Part 9 (2/2)

Nudging Abacus into a harder gallop, Phin attempted to extinguish the lingering thoughts of his impulsivity. If only she hadn't looked so beautiful. How could she belong to someone else when she fitted so perfectly within his embrace? d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l. Tonight he needed to be functioning with pristine clarity. He couldn't spare his heart another thought; this confusion a prime example why he avoided emotion.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at White's and purused the wagering book. Around him disgruntled gentlemen who fled to the club as an excuse to escape their marriage navigated shrewd business negotiations. It wasn't so different from the distasteful conversations found within a ballroom of marriage-minded mothers. Both examples smacked of the aristocratic fickleness in tolerating dishonorable behavior. The same judgmental eye forcing debutantes to practice curtsies until their legs wobbled turned a deaf ear to whispered liaisons. He knew of several hypocritical gentlemen who lost interest in their mate after a short period, their life a test in endurance more than a blissful union. Infidelity often followed.

Not that he would ever entertain a tryst once devoted. Honor bound by a vow made before the church, he knew love as a solitary consuming emotion. But he need not learn that lesson twice. He witnessed firsthand the damage his sister suffered from her short courts.h.i.+p with Winton. Why would anyone invite such sorrow if it could be avoided?

His experience with long-term relations.h.i.+ps was limited, but the profound result left him scarred and bitter. Marriage was meant to be a union, an equal partners.h.i.+p, not a battle for power.

Phineas became smitten with Natalie Morgan the minute she'd accepted his request to dance. Their relations.h.i.+p progressed as most did, rich with the societal frivolities comprising a pleasant courts.h.i.+p. At first he hardly noticed the changes in her demeanor, but as their relations.h.i.+p advanced, Natalie's demands became insufferable. She insisted he stop boxing and fis.h.i.+ng, and abandon the stables, claiming his attention would be better spent elsewhere. Her vociferous ultimatums invited misery and controversy from his mother, friends and, most wrongly, his sense of self. No one wanted to be controlled, poked, prodded, and emasculated, yet Natalie enjoyed using her affection as a weapon, vying for every bit of his attention no matter the circ.u.mstance.

He practiced an exacting code of ethics as a gentleman, protected his mother and sister and a.s.sumed the complicated responsibilities of the t.i.tle while his father traveled abroad. He refused to volunteer for a life of perspicacious scrutiny.

Natalie ended their relations.h.i.+p in a humiliating public display when he refused to bow to her wishes. The embarra.s.sment lived in him still.

Phin shook his head to wipe away the memories and with determination revived his well-worn mantra. No wife, happy life.

This time the words felt hollow, and the sudden image of Penelope, disheveled and kiss-swollen, p.r.i.c.ked his unease. How deliciously irresistible she looked as he leaned above her in the alcove, desperately gathering every sc.r.a.p of control needed to force himself to walk away. He shook his head with self-disgust and reached for the wager book.

”What are you about, Fenhurst?” Douglas Franley, Viscount Cobham, removed the ledger from his grasp before Phin could object. ”Making a wager this evening? Looking for fun? I thought you had your night's entertainment already arranged.”

”What are you talking about? Give me the book, Cob. I have business to attend.” Phineas flexed the fingers on his left hand, his right reaching to reclaim the volume but the viscount made no move to return it.

”I saw the pretty piece you took to the dance floor. The way the two of you moved I a.s.sumed you would be otherwise occupied this evening.”

”Stated with your usual level of finesse.” Phin dropped his hand and threw a sweeping glance across the room.

”I never fancied you'd turn up at the club tonight or I'd have remained to take the lady for a stroll.” Cob waggled his brows in exaggerated communication.

Phin's body stiffened as a short fuse of anger ignited. He spanned one palm across his jaw wiping away the hard set of tension, his temper unwilling to check, and glanced to Cobham. A devious smirk twisted the man's lips.

Something unfurled within Phin, something powerful, ugly and bitter. ”Measure your words.” He pinned Cob with a hard glare. ”And give me the wager book.”

”I only thought to inquire about the lady's-”

”Keep your hands off her.” His low snarl gave Cobham immediate pause. The man was no idiot drenched in cheerful ignorance. Phineas knew his type and the single fact fed his anger. With meticulous precision, his fist tightened around Cob's cravat, the man's face becoming mottled within an instant.

”What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you, Fenhurst? Since when can't you enjoy a harmless jest?”

Cob's choked attempt at humor did little to a.s.suage Phin's temper, but he loosened his hold, having made his point. ”Stay away from her.”

Cobham had the sense to remain silent and pushed the betting ledger in Phin's direction before backing away, while all the while a voice inside Phin's head reminded Penny was not his to guard. She was not his at all.

He blew out a cleansing breath and opened the volume. The book's contents would serve as a distraction. Nothing was sacred when wagering at White's. Countless pages listed witless bets placed upon animals, sport; even marital indiscretions. Despicable habit, to combat boredom by wagering on someone's misfortune. He noted Lord Tilbury won a tidy sum by guessing how many times Lord Standen hiccupped between six and seven o'clock last evening. He thumbed the pages in earnest, scanning the columns of names and dates, searching for any clue Winton had placed a recent wager. If so, he could confront the man on settling day and obtain the answers needed to put Julia's heart at rest. He missed his sister and wanted her to return. If he could deliver the answers she sought, she might be inclined to leave Brighton before the season's end.

And then he found it. Winton's name, scrawled in pencil beside a bet placed less than a week ago, wagering over one hundred pounds. And another listed beneath it. It would appear Winton fell in fairly deep if the notes in the margin read true. Several men at the club held his vowels.

What could Winton be thinking with such rash and indulgent wagering? The man would be on the rocks in no time if he continued in this vein. Could this recent activity be connected in some manner to the situation with Julia? Phin slid his finger across the column to note the date and time of the wager, but stalled when he noticed the bet's counter partic.i.p.ant.

Arlis Ridley.

Angered, he returned the leather-bound book to a waiting footman and meandered to the back of the club. Casting a glance into each pa.s.sing room, he flexed his fists to temper his mood. It would do no good to cause a problem tonight, but a conversation with Ridley remained in order, no matter how much he preferred not to address the man.

He found Ridley playing piquet in the backmost corner of the club and well on his way to low water. His surly disposition appeared as short as the stack of coins piled on the table before him. Hesitating at first, an interested observer, the fast set who occupied chairs at the table caught sight of him lingering near the doorway and summoned him forward. Intent on gaining any opportunity to understand Winton's disappearance, he took a fast seat at the table.

Phineas could never be labeled a gambler, but he knew enough of piquet to fare well.

Before long the other players folded, leaving Ridley and his nearly depleted pile of coins.

Undeterred by his lack of funds, Ridley shuffled the cards and dealt. Phin initiated conversation, reluctant to lose the opportunity to discover information.

”I understand you have a significant wager with Lord Winton.” He pushed a few coins to the center of the table as a footman brought him a brandy.

Clearing his throat, Ridley studied his cards before answering, his reply as c.o.c.ksure as his att.i.tude. ”I do. Now that I've won Trumpington's grey, I suppose I should pay for it. Winton is an easy mark. He anxiously accepted my proposition.”

Unwilling to vent his anger about the underhanded method Ridley employed to win the auction, Phin discarded. ”And here I thought you were flush in the funds, first with your behavior at Tatts and again this evening, but a few carefully placed questions reveal your parlous financial state. Still you wager freely and take advantage of someone in dun territory.”

Ridley dismissed the comment with an adverse grunt and inimical glare. Cards flicked back and forth and the mood grew tense. Then, after he'd taken a long sip of brandy and all but cleared his coins, Ridley loosened his tongue.

”I'll acc.u.mulate my wealth one way or the other, of that I have no doubt. Winton is in the deep more than I am. His grandfather is making his life miserable, squeezing him between his thumbs and forcing him to choose between his heart and his inheritance. He sat here not a fortnight ago bemoaning his situation and drinking too much. Most of us accepted wagers in his half-witted scheme to win a fortune before his grandfather could send him away on a wedding trip, but I think it's a lost cause. The old man will win out, Winton will buckle, and we'll all reap the benefits of his misfortune. I've already cleaned him out on more than one occasion.”

With a quick sc.r.a.pe of his chair, Ridley stood and shoved his right hand to the bottom of his trouser pocket. He produced a handful of miscellaneous items and Phineas wondered if he searched for the remaining blunt to continue play or if the game would end. He hoped not, the man proved a veritable font of information.

Ridley continued to sift through the collection in his palm until, satisfied, he reseated and tossed a pair of ruby earrings and a jeweled cameo into the ante at the center of the table.

”It's all I've got this evening, but a pretty price they'll fetch. Let's finish this hand and call it a night before I find myself as dished as Winton.”

”As you wish.” Phineas discarded and glimpsed his opponent. Ridley played with such foolish abandonment, it was a miracle the game progressed as long as it did. To the contrary, the duplicitous blackguard held such a talent for ingratiating people and betraying them, he remained extremely wary. ”This ends things neatly.”

Phin threw down his cards to reveal a perfect trick, the score of fifteen bringing the total to one hundred points and ending the game. Collecting his winnings from the center of the table, he took a quick sip of brandy and walked away ignoring Ridley's muttered curses.

It was quick work to use his piquet money to repay a portion of the debt Winton owed the club. He remained unsure what caused the man's rash behavior, but either way it appeared Winton had reached dire straits and was in need of a little help, despite the news he'd acquired tonight would disappoint Julia immensely.

Only the jewelry remained in hand, and the cameo gave Phin pause. He studied the delicate piece in the dim lantern of White's parlor. The fine workmans.h.i.+p and intricate detailing of the brooch identified it as valuable. Were he to examine it in daylight, he suspected an engraving would reveal a family name. Anyone would be heartbroken to have lost such a delicate piece. And the devil only knew where Ridley obtained it or by what means. He slipped the cameo into his inside pocket with the intention of investigating it further and exited White's without another thought.

He has somewhere else he needed to go.

Phineas replaced his pocket watch. Less than a minute would turn the evening into yesterday. He continued across the cobbles deeper into the cemetery, his mood a fitting companion to the low-lying fog, an unsettled creature, clinging to the tombstones, and lending the gra.s.s an ethereal gloom. He didn't believe in specters or ghoulish apparitions although the memories crammed in the dark recesses of his soul held the same power to haunt, at times, rebel, with bold a.s.sertion to arrow a s.h.i.+ver straight through his bones. Regret, like a defiant vine, wound tight around his ribs, holding frustration and doubt, at times misery and anger, caged behind his ribs, where hollow emotion caused his heart a perpetual ache.

He discarded the maudlin reflection as his eyes fell upon the marble, his feet accustomed to the path, his body drawn to the location without direction. A flick of his eyes provided a scan of the familiar surroundings; the shadows silent and desolate. Who visited a loved one in the dead of night? Who carried flowers, mourned a lost companion, paid homage to a friend while the midnight hour surrendered to the new day? What was a cemetery anyway but a graveyard full of buried hopes and lost opportunity?

Like always, Phineas stared at the pallid stone, his eyes keenly focused on the carved marble, articulating each letter as if to spell out forgiveness, relieve his regret, and absolve all guilt. Yet as usual he failed; success out of reach.

He fought the sharp jab of desolation that aimed to knock him flat and murmured his apology into the silence before he kindly took his leave.

It was well past midnight before Penelope surrendered to her restlessness and discarded the notion of sleep. With palpable reluctance she climbed from the sheets to light a single candle on the bedside table while her mind replayed Phineas' actions, his strong possessive embrace as they danced and the deliriously wonderful press of his lips during their stolen kiss. Pleasure and desire intertwined with feelings of disappointment and confusion at his direct dismissal. She no longer trusted her judgment to lead her emotions and her heart ached because of it.

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