Jack of Clubs Read online

  “Sleeping, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “But I had a nap so I was not tired. I put Miss Silver’s bonnet on Joker, but then he ran away, down the stairs. I came looking for him.”

  Jack could not blame the poor old hound for trying to hide, the hat was that ugly. Before he could expound on how one crime did not excuse another, Harriet was going on:

  “She will beat me if I do not get her bonnet back.”

  Jack did not for an instant believe that Miss Silver would strike a child. If she ever had, perhaps this brat would not be so plaguesome now. “You have caused me so much trouble I am tempted to beat you myself. Did you think of that?”

  “Oh, you would never do that. You are a gentleman. Darla just said so, and so did Miss Silver.”

  “She did?” He was surprised the teacher accorded him that much respect. He was also surprised how much her respect gladdened him. “That is, being a gentleman has nothing to do with it. You are not acting like a lady, creeping about in your nightclothes, so I am not constrained by proper manners either. I thought I made it clear that you were never to enter the public rooms. You could get me shut down. Unless you are an heiress after all, which I intend to investigate come Monday morning, we need the income from this place. And why do you not have any slippers?”

  Her toes were curled on the bare floor. “They burned up in the fire.”

  He sighed. “You better be an heiress, then, for I can see that you are going to be deuced expensive.”

  “But I can save you a lot of money.”

  He tallied the cost of a new bonnet for the teacher, new slippers, maybe a new dog. “I do not see how, brat. You cannot work at the tables for at least another eight years.” Not that Jack would let an old friend and fellow officer’s daughter deal cards at a gaming parlor. He turned to go back into the club.

  “The cheater would have cost you more.”

  That had him turned around so fast the breeze stirred Harriet’s white night gown. “Cheater?”

  She nodded. “One of the men at the table was playing crooked.”

  “You are nothing but a little girl. How could you know?”

  “I know enough to understand he was not supposed to have an ace tucked in his boot top.” She held up the card.

  “Hell. Sorry, I should not have said that in front of you.” But hell and damnation, a Captain Sharp could destroy everything Jack had built. His reputation for running an honest table was more important than the quality of his wine or the friendliness of his pretty dealers. If a man could not count on fair play, he might as well take his money to a diving ken in Seven Dials. At least there he’d know he was going to be robbed.

  “Which man?” he held his hand out for the card.

  Instead, Harriet wiped her nose on the back of her nightgown sleeve. Jack handed over his handkerchief. She mopped her nose, then held the cloth out to him.

  Jack stepped back. “No, you keep it. Which man?”

  “What will you give me?”

  “I’ll give you a birching if you do not tell me!”

  Harriet sniffed, jutting her jaw out, holding the ace to her skinny chest.

  “That’s blackmail!”

  She sniffed again.

  “And blow your nose, for heaven’s sake. All right. What do you want, a new doll to dress instead of my poor dog?”

  “I want to stay here.”

  “In the hall to the kitchen? You’ll be trampled, and cold. What, are you hungry? I can have some sandwiches sent upstairs.”

  “No, I want to stay here, in this house, with you.”

  “No, you don’t. You want to go to live with a nice family, or go to a school in the country.”

  “Where everyone will point to me and whisper about my mother. Where I’ll be no one’s favorite, only a charity girl.”

  “Nonsense. I expect to be paying your expenses until I find some poor fool to wed you. That is not charity.”

  Harriet did not hand over the ace, nor did she take her green-eyed gaze off him.

  Were females born knowing how to twist a man into knots? “Very well. For a bit. Then we will see how things work out. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

  “What about Miss Silver?”

  Lud, what would he do with this conniving little cub without a bear leader? “I will invite her to stay, but I make no promises. She is a highly moral woman, and she does not approve of me or my club. An offer to raise her salary is the best I can do. And that is my best offer to you, brat. If you wait any longer the game will be over and my customers might discover they have been gulled on their own.”

  “I saw seagulls once. Is it the same? I did not see any in the other room.”

  “No! Forget about seagulls. Which man?”

  “The one with the high-topped boots, of course.”

  Damn, he should have gone back and looked for himself, instead of bargaining with the devil’s own granddaughter. “There may be more than one man at the table in boots. Which seat did he have?”

  “With his back to the door.”

  Excellent. Now all he needed was Darla, and another diversion.

  The poor girl had tears in her eyes when he told her, after she’d done exclaiming over Miss Harriet, out of bed and in her bare feet. “But that Mr. Downs is such a nice man.”

  “Yes, and I shall raise his salary too.” Lud, what this night was going to cost him, Jack worried, as he put another two guineas on Darla’s tray. “Now go.”

  This time Darla cracked poor Downs over the head with her tray, a great resounding smack that could be heard in the rear of the room, where Jack was standing behind Sir Jethro Stevens’s chair. Jack placed his hand firmly on the baronet’s padded shoulder when everyone turned to look toward the altercation.

  “The game is over,” Jack whispered in the older, thinner man’s ear while his gaming partners were laying side bets on the outcome of contretemps, or if Downs survived the night. “You have an urgent message to go home.”

  “Impossible. No one lives in my rooms but me. No one wants me there, or knows I am here.”

  “I know you are here and I do not want you, either.” Jack showed the ace in his other hand. “Now get up and leave quietly, leaving the money on the table, or I shall drag you into the kitchen and hand you to my chef. The man’s a genius with a carving knife. Then, if anything is left, I shall let Calloway show you what I think of ivory tuners in my club. You do recall Calloway, don’t you? He’s the large gentleman outside the door, the one who looks like a cutthroat. Which is what he was, before they let him choose the army instead of Australia. Oh, and then it will be my turn. I do hate to get my hands dirty, but in your case I might make an ex—”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Stevens said, rising. “Urgent message from home, don’t you know. Have to leave.” He tossed his cards, including the extra ace, onto the table, mixing them into the unused cards and the coins and the vouchers resting there. “Sorry. The game’s not over so divide the ante as you will.”

  “What about your winnings?” one of the others asked.

  “Sir Jethro has kindly donated his winnings to the Widows and Orphans Fund.” Jack had his hand on the baronet’s shoulder, squeezing. “Isn’t that right?” He spoke loudly, thinking he might shame some of the other gamesters into a bit of charity while he was cleaning house.

  Sir Jethro looked ill, but he nodded. “Perhaps another evening,” he told his former victims.

  “Not in my club. Not in London,” the captain said softly as he escorted the now sweating baronet from the room. Jack had a smile on his face for the other players to see. “Or you are a dead man.”

  So was Jack, when he had to tell Rochelle she was leaving and Miss Silver was staying.

  Chapter Seven

  Allie could not breathe. She was febrile, fevered, and felt as if a weight pressed on her chest, another on her feet. Oh, no, she was too ill with Harriet’s contagion to go to church. Mrs. Semple would be furious. Matron would h
ave to escort the younger girls herself.

  Then Allie remembered she was not at the school. She was in London, at a sinkhole of depravity. Instead of little girls with pleasing manners, the women here worked at pleasing men, one way or another. Did they even go to church?

  Allie groaned. She was too sick to go to services, and she was staying in a gambling establishment. The Good Lord would have to forgive her for both. Then she remembered Harriet and groaned again.

  She struggled for breath, for the energy to open her eyes. When she got them open, she screamed. The weight on her chest was brown and hairy and licked her chin. The dog was lying on top of her, panting, and it was wearing a lace-edged night cap. A familiar lace-edged nightcap. Allie got one of her hands out of the covers and touched her head, which was bare. Her hair was in a tangle, for she had gone to bed with it damp, thinking her cap would keep her curls manageable. She screamed again: “Harriet!”

  That was the weight on her legs. “Oh good, you are awake.”

  Allie pushed the dog aside and took a deep breath. Maybe she would live through the day after all. The room was bright with morning light and her head seemed clear.

  “We are staying.”

  Maybe Allie would not want to live through the day if it meant arguing with Harriet. “We talked about this last night. You should not raise your hopes.”

  “But Cap’n Jack said so.”

  He would not know what it meant to make a promise to a child, or how a few words could be construed as a vow. He would not have to console an angry, disappointed child. Allie would.

  “I am sure he did not mean—”

  “And he’ll raise your salary triple if you stay, he said.”

  “No, he could not have.”

  “Want to bet? A thousand pounds says he offers double at least.”

  Allie could not imagine how or when Harriet had such a conversation with her guardian. “I am glad Captain Endicott seems to have taken a liking to you, enough that he wishes you to stay with him, but I cannot.”

  “He might offer more if I pretend to cry.”

  “Money does not matter. It cannot repair a damaged reputation. Your guardian is not a man with whom an unwed female should associate.”

  “Darla likes him fine.”

  Goodness, she did not wish to discuss with an eight-year-old child the difference between a woman who took money to educate minds and one who took money to entertain men, or why Harriet should not be speaking with Darla. “Liking him does not matter either.” Not that Allie did, despite admiring his bravery, not in battle, but in forging his own path and following it. She did not respect his route, however, and she did not trust a man who would make those disreputable choices. Besides, Captain Endicott and his bravery, bad choices, and beguiling smile were nothing to her, nothing but something to avoid.

  “But he will buy you a new bonnet.”

  “I could never accept such a personal gift from a man who—What happened to my old bonnet?”

  Harriet jumped off the bed, Joker following. “Mary is bringing breakfast to the sitting room. Hurry to get dressed or it will be cold. I am starving!” She skipped out of the room. The old dog lumbered after her, still wearing Allie’s night cap, half covering his eyes.

  If Allie could not get to church, she could still say a prayer. Allie prayed for patience. And deliverance. She found hot water in the wash basin, which was a treat after Mrs. Semple’s, where one nearly had to break the ice on one’s water pitcher in the mornings. She also found that her two packed gowns, all that remained of her once modest, now meager wardrobe, had been sponged and pressed. They hardly smelled of the fire or soot at all anymore.

  Allie picked the brown wool, since the dark blue’s cuffs were less frayed. That gown would be more suitable for calling on placement agencies and academies on Monday morning. She could not apply for a position without a bonnet, however, so after brushing most of the knots out of her hair, she went to find Harriet. She would finish the brushing after breakfast, and coil the long mane into a proper bun at the back of her neck. For now her hair was clean, which felt so good she swung her head from side to side, just to feel the hair’s weight and smell the fine soap that had been provided with her bath.

  Someone had braided Harriet’s red curls, she saw when she reached the sitting room, and tied the braids with ribbons. The child’s stockings were clean, and her white pinafore was freshly ironed. If she had not been eating bacon with her fingers, one might have assumed she was a cherished, wellborn, well-mannered child. Allie sent another prayer skyward. Maybe someday that would be the truth.

  Once again the cook had sent enough food for half of Mrs. Semple’s students. Allie chose a sweet roll and tea. Just as she was about to bring the cup to her lips, someone rapped on the door.

  “Come in,” she said, thinking it was the maid, Mary.

  It was not.

  Once again, Allie was hot and weak and could not breathe. No, she was cold and stiff, and could not breathe. Captain Endicott walked into the room and stole all the air out of it. Yesterday he had been disordered, half his clothes missing, his hair mussed. Today he was nearly perfect, from the tips of his shining shoes to the gleaming dark curls on his head. What was in between was a figment of a tailor’s fantasies—and a maiden’s. In form-fitting trousers and narrow blue Bath superfine coat, he was all tight muscle and broad chest, with no fat and no affectations. He did not pose or preen like a London dandy, or walk with a mincing gait. The captain could have been in the country, or still with the cavalry, so natural was his air of confidence, his casual grace, his sinewy stride. He was taller than she had remembered, and far better looking. No wonder the women adored him.

  What saved him from being too good looking, too much the beau ideal, was his nose. It was definitely crooked and flattened at one point, likely where someone’s fist had smashed into it. The irregularity, the asymmetry, saved Captain Endicott from being a masterpiece of manliness. Now he was simply intensely appealing. That hint of vulnerability, that imperfection, took him off a pedestal, back to where a woman could throw herself into his embrace, beg to be held by those strong arms, rub her soft body against his hardness. She could do none of those things if he was the consummate image of virility, an idol to be worshiped from afar. Now he was just a run-of-the-mill hero.

  No wonder the women adored him. Or had she come to that conclusion already? He not only stole her breath, he stole her wits. He smiled at her then, and Allie could not recall what she disliked about him.

  “You look a hundred percent better without that old maid bonnet,” he said by way of greeting.

  Now Allie remembered what she did not like about her host. He was a flirt and a womanizer, a gambler and a gauger. Yes, he was devotedly looking for his sister, and yes, he had kindly hired former soldiers, but he was improper. A gentleman did not comment on a lady’s marital state, nor did he question her taste.

  “Good morning to you, sir,” Allie said in quelling tones, the ones she used to bring her young students back to order.

  He grinned at her and gestured to the overladen table. “Might I join you?”

  How could Allie refuse him when it was his table, his food? She nodded.

  Jack sank into the chair, relieved his knees had not given out. Gads, the woman was a beauty! He could have fallen over from the shock. That hair alone made her one of the most attractive women he had ever seen, long and flowing in dark golden waves like honey down her back, over her shoulders, half hiding the ugly brown sack she wore. After a good night’s sleep she did not appear as pale and drawn, either, but had a clear, glowing complexion, all rosy from her wash. Her eyes were more blue than gray this morning, and her lips were full. Heaven help him.

  But then those lips pursed in disapproval as she said, “I thought you promised not to enter these rooms.”

  Ah, there was the Miss Silver of yesterday, the prim schoolmistress. Now he could stop looking at her and eat his breakfast.

  “Yes,” he
said, “but no one is around to see me, and how else was I to invite you to attend church with me this morning?”

  “You go to church? That is, I had not expected—”

  “You had been thinking that I followed some pagan religion, worshiping Mannon and sacrificing virgins?”

  Allie cursed her pale skin for the blush she could feel creeping across her cheeks. Just because he was a knave was no reason to be impolite. “I had not considered that you would arise so early, after a night of…of managing your enterprise.”

  He brushed that aside, filling a plate with eggs and ham and kidneys and kippers. “I need little sleep. I need more of God’s grace to make a go of this business. So will you attend with me, you and Harriet, of course?”

  Harriet was eating, feeding scraps to the dog, and watching the two adults eagerly. “We should thank the Lord for saving us from the fire and finding us such a nice place to live.”

  “We can thank Him in our prayers every night, and beg his forgiveness for our trespasses.” Allie still was not sure about that fire, or her bonnet. She was sure, though, that it was not a good idea to go anywhere with the devilishly handsome former officer. “I thought we had agreed that arrangements were to be made today for other accommodations.”

  The captain looked at Harriet, who smiled at him, dripping jam down her chin. “I had second thoughts about that. I think you and Harriet should stay here for awhile, even after I speak to the solicitor Monday morning. I should get to know my ward, don’t you think, so I know what is in her best interests? Church is a good place to start.”

  “But I thought it was understood, sir, that I could not stay here. No one was to know I was in residence at your club. My reputation would be destroyed at the hint of such an association with The Red and the Black, which would be obvious if I attended services with you. Furthermore, aside from the nature of the club, an unwed woman cannot be seen accompanied by a single gentleman.”