Nicola Cornick Collection: The Last Rake In London / Notorious / Desired. Nicola Cornick
Doubt your young man will be able to take his eyes off you.’
‘He’s here to talk about his cousin, not to court me,’ Sally said, repressing a traitorous rush of excitement at the thought of Jack Kestrel’s eyes on her. ‘His cousin Mr Basset, I mean, not the Duke of Kestrel.’
Matty puffed out her thin cheeks. ‘Mr Basset, Miss Connie’s young man?’
‘Yes,’ Sally said. ‘Do you know about that? Does Connie really like him?’
Matty looked a little grim. ‘You never know with Miss Connie, do you? Think she’s out with him tonight, though. Told me earlier that she was dining with him.’
Sally frowned as she reached for her fuchsia evening bag. Albert the doorman had said much the same thing, which made no sense if Connie was trying to extort money from Lord Basset over his son’s indiscretion. Surely she would wait for the affair to end before she tried to blackmail Bertie Basset? There was something else going on here. Sally was sure of it. Connie was up to something and Sally did not like the sound of it.
Not that she was going to discuss her doubts with Jack Kestrel. She was taking dinner with him merely to pass the time until Connie returned. Not for a moment could she forget that, nor allow herself to be distracted by Jack’s undeniable charm or the inconvenient attraction he held for her. She would be cool and composed. She would remember that he was dangerous to her on so many levels.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The Poiret gown shimmered seductively over every curve. The diamonds sparkled in her hair. She drew herself up. This was business, not pleasure and she had best not forget that.
Dan met her as soon as she stepped off the bottom step and on to the marble floor of the entrance hall. She raised her brows at the look on his face.
‘Trouble?’
‘Yes.’ A frown wrinkled Dan’s broad forehead. ‘Mr Kestrel is in the Gold Salon. Said he wanted to play a few hands of baccarat.’
‘And?’ Sally kept a smile plastered on her face as a noisy group of diners passed by and paused to compliment her on the quality of the Blue Parrot’s service.
‘And now the bank is down five thousand pounds.’
‘Damnation!’ Sally felt a twinge of real alarm. A little while ago Jack Kestrel had threatened to ruin her business, but she had not thought he would do so that very night by breaking the bank at her own gaming tables.
‘There’s worse,’ Dan said in an undertone, taking her arm and hurrying her along the corridor towards the casino. ‘The King is here.’
‘What?’ For a moment Sally felt faint. ‘The King? King Edward?’
‘Himself.’ Dan nodded in gloomy agreement. ‘Playing at the same table as Mr Kestrel. And losing to him like everyone else.’
‘Hell and the devil.’ Sally’s heels clicked agitatedly on the marble floor as she quickened her pace. Damn Jack Kestrel. She thought she had contained the threat he posed, had imagined him sitting at table harmlessly drinking her champagne and here he was beating the King at baccarat and bankrupting her in the process. Matty was right. He was dangerous. She should never have let him out of her sight.
‘I wouldn’t like to say that he was cheating, now,’ Dan said, in his rich Irish brogue, ‘but …’ there was puzzlement in his blue eyes ‘… I’ve been watching him and either he is extraordinarily lucky or …’ He let the sentence hang.
Sally paused discreetly within the doorway so that she could watch Jack Kestrel at the baccarat table without being observed herself. He sprawled in his chair, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead, his cards held in one careless hand. He had discarded his jacket and the pristine whiteness of his shirt looked stark against the darkness of his tanned skin. Seeing him there, Sally thought once again of his rakish forebears. There was something about him, something to do with his air of lazy arrogance, the perfection of his tailoring, the casual grace with which he wore it, that recalled the gamblers of a previous century, the rakes who made and lost their fortunes in the London of the Regency, a time like the present one that was full of the glitter and the lure of money and scandal.
‘Miss Bowes?’ Dan said with increased urgency, and Sally’s attention snapped back.
‘I’m thinking what best to do.’
‘Better think quickly, then,’ Dan said grimly. ‘We’re down ten thousand now.’
Sally allowed her gaze to wander over the other occupants of the baccarat table. She was not going to be hurried because what she did next could make all the difference between keeping and losing her business. It was on a knife edge. If Jack Kestrel kept playing and winning …
She knew most of the other people in the room. The King frequented the Blue Parrot regularly these days and brought his cronies with him. Despite being on a losing streak, he looked to be in a good mood. There was a full champagne flute at his elbow. The smoke from his cigar spiralled upwards, wreathing about the chandelier. He was watching the game from beneath heavy-lidded eyes and every so often he would stroke thoughtfully at his sharply trimmed beard.
‘You have the devil’s own luck, Kestrel,’ Sally heard him say now. ‘Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, eh? Which makes you rich but with no one to spend it on, what!’
The group of hangers-on laughed obligingly and Sally saw the shadow of a smile touch Jack Kestrel’s firm mouth. She doubted that he had a great deal of difficulty in finding a willing woman on whom to lavish his fortune, for he was without a doubt one of the most sinfully handsome men that she had ever seen in the Blue Parrot. Nor was she the only woman to have noticed. The King’s mistress, Mrs Alice Keppel, looking as regal as the Queen in a golden gown with diamonds sparkling on her impressive décolletage, was watching Jack with more interest than the King would surely deem strictly necessary. A blonde woman in a tight red-silk gown and with matching red lipstick had draped herself across the chair next to Jack, but he seemed unaware of her presence, for his dark eyes were narrowed on the cards and his full attention was on the play. Her foot was tapping with impatience that she did not command his interest and she flicked the ash from her cigarette with a red-tipped finger.
‘What shall I do, Miss Bowes?’ Dan was waiting for her instructions. ‘Shall I throw him out, perhaps?’
Sally laughed. It was tempting, but she was not sure that she could allow Dan to use strong tactics tonight. Not in front of the King.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Send for more champagne and caviar and smoked salmon.’
‘More!’ Dan’s brows shot upwards. ‘Lord save us, they’ve already had half a dozen bottles and they have only been here a half-hour!’
‘You sound like my old nurse,’ Sally said. ‘We’re not here to look after their health, Daniel, only to tend to their pleasure and take their money. I am going to remind Mr Kestrel that he has an appointment to take dinner with me.’
Jack looked up as Sally started to walk towards the baccarat table. The woman in red put a hand on his arm and started to speak to him, but he shook her off and her scarlet mouth turned down with disappointment. His gaze, intense and black, rested on Sally’s face. It made her feel a little breathless.
The King’s eyes lit up when he saw her approaching.
‘Hello, Sally, old thing! How are you? Ten thousand pounds poorer by my reckoning, thanks to this chap here!’ He nodded at Jack. ‘Damned inconvenient habit he has of breaking the bank. I’ve told him to stop now because this is my favourite club, what, and I want to be invited back!’
‘Thank you, your Majesty,’ Sally said, smiling.
Jack stretched, the muscle rippling beneath the white linen of his shirt. ‘Did your manager think I was cheating?’ he enquired lazily. ‘Usually they only call the owner when they are about to throw me out.’
Sally met his eyes. ‘On the