If Wilson was surprised, he knew better than to show it. ‘You are to London again, my lord?’
Edward shook his head. ‘No, not to London. To Yorkshire. I have an acquaintance there whose assistance I need.’
An acquaintance. It was damnable, really. He’d sworn never to set eyes on her again. He’d told her that if she ever returned to London, he’d make her life hell. And now he was to go to her, head bowed, and beg of her a favour.
The Queen of Diamonds. Damnation, even her nom de guerre made his body tense … and his heart to treacherously quicken.
CHAPTER ONE
1805, Scarborough, Yorkshire
The room was thick with cigar smoke and anticipation.
An odd assortment of gentlemen gathered in the room. Some of the men were lean, their wiry bodies hidden beneath their tailoring, while some were portly and straining at their seams. Some were frivolous, money simply trickling through their fingers, while others were desperate, bleak looks disguised behind wine-sodden eyes. But no matter their station in life, all currently held their breath with mounting excitement.
There was but one throw left in the game, a single roll to decide the outcome of this long running battle of wills. A hundred guineas lay on the table, an obscene stake for this part of the world, and more money than most of the gentlemen who huddled into the dimly lit room had ever seen; more than they might ever see again. They could hardly contain their exhilaration, for what began as a rather dull and routine evening of port and cards had escalated into something much more dramatic. This, they imagined, was the sort of night you saw in the gaming hells of London, not the sleepy streets of Scarborough.
Yes, there was no doubt about it. From the moment the lady had entered the room, she’d brought with her a kind of magic.
On one side of the table, his face tense and hand twitching, a man sat sweating. The crowd pitied him, for he was but a small northern landowner, who could ill-afford to lose a hundred guineas. He’d gambled his livelihood in a moment of madness, but it was a moment of madness the crowd understood, for the lady, with her sweet smile and shining eyes, was damned difficult to refuse. Her eyes were soft and her laugh silky, while her mouth, with its full lips, had the sweetest little way of frowning when confused by the rules of the game. She won a few small rounds of whist and then baccarat, and although it was odd that a woman was even allowed into a gaming hall, no one resented her presence, for she was as pleasant in her rare defeats as she was in her victories. The crowd murmured approvingly, for this lady took her losses like a gentleman.
When the dice came out, they laughingly pressed her into a throw or two, but it wasn’t long before the laughter died. The Gods of good fortune seemed to smile upon her and the stakes went up and up, until pockets were emptied, and curses bellowed. Still, she smiled sweetly and seemed as surprised as any at her unexpected success.
‘How droll,’ she laughed, with an airy wave of her hand.
Her good fortune made her current competitor nervous, even though his was a good set of dice to beat. His six and four lay dangerously before him, the white polished dice obvious against the green velvet of the table. Only a five and six or double sixes would best him now, and the likelihood of the lady throwing either of those was slim. She’d been lucky so far tonight, damned lucky in fact, but as most of these seasoned gamblers knew, luck almost always ran out.
Aware but uncaring of the many eyes upon her, Felicity Fox was making quick calculations in her head.
‘One hundred guineas,’ she mulled silently. ‘Three cows and seven sheep.’
A squire’s daughter, her understanding of money was forever rooted in the cost of livestock and grain. She couldn’t tell you the price of gold or the current return on government bonds, but she knew exactly what a prize bull might fetch at auction or a bale of wool bring at market.
A hundred guineas … such a sum of money. And Felicity needed every penny.
The dice were held firmly in her gloved hand, square, firm, and reassuring in their unchanging allegiance to chance. Tonight, she’d been more successful than she could have ever hoped. A small fortune awaited her if the dice rolled to her favour, and God knew she could do with the money.
‘Let’s see what Lady Luck has in store then … roll the dice!’ a voice called out.
But Felicity held firm; she was a woman who did things in her own time and would not be rushed.
‘Lady Luck?’ She smiled. ‘My dear sir, one makes their own luck, and God help the man – or woman! – who forgets this most cardinal of rules!’
She gave a sweeping curtsy, her mane of auburn hair dancing in the candlelight, and just as her back straightened she threw the dice. It was an unexpected but dazzling move, and the crowd surged forward excitedly to watch the result of this game. When the dice settled, nestled against a corner of the table, a resounding cheer carried forth across the room, a dozen men at once all rushing to congratulate the winner.
Felicity shrugged, careful not to let her true feelings show. ‘My congratulations, sir.’ She nodded to her competitor, whose relief was visibly immense. His face, still damp with sweat, was white with shock. He’d near enough doubled his yearly income with one throw of the dice.
‘Luck is on my side tonight, it would seem,’ he replied, wiping his brow.
Felicity did not believe it. There was no such thing as luck, only chance. Believing in luck was dangerous and foolhardy, the worst trap for any gambler. She’d seen first-hand how a belief in luck could ruin a good man. But who was she to disabuse this gentleman of his notions? Not that he would listen anyway. No man ever listened to a woman. Standing, Felicity gave a tight smile.
‘Again, my congratulations.’
She turned away from the table and the hundred guineas. A glass of wine was pressed into her hand, and a few men called her to join them for a quick game of cards. They imagined her luck had turned; that she was an injured animal whose pride was wounded. Well, only a fool would play on now, and Felicity was no fool. She refused politely, a sudden weariness taking hold. She was done for the night. She longed for nothing more now than a bath and her bed.
For a moment, Felicity wished she could afford a hired carriage to take her back to her lodgings. But it was an impossible luxury, for there was another payment due tomorrow. It seemed to Felicity there was always another bill to settle or expense to reckon with. She sighed, for the end of the month and that terrible debt always crept up on her. And every month, she was always cajoled for more. The wolf was forever at her door and he was a greedy beast, insatiable for funds. Felicity knew what it was to be poor; day-to-day she wrestled with the desperation of an empty stomach, the biting pain of cold, and the utter hopelessness of a life spent under the yoke of debt. It was a miserable existence, and one she would not wish on anyone.
Felicity sighed, all thoughts of a hired carriage receding as she once again assessed her circumstances and came to the usual bleak conclusion. Walk she would, though the simple inn where she lodged was half a mile away and uphill. Walk she would, though her feet ached from having stood so long already. She looked down, frowning as she took in the fashionable slippers she wore, an enticing hint of green silk peeking out from under her skirts. Undoubtedly, they were pretty, delicate and distinctly feminine. But they were also tight, uncomfortable, and unsuitable for anything other than sitting. Felicity, motherless from a young age and mostly unschooled in the ladylike arts, had no idea how ladies of quality ever managed to wear such painful shoes for dancing. She knew that she herself would much rather take to the floor in a sturdy pair of boots or, better yet, barefoot.