Chapter 82

The poor delusional soul. Did she think he didn't see that thought was written all over her face? The face he could read like a book? A tediously dull one at that. The face that now looked as if someone had pulled the plug out of it? Although to be sure, his was probably that same deadly shade of pale. Damn her, for nearly breaking his toes.
"The prize, Your Grace?"
"Yes. Win this, and she accompanies me. Lose it, and she doesn't."
What the hell was he doing making threats like this? What if she lost?
He fought not to run his fingers through his hair. It was a question of moves, wasn't it? And surely, when she wanted that ten thousand pounds enough to face him across a pistol barrel, she wasn't going to storm out of here. So why make him wait like this? Unless she would rather lose the ten thousand than accompany him? How could that be?
"I mean ... I mean you will win it, so why the hell should that be a problem?"
"Well. The problem is I might not and then she wouldn't be able to accompany you. Now that may not seem like much of a problem to her, but it is to you. You do see that I don't own her? I can't just go about bartering her."
"I'm not asking you to damn well barter her. I'm asking you to win this. It's that simple." Was it? He must be really obsessed with Babs to have hatched this plan. And obsession was what had led him a fool's dance before.
He ... he wasn't obsessed. Christ on an eight-legged centipede, if he was, maybe it was better if she did lose, if he just walked fair and square from this hall, never to darken its walnut doors and checkered floors again.
This behavior wasn't him. Why not say to forget about the ball, even if it paid him to have her exactly where he wanted her? After all, it was very clear what she wanted. Ten thousand pounds. Well?
"I tell you what, Your Grace." In that second she passed her tongue over her lips, set her face. "I will see what I can do."
***
Snapping open her fan, Splendor waved it rapidly in front of her pulsing cheeks.
She'd had no intention of seeing what she could do. What she'd wanted was to get to the next stage of the tournament. Now though, standing in this brightly lit foyer, she realized her mistake, the calamitous one she'd then compounded by lying to Gabe.
How could she do that? Although equally, when she wasn't his actual, official betrothed, why shouldn't she? So there was probably no need to feel she was about to regurgitate the large goblet of brandy she'd sunk an hour ago to calm her nerves.
Especially not on the cherry-patterned rug gracing Lady Kertouche's foyer floor. Except there probably was a need when one of the Sisterhood might be here. If only Stillmore would hurry up so she could get this over with. Was he going to leave her standing here all night?
She could have let him call for her at her lodgings, just as she could have lost the chess game instead of demolishing Chiltren in five minutes flat. There were a lot of things she could have done. But something was missing from that. The ten thousand pounds. Today, despite everything, she had also beaten Lord Seton and Lord Culbert. Gabe would have to understand. She was terribly sorry to do this to him, but it was better that she did. The sooner this was over, the better. And it would be soon.
She lowered her fan. This mirrored, enchanted world was the kind Sapphire, Jade, and the others had brushed shoulders with. Sometimes as pantry maids, as coachmen, as whatever had been agreed-Sapphire especially--but there were other times when they'd sailed forth in clouds of ambergris and lace. Her breath snagged as the scent of the memory drifted past her. Breathe the heady concoction of this glittering prism too deeply, and she might want to stay in it. She couldn't do that anymore than they could have for real. And yet?
The fragrant winter blossoms, the strains of a minuet floating down the ornate staircase, forced one small consideration. This wasn't as bad as she'd imagined earlier.
She glided to the foot of the stairs and stared upward at the shining chandeliers, mesmerizing as a glittering bauble. To think she'd considered losing to Chiltren. How immeasurably foolish would that have been? As for her other worry about any of the Sisterhood being here stealing, why would they be? They'd flown that day like birds from a coop, no doubt scuttling like rats into some corner, the same as she had.
Sapphire and Ruby were dead. Diamond was in prison. Starkadder was dead. Pearl had run away before any of that happened. If any one of the others was here, they were here the same as she was: illegally. Tonight she would not be forced into corners.Why should she be? She'd tell them that to their faces if needbe.
Hearing a sharp cough behind her, she tightened her fingers around her fan slats. Someone wanted her attention, and there were no prizes, certainly not of ten thousand pounds, for guessing who that someone was, and that, that someone obviously thought she should turn around to greet him. Would she be challenged to a duel if she refused? With this man, one thing was for certain: nothing was certain. How else could she explain the fact she was even here?
Somehow she fixed her most serene smile on her face. She might as well. Not to turn and be gracious would make this even more impossible. "Your Grace ... "
She broke off. Stillmore stood before her in a black coat, trousers, and an impossibly high neck-cloth, one that emphasized the narrowness of his jaw-his faintly stubbled jaw. For all he dressed in the finest clothes his wardrobe had to offer, for all the candlelight lay on his hair like a glossy sheen, his looks were still more gypsy than gentleman. In fact, they were stunning. When it came to manners, he was gypsy through and through, however. And perhaps that was just as well. She might find herself thinking of him too often otherwise.
Having perused her for that second-was there something wrong with the cream dress?-he knitted his brows. "You came?"
She must remember the traps, not be bedazzled by the beauty of this place, by him, or by his faked astonishment. Would Splendor be pleased to be bartered by Nathan into coming here? No. She would sooner be burned by a hundred suns. "It's not my shadow, Your Grace. Nathan told me what you wagered and ... " Being sour as a ten-year-old lemon might be exactly what Stillmore expected. "Well, here I am."
"You are so close, you obliged him?"
"We are extremely close Your Grace. We grew up together."
"And do you play chess too?"
If she said yes, where would that lead? To her being inveigled into the ladies chess competition next? Two places at the same time would be difficult, even for her, although the prize money would clear her dressmaking bill without making a dent in the ten thousand.
She shook her head. Anything to dismiss his eyes, glittering like stars in a silver- dark sky, the music that waltzed into her head, keeping time in her veins. This was a game, wasn't it? One she must play to win.
"The game has never interested me, Your Grace. No. I'm afraid I couldn't tell the difference between a bishop, a knight, and a king."
"Really? Well, one hides behind the cloth to cloak their questionable deeds, the other swears to the death to defend it, while one has not the slightest use for it. I'll leave you to work out which is which." He cocked a twisted eyebrow. "My apologies for being late. I was unaccountably detained."
"An apology from you, Your Grace? As surprising as from a grizzly bear. Still, let's not argue since I believe we are to be partners for the evening. It's something I can't bear."
"To be my partner? Or to argue?"
"Both. But Nathan said you needed a minuscule favor."
She smiled. If his social graces were anything like his chess playing, she should pity him. Papa had always said, pity the poor in heart and spirit...for no one else will. And really, despite what instinct screamed about coming here, she could afford to. Her gaze slipped to the shining chandeliers, the plush carpet stretching all the way up around the bend in the staircase to the shimmering top of it, the candle wax hanging like pearls from the fat candles. Why shouldn't she be Cinderella for just one night? It was her favorite story. She brought her gaze back down the rolling length of the staircase and settled it and her smile on Stillmore.
"And what detained you, Your Grace? Hmm?"
"None of your damned business."
She could be Cinderella; a girl could pretend all she liked. It didn't make a silk purse from this frog's ear. She spread her tasseled fan open and swept her gaze back up the staircase. At least there was no deluding herself that he'd asked her because he liked her.
"Is there some reason you keep glancing around? Haven't you been to a ball before?"
"Certainly not with a man so badly mannered." It was not quite what she meant to say. Had Cinderella ever stood on the very twig end of her broomstick and attempted to smile at all though? "But there ... I digress."
He lowered his head. "I'm only asking so you know what to do. I don't want you making a fool of yourself."
She tilted her chin, recalling that line Papa had taught her from Shakespeare. 'But then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.' Well, that was her, wasn't it? Under some sodding, gut-stewed star she must yet embrace, even in her darkest moments.
"You somehow think I am going to make a fool of myself?"
"Before these harpies?" His gaze, dark as an unfurrowed field at dawn, sat utterly motionless beneath his brows. "You have no idea."
"Really? So perhaps you should enlighten me with your worldly knowledge of them?"
"I don't have all night."
"And you somehow think I-"
She swallowed. Whatever this was about, she must regain that part of herself, that dancing star, not sink in its vile contemplation. She must smother any desire to walk from here and drag her fan across the chest of every liveried footman standing like a skittle. Then for good measure drag it again, until the fabric of their coats hung in tatters and the slats were no more. Snapped sticks to match her life. He wasn't the first to think she couldn't do anything right. But he would be the last. Ten thousand pounds.
"Well, don't you worry about me. I shall be just fine, Your Grace."
After all, he had demanded she come here. She was damned if she wasn't going to enjoy it even with this charmless weasel on her arm.