Part 25 (2/2)
The final game rested on one thousand pounds. All that was left of the baronet's seven thousand pound income for this year.
Kesseley felt everyone's eyes on him. The baronet swallowed and turned his final card. A nine. He had nineteen. He looked to Kesseley, desperation in his eyes.
What the h.e.l.l did he think Kesseley could do now? It was too late. He turned his card. A jack to match his ten. Twenty. The baronet sunk his face into his hands.
No cheers went up for Kesseley's victory. Just uneasy silence. Why had he done that? What was he trying to prove?
Kesseley stomped outside, furious, leaving the baronet to the moneylenders. The night had grown colder and the wind whirled trash and other debris around the square.
”You are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Bucky said.
”I know. Why don't you go to your cousin's without me?”
”I told my cousin you were going. She got all my other cousins, her friends. Everyone expects me to bring you.”
”Why, so they can stare at me? Bucky, do you really like me, or do you just like being in my wake?”
”Now see here-”
Kesseley waved him silent. ”Don't listen to me, I'm drunk and I d.a.m.n well want to stay that way. Let's stop and get a dram or two. Then I'll go and dance with all your female cousins and their friends and every d.a.m.n eligible female there.”
They took a hack to a white stucco row house on Green Street. Kesseley stumbled over the entry, banging into Bucky as the butler ushered them in.
”h.e.l.l's tinker. Straighten up,” Bucky hissed under his teeth.
”You wanted me to come,” Kesseley reminded him. ”Even if I am a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.”
”Go to h.e.l.l.”
”I have,” he replied.
It was a modern home: all ornate stucco ceilings, iron bal.u.s.ters, Grecian cornices and pastel walls. The harshest critic couldn't find any want in the decor nor any distinguis.h.i.+ng features that might make it different from the adjoining houses on the block. Some Greek gentleman, maybe Plato, perched on a bust over the door, looked down with his stone, blind gaze as Kesseley entered the parlor.
Pocket doors were open, forming a large room of a red parlor and fern-green dining room. The carpets had been removed and the walnut furnis.h.i.+ngs pushed to all the walls. The guests hovered awkwardly about with vacant expressions, having perhaps run out of conversation two hours ago. A scrawny orchestra, consisting of a violin, cello and flute screeched in the corner, while several young ladies and gentlemen danced a sad minuet in the center of the room.
Every eye flew to him, a pulse of excitement jolting the bored guests. He's here! He's here! their faces seemed to say. their faces seemed to say.
A beautiful redhead glided gracefully across the room, relief on her features. Bucky's cousin. They shared the same pale skin, light green eyes and riotous curls.
”I thought you would never come, dear cousin,” she greeted Bucky, but her bright eyes were on Kesseley. Her cousin made the introductions, and Kesseley bowed so low he had to right himself on a nearby table.
”A pleasure,” he said, having already forgotten her name. It began with a C.
She gestured to an expressionless bald man sitting inert by the fire, his chin drooped on his chest, his pudgy legs sprawled out before him. ”My husband.” Her tone contained an apology to Kesseley as well as her own thinly veiled contempt for her husband.
”He's rich,” Bucky said quietly to Kesseley as they followed behind his cousin to a cl.u.s.ter of other young female cousins, all with frizzy curls and dipped in freckles.
”d.a.m.n, Bucky, which one's the heiress?” Kesseley whispered. ”They're all ugly.”
”That's it-you're leaving!” Bucky hissed, and he took Kesseley's shoulder to spin him around. He didn't budge.
”But I'm ready to dance!” Kesseley protested.
The hostess smiled. ”Are you? Lord Kesseley, may I present you to an eligible dancing partner?”
Kesseley wiped off Bucky's arm.
”Yes, I would like to dance with a young lady as beautiful as yourself.” Bucky's cousin blushed as bright as her hair. ”In fact, why don't you dance with me?”
His hostess started. ”I-I can't. My husband wouldn't like it.”
He flashed that intimate smile the ladies liked. ”My understanding is that marriage shouldn't stop you from enjoying yourself.” The hostess let out a small gasp, then closed her mouth. She peered at her inert husband, her eyes tensing with pent-up longing and fear. She was miserable, Kesseley thought, then quickly closed the box he had opened. ”Yes, yes, introduce me to a sweet eligible young thing. I desire a country dance.”
He danced with every one of Bucky's redheaded cousins, spinning them all about the floor, complimenting gowns, hair, jewelry, dancing ability. They didn't seem to notice when he stumbled and only laughed when he upset the fire screen.
Bucky glared at him.
His heiress wasn't so ugly. Yes, she was short and had a few moles, nothing unattractive, but then Kesseley did have a weakness for pet.i.te things. She was trying to smile and converse with Bucky, but her eyes slid in Kesseley's direction.
He didn't get near her.
Bucky's cousin was another matter. Her gaze never left Kesseley's form, hastening to him at the end of every dance, being sure he had a drink when he wanted one, introducing him to dance partners. He repeated his futile desire to dance with her because it made her smile a fl.u.s.tered, natural smile that should have always been on her face, but waned as her eyes slid to her husband.
As the clock hand pushed two o'clock, most of the candles on the chandeliers had burned out, and many guests had left. The orchestra took a break. Kesseley searched for a footman. ”May I have a brandy?” he asked.
The footman bowed and disappeared, but it was Bucky's cousin who returned with a br.i.m.m.i.n.g, amber gla.s.s she held on level with her generous b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Their fingers touched as she handed it to him. She watched him drink.
”Thank you for coming,” she said, biting the lower edge of her lip.
”Don't look at me like that. Where's your beautiful smile?”
She tried to smile just as her husband fell from his chair onto the floor and awakened with a glazed, stupid look. ”Where's the music? I paid for music, d.a.m.n it.”
”I hate him,” she whispered, keeping her beautiful face as still as stone.
”I'll take care of this,” he said, heading off like a drunken knight.
”Come, man, let's have some manly conversation in your chamber,” Kesseley said, taking the man by his arm and pulling him up. ”I think we've both had a little too much.”
It took three of them-Kesseley, the butler and a footman pus.h.i.+ng from behind-to get the rotund man up the stairs. Kesseley could hear the hostess below, rea.s.suring guests who suddenly hastened to leave that they could stay. Her voice was shrill, barely containing her panic.
They dumped the man into his bed. His chamber smelled like smoke and chamber pot. He fell back asleep, snoring through his fat lips. Kesseley let the servants take care of the man and stumbled back into the stairs, wanting to get the h.e.l.l away.
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