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I saw his blond head bend in the mirror, and felt the warm pressure of his lips on my neck. “My darling! Don’t you understand?”
I pretended to consider this, and shrugged. “I suppose so. You’re jealous. But you should have remembered what I told you before. The only reason why Lucas Cord continues to—intrigue me, if you will, is because he seemed to tire of me first. But if it were the other way around…”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
It was my turn to laugh teasingly. The laugh of a woman who is sure of herself and her charms.
“Since you have appointed yourself my lady’s maid, Mark, why don’t you help me choose one of my prettiest, most seductive gowns? Perhaps Monique will have some competition tonight… if you can be as understanding as John, that is!”
So now I found myself playing a dangerous game of pretense again. Like the spangle-costumed woman in a circus I had once watched, who walked a tightrope. It was almost a relief to find myself seated next to Montoya at supper that night, and listen to his flowery compliments.
There were only five of us, though, who sat down at the flower-decked table. When Montoya, immaculate in his silver-embroidered charro suit, had entered to bow gallantly over the ladies’ hands he had said apologetically, “Lucas asked to be excused. He met an old friend, in the bunkhouse—one of your guests who is passing through. He said he would join us afterward.”
Mark’s quizzical glance met mine, and I could almost read his thoughts. “Obviously he’s the kind of man who would be embarrassed at a formal meal such as this.” But I was determined to make up for my earlier breach of the control I normally had over my reactions, and merely observed laughingly that I could not possibly miss anyone else when I had such a gallant cavalier at my side.
“No amount of gallantry could do justice to the beauty of the two ladies present. I find myself overwhelmed.”
Monique and I exchanged glances, both faintly appraising. She had decided to dress for dinner too, in a low-cut green silk gown that showed her figure off and exposed her gleaming, milky-white arms and shoulders. The emerald eardrops she wore flashed each time she turned her head, or laughed, and her auburn hair shone with a rich fire of its own in the candlelight.
I wore the midnight blue velvet I had not worn since the night of Todd Shannon’s grand party, and I couldn’t help wondering if Mark had chosen that particular gown on purpose, to remind me… of what? How mistaken I had been in my reading of his character that night?
“You are the loveliest creature in the world,” he had whispered as he helped to pin the diamond stars in my hair. But I had wanted Lucas to see me—I had wanted him to realize what he had lost. Never mind, I told myself; he will be here later. And then we’ll see. I was in a strange mood, my nerves like fine-strung wires that might snap at any moment. I would not be anybody’s “poor Rowena” tonight! Mark could not deal me any worse surprises than he had already, and no—not even the coldness of Lucas’s eyes when he looked at me could shake my poise.
I was like a gambler who had nothing left to lose and could afford to laugh recklessly as the wheel spun for the last time. I was the same woman who had been her stepfather’s mistress and Todd Shannon’s betrothed. The marble goddess with no heart. As cold and as calculating as I had ever been accused of being. For sometime during the past two hours I had made up my mind.
It was strange that I had thought of myself as a gambler. For after the dishes had been cleared away and Lucas had joined us, with a cursory apology for his lateness, that is exactly what we did.
It was Monique’s idea. She had sat at the piano for a while, until Lucas made his appearance, and then she got up, clapping her hands together.
“Oh, but we’re far too stiff! The night is young, and the brandy, thanks to Mark, is excellent. You men shall not leave us to smoke your cigars outside. We shall play cards. Poker, I think. It’s my favorite game, next to roulette. Rowena… do you know it?”
I caught her mood and smiled. Lucas had paid no attention to me, but he would, he would! I would make sure of it.
“It was one of my grandfather’s few vices, although he would only indulge in a game with his few close cronies. Even while he taught it to me he didn’t fail to remind me of one of our ancestors, a Regency rake, who lost the family fortune on the turn of a card.”
“But how exciting! This ancestor—he sounds like a man after my heart. And you, Rowena, are you fond of gambling too?”
I thought her words had a hidden meaning, which I pretended not to notice for the moment.
“Occasionally. Isn’t everybody who is in the least bit adventurous?”
“It seems as if these females have us outnumbered,” John Kingman grumbled as he rose to get the deck of cards. I saw Mark look at me thoughtfully, and Montoya’s eyes, hidden behind a thin veil of cigar smoke, looked opaque and shiny.
For the first time that evening I spoke directly to Lucas, my voice challenging. “And you—you haven’t said anything. Perhaps you’re a poor loser?”
“Everybody loses some time or other. But I’ve never been afraid of taking a chance.” His eyes, meeting mine for an instant, told me nothing. But his words—had they been meant to convey something to me?
Before I had time to ponder, Monique was declaring delightedly that this was going to be such fun. And the men could talk business while we played.
“But first we shall create an atmosphere that is deliciously sordid, just like the saloons you men like to frequent.” She flung a green baize cloth across the table, and lowered all the lamps in the room but the one directly above. “There! Is that not more like it?”
“We’d hardly be sitting down in some gambling saloon with two grand ladies like Rowena and yourself, my love,” John Kingman said mildly. I thought his eyes asked a question of his wife, but she, smiling wickedly, shook her head so that the long eardrops danced above her shoulders.
“Ah non! But do you forget so easily? In New Orleans, where you met me, there were always pretty women at the tables, to encourage the men to bet high. Remember the Silver Slipper?”
I saw their eyes meet, and it was almost as if, for a moment, they were alone in the room.
“It’s not something I can forget…” John Kingman said quietly. “You lost to me—everything, you remember? Down to your own silver slippers. And you left with me that night.”
