, who looked very much like a large pug dressed in puce silk and ostrich feathers, waved a bejeweled hand. “Oh, it’s quite easy, my dear. We are playing against Lord Penult-Mead, as he is the banker. The rest of us are called the punters. You purchase checks from the banker”—she indicated some round, coinlike chips that sat on the table before her—“and use those to place your wagers.”
Fiona listened carefully as Lady Oppenheim explained the details of the game. It did seem remarkably easy, though there was a lot to r
emember.
As if reading her mind, Campbell leaned in and whispered, “Do not worry, my dear. I will be here to assist you.”
His breath brushed her ear, and though it felt pleasant, it didn’t awaken the response she would have felt with Jack.
It was a dismal thought, and she forced herself to apply her attention to the game, even though part of her was wistfully watching the doorway.
Fiona played only two hands before Jack arrived, and she knew the moment he walked in. Not only did her body tingle as if touched, but the room grew loud with cries of welcome. Even Lady Oppenheim waved her handkerchief.
Jack came directly toward her, looking dangerously handsome in his black evening clothes, his dark auburn hair falling across his brow, his blue eyes steady on her.
She clutched her hand around her markers and tried to calm her racing heart.
Campbell didn’t seem to notice Jack’s presence until he was almost at the table.
“Fiona,” Jack said.
Campbell started, his hands tightening on the back of her chair, yet he said nothing.
“Fiona,” Jack said. “It is time we went home.”
Fiona grabbed a handful of markers and randomly placed them on the board.
Lady Oppenheim shook her head. “My dear, have a care. That is a risky wager, indeed.”
Fiona kept her head up high. “It’s what I wish to do.”
“Very well,” Lady Oppenheim said in a doubtful voice. “Just do not cry to me when you lose.”
Lord Penult-Mead dealt the card.
“Excellent!” Campbell said. “You won, my dear!”
Good. Then perhaps she could pay Campbell back before the evening was over. Her Scottish soul detested the thought of owing money.
Jack had crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you through yet?”
Actually, she was. She didn’t like the smoke or the hubbub or the quality of people. She’d much rather go home or have a quiet evening with friends, but she was not about to admit that to Jack.
“I am just beginning to enjoy myself.”
He reached for her arm. “We are leaving.”