Part Four

"Damme, Kennedy!" exclaimed the Honourable Wilkington Danforth, tossing down his latest losing hand. "You never lose, man! What's your secret?"

Archie's eldest brother, Malcolm, smirked triumphantly as he scooped the pile of coins to him. "A bitch," he drawled. "Find yourself a bitch, my man."

"Any particular breed?" Danforth asked with a grim smile.

"No, just be sure she'll raise her tail for any cur that sniffs there," Malcolm grunted happily, well pleased with himself.

Archie exchanged amused looks with Alistair, who was shuffling the deck, preparing to deal out the next hand. Malcolm was in unusually fine form this evening, but although he'd taken quite a bit of port as the night wore on, Archie was finding his company quite tolerable, and had concluded that it was for the better that Lord Aylesford's second son, Duncan, had not been permitted leave from his regiment to join in Alice's little family shooting party. Malcolm and Duncan together always seemed to bring out the worst in each other, but tonight, Archie thought that his big brother was not so bad, in spite of his crude joking and the fact that he seemed to have returned from his latest sojourn in London with the idea that he was now some sort of card sharp. He'd encouraged Archie in conversation and teased him good-naturedly, even going so far as to reach out and tousle Archie's hair with a big, signet-ringed paw when Archie had won two tricks against him. Perhaps it was the gentlemanly presence of Langford, as well, that helped to moderate Malcolm's behavior. Archie had found that the liked his brother-in-law very well. He was, he felt, enjoying a comfortable, companionable evening and savoring the unaccustomed feeling of being a man among men.

"Ah, then it is true what they say, "Lucky at cards---?" Danforth teased his friend. "Still smarting over the fair Miranda, are we?"

Malcolm snorted and tossed his head, shaking back a loose shock of thick, red-gold hair. He was a handsome young man, even if his blue eyes were a little glassy from the drink, and his ruddy cheeks a trifle too flushed. "Oh, do mind your tongue, Wilkie, I've just consumed a large meal, after all. A most distasteful affair—but I am the better for being rid of the Widow Greenleaf, as you can see," he said, sifting through his little pile of coppers and silver sprinkled with a few yellow guineas. "Alistair, are you going to deal that deck or not, boy?"

As Alistair began to deal, Malcolm leaned back in his chair and produced, from inside his unbuttoned waistcoat, a silver snuff box, flipped the lid and laid a generous pinch onto the back of his hand, snorted and gulped loudly, and proceeded to sneeze lustily into an embroidered linen handkerchief. He next offered the box to Langford, who declined with a wave of his hand and a slight shake of the head, and then to Danforth, who accepted.

"Brother?" he held the open box out to Archie, who also shook his head. Archie gathered that his brother was inordinately proud of the snuffbox, which he purported to have won off an East India Company captain in a game of high-stakes lansquenet. It was a beautiful piece, exquisitely crafted of exotic, Eastern design, but it's most remarkable feature, and that which Malcolm seemed most eager to display at every opportunity, was the enamel painting that decorated the inner lid----a fantastic rendering of a buxom, dark-haired naked woman, crouched on all fours, her back arching, head thrown back in apparent ecstasy as she was mounted from behind by an enormous, snarling tiger. The great beast was equipped with a suitably prodigious member, so prodigious, in fact, that only a portion of it could seem to be accommodated by the woman's generous backside.

"Right then, are you starting, Julian?" Malcolm asked as he replaced the snuffbox in his pocket and took up his fresh hand, fanning the cards expertly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he could scarce contain his confident smile.

"Oh, no. Actually, I believe I'm for my bed, gentlemen," Langford replied, laying his cards face down and getting to his feet.

Just then there was a soft knock on the doorframe, and Archie looked up to see none other than Lady Trim standing in the doorway of the small parlor. A curious thrill ran through him as she took a few steps into the room and smiled. She had changed from the gown she had worn at dinner, and was now dressed in a simple, loose, undress gown of copper-coloured velvet, trimmed with a bit of lace, and a shawl of soft, deep green wool was draped over her arms. Her hair had been brushed out and gathered into a long, thick plait and covered with a lace cap. It was the sort of dress his mother might have worn for quiet mornings at home, or when she would come and visit the nursery at night, but in spite of these associations, there was something about the informality of the outfit---along with his suspicion that her ladyship was likely not wearing any stays---that seemed to provoke a rather warm reaction at the sight of her.

"Please forgive the intrusion, gentlemen, but all of my company would seem to have abandoned me!" she said, smiling charmingly. "Alice was called to the nursery hours ago to comfort little Lucius, and everyone else has claimed that the exercise and country air have quite exhausted them, and have all taken to their beds! I must say, it has had quite the opposite effect on me, and I know I shall not close my eyes for hours! I've tried my book, but it's simply no good---would it be terribly untoward of me to ask of you to take me in?"

There was a moment of awkward quiet, no more than the space of a heartbeat, but noticeable nonetheless, which Langford broke graciously, pulling out his chair.

"Of course, of course! My dear Georgiana, you may take my seat, for I was just about to retire. You say that Alice is in the nursery?"

"Oh, yes, but it is nothing, I am assured. The nurse said the baby was fretful and unable to sleep in the strange bed, and Alice has gone to soothe him."

"Yes, and likely dropped off beside him," Julian said with a fond smile. As Georgiana settled herself in his chair, he bent and placed a light kiss on her cheek and said in a teasing tone, "It's only bezique, my dear, a penny the point, a guinea the match. Don't go raising the stakes and hawking my brother-in-law out of his inheritance, will you?"

She smiled prettily and raised an elegant white hand to brush his cheek. "Goodnight, Julian. What sort of hand have you left me here? Oh! But this will never do!" she covered her mouth and laughed, looking over her shoulder as Langford left the room, shaking a finger at her in mock admonition.

"Old Poop! How he maligns me! I am sure you gentlemen will take no notice of anything he says, and you will soon discover, I fear, that I am hopeless at bezique!"

Archie glanced quickly at his brother, who let out a snort and appeared to be about to say something, but had thought better of it. He turned his attention to Lady Trim, who was frowning over her cards, plucking first one, and then another out of order, and moving it to another spot for no apparent reason other than extreme dissatisfaction with the hand.

 "Alistair, my darling, " she said distractedly, "You must look in on your mama first thing. It seems she was quite overtaken with the headache when she returned to the parlor and found herself alone with me! Very sudden indeed, for she had only just been saying how very fresh she felt, and how she was looking forward to a round of loo!"

Alistair chuckled. "You are bad, George."

"I, bad? I am sure I don't know what you mean. I was as innocent as could be, sitting in front of the fire with my needlework! Oh, heavens! I look and look but it's still nothing but clubs! Oh, I am in despair!"

Archie was trying not to stare. For days he had been obsessing over this woman, thinking about her, what he knew about her, and what he thought he knew. He had barely exchanged more than a few polite words with her, and yet he had been fantasizing about finding her alone and being able to talk to her, to tell her everything. Even after what Alistair had told him about her past wild behavior, in his fancy she was such a sad, tragic creature---nothing like this bold, mercurial young woman now holding forth at the card table.

"Surely it is only fair to deal a new round for a new player," interjected Danforth indulgently. "And to please my lady, of course."

Danforth smiled and inclined his head at Georgiana and she gave him a lovely smile in return. Her deep green eyes reflected the light of the candelabra in the center of the table, and Archie thought her very beautiful.

"I-I don't mind in the least," he said, turning down a hand that had, unbelievably, actually held three of four aces. He felt his sacrifice had been rewarded tenfold when the lady turned her brilliant smile on him.

"Oh, don't be silly," Malcolm groused. "The hand's just been dealt. There, I lead a diamond. Play on, Wilkie, if you please."

"Oh, what's the harm, Mal? You'll like as get an even better hand, the way your luck's running. And a penny a point, for heaven's sake---"

"Oh, my, having a good run of luck, Mr. Kennedy?" inquired Lady Trim with interest. "Isn't it the most marvelous feeling in the world?"

"You would know, wouldn't you, dear?" Malcolm answered sourly. His mood, apparently, had been quite spoiled of a sudden. Archie imagined he knew what his brother had meant by the remark, and even knowing Malcolm, he was a little surprised, thinking it quite uncalled for.

But Lady Trim was unperturbed. "Indeed I do, sir, and I do not mind telling you gentlemen that I am famous for my luck." She gave a small laugh. "You must forgive my complaining, it is simply that I have so little patience for games of skill. But perhaps you would like to test your luck against mine, Mr. Kennedy? A game of pure chance, perhaps?"

"Lansquenet?" offered Malcolm, testily. "There is no skill involved in turning cards---unless you cheat. Would that satisfy you, madam?" Archie decided his brother had finally had one glass of port too many, and he found himself greatly disliking Malcolm's familiar tone. But Lady Trim's response had him smiling inwardly with satisfaction.

"Oh, I assure you I am not clever enough to cheat, and I certainly have no fear in that quarter from you, have I sir?"

Malcolm's blue eyes narrowed slightly, and he smiled. "Very well. Shall we name the stakes?"

Georgiana sat back in her chair and adjusted the folds of her shawl over her shoulders. Under the demure lace cap, her eyes were sparkling with mischief, and a thing Archie did not quite recognize, but that looked to him more than anything like a gleam of sheer avarice---or perhaps the intense, hungry gaze of a stable cat with it's eye on an oblivious mouse.

"I should think a friendly wager, don't you?" she said lightly. "Not money, of course, but perhaps a personal treasure of some sort: something not so very dear, but that we would still despair to lose a little? I have much admired that lovely silver snuffbox that you are forever waving about, for instance. Would you care to stake it?"

Archie saw his brother's eyes widen, and Malcolm nodded slowly. Did Lady Trim know, Archie wondered, what was inside the snuffbox? He felt his cheeks burning at the thought of her knowing, of her looking, of her----

"Coo, I'll cut you for that Irish gelding of yours, George!" Alistair said, but George ignored him, addressing Malcolm.

"And what is to be my forfeit, sir? Come now, what will you have of me?"

Archie fervently wished that she had not phrased the question in such a way, for he knew, instinctively that Malcolm, in his sotted condition, was bound to make an off-colour remark to such an opening, and true to form, he did not fail.

"Hm…a personal treasure, something not so dear, that you would despair but little to lose? Faith!" Malcolm exclaimed, laughing out loud, "I could name the thing, but t'would hardly be a fair forfeit, madam, for I daresay you'd be a winner in either case!"

Archie looked quickly to Alistair, who made a face and rolled his eyes, and then to the Countess, who sat with her hands in her lap, a surprisingly serene expression on her face.

"Oh, come now, Mal!" Danforth protested, rising to his feet. "That's not on!"

"Dear, Mr. Danforth, do sit down, for heaven's sake," the Countess said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We all of us here are under no misapprehension that I am any sort of school room miss to be offended by a crudely expressed remark, I am sure. Mr. Kennedy may beg my pardon if he wishes, or if he does not wish, he may simply get on with it and name his forfeit, for in truth I care not what he would demand---it makes not a wit of difference, for I always win, you see. Name your price, Malcolm, and I will beat you."

Malcolm laughed. "Oh, my dear girl," he said in a slightly chilly voice, his blue eyes simmering, "I think you had better hope so."

Archie had been watching Georgiana's face, and when Malcolm said the words, he saw her expression change suddenly from cool and smiling to a look of confused horror. In an instant he realized that he had heard those very words before. It was just what he had said to her those three years before, on that afternoon in the library.

"I hope to God he kills you!" she had cried as he held her by the arms, hurting her. "Oh, my dear girl," her husband had said then, "I think you had better hope so."

Later, Archie could scarcely recall exactly how any of it had happened, but the next thing he knew he was somehow across the table, Alistair and Danforth had him by the arms, holding him back, candles and cards and coin lay scattered everywhere, and Malcolm was sprawled on the floor next to his overturned chair, bleeding sloppily from a split lower lip.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Malcolm roared, spitting blood. "You little SHIT! What the bloody hell is wrong with you! I'll kill you, you little arse fuck piece of---"

"Apologize to her!" Archie yelled hoarsely, struggling to break free. His heart was leaping, thundering in his chest, his mind was nothing but a blank of red rage.

"You BASTARD!" he screamed, and suddenly he was no longer seeing his brother. "You black, bloody bastard! How dare you!" he hollered, the tears coursing down his face. "How DARE you!"

Go to Part Five