Regency Reputation: A Reputation for Notoriety / A Marriage of Notoriety

But what did Rhysdale think?

And why was it she cared so much for his approval?

He blinked, then averted his compelling eyes. ‘I assume you have not changed your mind about my proposition?’ His smooth voice made her quiver inside.

She swallowed. ‘I would not have kept the appointment otherwise.’

A smile grew across his face. ‘Then, perhaps an introduction is in order?’

She was prepared for this, at least. He would be a fool to hire her without knowing her name.

And he was no fool.

She’d already decided to give him her true name. Her maiden name.

She extended her gloved hand. ‘I am Celia Allen, sir.’

It pleased her to be Celia Allen again. The surname was common enough and her father minor enough that no one would connect the name to Lord Gale’s widow.

He took her hand, but held it rather than shake it. ‘Miss Allen or Mrs Allen?’

She pulled her hand away. ‘Miss Allen.’

Rhys felt the loss of her hand as if something valuable had slipped through his fingers. With this first glimpse of her face, he wanted her more than ever.

She reminded him of a deer with her long regal neck and alert-but-wary eyes that were the colour of moss at twilight. She seemed wrong for the city. She was meant for the country, for brisk walks in fresh country air. The bloom in her cheeks, the hue of wild raspberry of her lips looked out of place in London.

But he was becoming distracted.

And much too poetic.

He could almost hear Xavier’s voice in his head, admonishing him to keep his focus on the gaming house. He would tell his friend later about employing her—not of almost kissing her—both had been too impulsive to meet the approval of his friend.

Not that Rhys cared if his zealously protective friend approved of his employing Miss Allen. Or of wanting her in his bed.

He fixed his gaze on her again. To call her Miss Allen seemed wrong to him. He had no wish to be so formal with her.

‘Will you object if I address you as Celia?’ he asked. ‘You may call me Rhys.’

She coloured.

Her discomfort made him wonder. A woman of the theatre would expect the presumption of intimacy of using given names.

She paused before answering. ‘If you wish it.’ She met his eyes. ‘Not in the gaming house, though.’

Clever of her. ‘Of course not. You are exactly right. No one must know you are in my employ. They will suspect us of manipulation.’

‘Manipulation?’ Her lovely brows knit in anxiety.

‘I hire you because your presence in the gaming house encourages patrons—men—to gamble. You are not expected to do anything different from what you were doing before.’

She nodded.

He leaned closer and put his hand on her wrist. ‘That is not my only reason for hiring you, however—’

A knock at the door interrupted. She slipped her hand away and Rhys straightened in his chair.

MacEvoy entered with the tea tray, managing to give her an un-servant-like look-over. Undoubtedly Rhys would hear Mac’s assessment of the lady later.

‘Shall I pour?’ She looked rattled. ‘How do you take your tea?’

‘No milk, no sugar.’ He’d accustomed himself to drinking tea that way from times when he could not afford milk and sugar. It pleased him that he did not need those inconsequential trappings of wealth.

He gestured to MacEvoy to leave.

MacEvoy closed the door behind him and Celia handed Rhys his cup of tea.

He lifted the cup and took a sip.

Perhaps it was for the best that Mac had interrupted him. His desire for her was making him move too quickly. When he got close, he sensed her alarm, another clue that his theory about her identity might be wrong.

He changed the subject. ‘I should explain something else about your employment here.’

She gave him her attention.

‘Some time ago, before I owned this gaming house, a woman came here in disguise to play cards. It is where I got the idea to set up the place as a masquerade.’ He waved that tangent away. ‘But no matter. About this woman. She created a stir. Men were taking wagers on who would be the first to unmask her.’ He paused. ‘And who would be first to seduce her. Men came and gambled merely for the chance to win the wager.’

She paled. ‘You wish me to offer myself as some sort of prize?’

He shook his head. ‘No. No, indeed. I am merely warning you. Some men who come to gamble may ask more of you than merely to partner them in a game of whist.’

Her eyes narrowed in calculation. ‘Like that man who so distressed you last night?’

Westleigh, she meant.

His voice hardened. ‘Yes. Men like him.’ He looked directly into her eyes. ‘I will be near if any men ill treat you. Do not hesitate to alert me or Xavier. We will protect you.’

She put her hand on her heart and glanced away.

He took another sip of tea. ‘You are a good card player. And that is all that is required of you. None the less, your feminine allure will attract admirers.’

‘Feminine allure?’ She looked surprised.

How puzzling. Did she not know she was alluring?

‘You are a beguiling mystery. A lovely young woman who knows how to play cards. You will—you do—attract men. Men will want to partner you, play against you, sit next to you.’ He gave her another direct look. ‘But they must not cross the line of proper behaviour. If they do, you must let me know.’

She became absorbed in stirring her tea. Finally she answered. ‘If such a thing should happen, I will let you know.’