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The skirmish I had interrupted between her and a man twice her size had been shocking enough—and I intended to find out exactly what that was about as soon as the medics had given Edie the all-clear. But, from everything I’d seen so far, it was clear to me that, far from being spoilt brats, Edie and her sister were destitute, or close to it.
While her desperation didn’t excuse her decision to enter the poker game fraudulently and then flee, I felt strangely vindicated that she was not what she had originally appeared to be. Perhaps this explained my confusing responses to her.
The young female paramedic finally finished assessing Edie. I escorted her and her colleague from the room. When we reached the door I murmured, ‘How is she?’
‘She’s okay. No signs of concussion, just some nasty bruises,’ the female paramedic told me in French as she hefted her case back onto her shoulder. ‘I’ll wait outside for the gendarmes and apprise them of her condition when they arrive so they can add it to their report.’ The medic glanced over her shoulder at Edie, who sat alone on the room’s window seat, staring out at the chateau’s overgrown garden. ‘I hope they find the bastard who did this.’
Not as much as I do.
‘Will she need a follow-up appointment?’ I asked, trying to keep my fury under wraps.
The woman shook her head. ‘Keep an eye on her for the next few hours. If she becomes lethargic or disorientated call us back immediately. She’ll have some impressive bruises tomorrow, but otherwise she should be okay. Apart from the psychological trauma, of course,’ she added darkly.
Thanking her again as she left, I returned to Edie, who looked small and frail in the empty room.
She turned towards me as I approached. ‘You’re still here?’ she said, the wistful tone disconcerting me.
‘Of course,’ I replied, annoyed at the implication that I would leave without ensuring she was all right. ‘I need to speak to the gendarmes. I intend to give them a detailed description of the man who attacked you.’ I glanced at my watch. Joe had called them a good fifteen minutes ago. ‘When they finally arrive.’
‘Would you consider...?’ She hesitated.
‘Would I consider what?’ I asked, the weariness in her voice and her body language making the pang worse.
‘Would you consider not telling them about the bank draft? I’ll pay you back every penny, I swear. But I can’t do that if you press charges.’
I had absolutely no intention of informing the police about the bank draft, but I decided not to tell her that yet. There were a lot of questions I wanted answered... No, I needed answered. And the one million euros she owed me was the only leverage I had.
‘How will you pay it back?’ I asked, giving the empty room a pointed once-over. I didn’t give a damn about the money any more, but I wanted to know exactly how bad her circumstances were. ‘You don’t appear to have much more left to sell.’
She blinked furiously, then looked away in a vain attempt to hide her distress. The pang sharpened in my chest. The sunlight shining through dusty glass illuminated the sheen of anguish she was trying so valiantly to contain.
‘I...’ She swallowed, the bold determination in the green depths reminding me of the woman who had captivated me so comprehensively at the poker table last night. ‘We still own Belle Rivière,’ she said. ‘Even in its present state, it should fetch just about enough to pay off the mortgage we have on it and what we owe you and Carsoni.’
‘Jean-Claude Carsoni?’ I snapped. What the hell did that bastard have to do with this situation? ‘You owe him money? How much?’
I did a quick calculation. It had to be a subs
tantial sum because her home, however forlorn it might look, would be worth well over ten million euro.
And she’d said ‘we’.
So whose debts was she paying off here? Because, from the cautious, clever way she’d played Texas Hold ’Em, right up until that kiss had distracted us both, she hadn’t struck me as a problem gambler. Not only that but, after the bank draft had bounced, Joe had wired the picture taken by the security cameras when she’d entered The Inferno to all our competitors to identify her, and not one of them had ever seen or heard of her. I’d dismissed the possibility she might be a novice gambler this morning during the helicopter ride to Chantilly, because I’d been way too busy fuming about her deception.
But now I wasn’t so sure. Was it possible she had little or no experience at the tables? My admiration for her—and the way she’d played—increased, which only disturbed me more.
I wasn’t usually drawn to vulnerable, needy women—and under that tough cookie shell that was exactly what Edie Trouvé appeared to be—especially if she was up to her eyeballs in debt to a bastardo like Carsoni.
‘You know Carsoni?’ she said, sounding surprised.
‘Enough to have him banned from operating his money-lending services anywhere near my casinos.’
Carsoni was a leech who preyed on problem gamblers then charged them criminal levels of interest they couldn’t possibly repay.
I flexed my fingers, the slight throbbing in my knuckles reminding me of the creep I’d dispatched. ‘Was that one of his men, bella?’ I asked, my concern for her increasing tenfold.
She wasn’t my responsibility. Or shouldn’t be. But the slow-burning anger smouldering in my gut—and the desire to take Carsoni by the throat with my bare hands and strangle him for daring to let his goons touch her—was telling me I was not going to be able to walk away from this mess. However much I might want to.
She looked out of the window again. ‘I don’t see how that’s any of your business.’
