Regency Gamble. Bronwyn Scott
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no family of good birth is going to let their son go haring about the country gambling for a living.’
That comment struck home. Her father had always been acutely aware of the chasm between himself and his betters. No amount of money, fame or victory could span that gap. ‘We’ll see,’ he said tightly. ‘Men will do all variety of things for love or money. Fortunately, post-war economies do much for motivating the latter.’ Mercedes feared he might be right on that account.
‘I need you on this, Mercedes,’ he pleaded. ‘I need you to travel with us, to show him what he needs to know. I’ll be busy making arrangements and setting up games. I won’t have near enough time to mould him.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ She was too proud to surrender easily, but in her heart she knew it was already done. It was the only offer she was likely to get and she was her father’s daughter. She’d be a fool not to invest in this opportunity. On the road, she could show her father how good she really was, how indispensable she was to him. Perhaps they could recapture some of the old times. They could be close again, like they’d been before her tragic misstep had driven a wedge between them. Anything might happen on the road. Even the past might be erased.
‘Well, don’t think too long. I’m sending a note to Captain Barrington inviting him to dinner. If this proposition succeeds, I want to leave within days.’
Yes, anything might happen, especially with weeks on the road with the attractive Captain and his kisses. Damn his blue eyes. His presence would make the trip interesting once she decided if she should love him or hate him. He was both her golden opportunity and the fly in her ointment. He was the man stealing her place beside her father, but, in all fairness, the place hadn’t been hers to start with. She didn’t possess it outright and hadn’t for years. She merely aspired to it, as much as the admission galled her. Then there were his kisses to consider, or not. She had to be careful there. Kisses were dangerous and she wasn’t about to fall in love with her father’s protégé. She knew from experience such an act would dull her sensibilities, make her blind to the job that needed doing. But perhaps one could just have the kisses. She’d be smarter this time.
All in all, going on the road was an offer she couldn’t afford to refuse. Perhaps Barrington would say she’d just found her price.
Greer sat at the small writing desk in his lodgings, sorting through the dismal array of post. At least he had an ‘array’ of it. He should take comfort that the world had not forgot him even if it had nothing pleasing to send.
He slit open the letter from the War Department. It was his best hope for good news. A friend of his father’s with higher rank and influence had enquired about a new posting on his behalf. Greer was eagerly awaiting a response. He scanned the contents of the letter and sighed. Nothing. It was something of an irony that the goal of the military—to maintain peace and order—was the very thing that made the military a finite occupation. In peace, there was no work for all the aspirants like himself.
Greer set aside the letter. It was becoming more evident that his military options were coming to a close. Of course, he could stay on half-pay as long as he liked, but with no re-posting imminent, it seemed a futile occupation.
The second letter was from home and he opened it with some dread. He could predict the contents already: news of the county from his mother and a directive to return home from his father. As always, a letter from home filled him with guilt. He should want to go back. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to be a farmer, and he didn’t want to be a countryman. His father was a viscount, but a poor one. The title had come with only an estate four generations ago, and money had always come hard for the Barringtons. He did not want a life full of expenses he could barely meet and responsibilities he was required to fulfil. His older brother was better suited to that life. To what he himself was suited for, Greer did not yet know.
He reached for the third letter, surprised to see it was from Allen Lockhart. The short contents of the note brought a smile to his face. Mercedes and I would like to invite you to a private supper this evening to become better acquainted.
The sentiments of the note might be Lockhart’s, but the firm, cursory hand that had penned it was definitely Mercedes’s. Greer could see Mercedes penning the note with some agitation, her full lips set in an imperious line, in part because she didn’t want to see him again and in part because she did. He was quite cognisant that Mercedes had no idea what to do with him—kiss him, hate him, or something in between if that was possible.
Mercedes.
She’d stopped being Miss Lockhart the moment he’d taken her in his arms. Their kiss had been far too familiar, far too intimate to think of her any longer on a last-name basis. In his arms, she’d been alive, warm and far more passionate than the sum of her cold hauteur had indicated at dinner. It had been the most pleasant surprise in an evening full of surprises. Therein lay the rub.
Had it been a surprise? Greer thumbed the corner of the heavy paper in contemplation. The kiss had seemed completely spontaneous at the time. They’d been quarreling. He’d thought the moment for stealing a kiss had passed and then suddenly the moment had returned.
He’d done the kissing. He distinctly remembered making what might be termed as the ‘first move’. But Mercedes had supplied the motivation. She knew very well what she was doing with her reference to moonlight. Was the flirtation contrived? Had it been her last effort to comply with some secret plan of her father’s for the evening? Had she realised that quarrelling with a coveted guest was not constructive? The note he held in his hand certainly suggested as much. There had to be a reason for getting ‘better acquainted’. And yet the kiss itself did not seem contrived in his memory. Instead, it seemed very much the honest product of curious passion.
And now there was to be a private dinner. Greer was aware there was more to it than a simple dinner, but even so, he was looking forward to it a great deal. There would be good food, good wine and the intriguing Mercedes would be there. That alone was enough to secure his acceptance.
The atmosphere at dinner was decidedly different than it had been the prior evening—less orchestrated, less of a show—but no less impressive because of it, and Greer found he was enjoying himself immensely.
The three of them dined informally in a small, elegantly appointed room done in subtle shades of gold designed expressly for the purpose of holding more intimate entertainments. Even the mode of eating reflected that intimacy. They dined en famille on juicy steaks and baby potatoes, helping themselves to servings from the china bowls in the centre of the round table and pouring their own rich red wine from glass decanters, thus removing the need for hovering footmen.
Greer had lived with the deprivations of military life long enough to fully appreciate the little luxuries of the moment, and man enough to appreciate the woman across from him.
Mercedes Lockhart glowed in the candlelight, dressed in a copper silk trimmed in black velvet, a gown so lovely it would have driven his sisters to violence. Her hair shone glossy and sleek, the flames picking out the chestnut highlights winking deep within the dark tresses. Tonight, she wore those tresses long, their length furled into one thick curl that lay enticingly over the slope of her breast, a most provocative cascade to be sure and a most distracting one. He nearly missed Lockhart’s next question.
‘What are you doing in Brighton, Captain?’ Lockhart poured wine into his empty glass. ‘Our sleepy little resort town must be tame by comparison to the military.’
Greer picked up his newly filled goblet. ‘Waiting for the next adventure.’ Brighton wasn’t all that different in that regard than the military. There’d been plenty of waiting in the army as well. Hurry up and wait; wait to live, wait to die. He was still waiting, only the scenery had changed.
‘Will there be one? Another adventure?’ Lockhart probed in friendly tones but Greer sensed