The Star of Love Page 12

  There in the semi-darkness he could cast aside restraint and pull her into his arms for the kiss he had yearned for every night and day.

  He kissed her with no regard to gentlemanly restraint, but fiercely, demandingly, as though they were the only man and woman in the world.

  And now Cliona discovered what a truly perverse creature she was, for she too had yearned for his kiss. Yet now it had come, she found that her first ecstasy swiftly gave way to indignation.

  This man had taken her to the heights and then rejected and insulted her. He had ordered her about, imposed his decisions on her and now he felt entitled to kiss her by force. Just who did he think he was?

  “How dare you!” she cried, struggling free. “I will not be taken for granted by a man who’s acting like a dog in the manger. You don’t want me yourself but you won’t let anyone else have me. But that is my decision – now let me go! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Teaching you some sense,” he growled, pulling her back into his arms. “Does he kiss you like this? If so, go ahead and marry him, but does he?”

  There was a long silence as Cliona felt the strength drain out of her. If his arms had not been tight about her she would have fallen. Her heart was beating wildly and she could feel his strong heart beat against her. She wanted to stay like this forever, floating upwards in a dream where they would always be together.

  At any moment he would say the words she longed to hear.

  But the sound that broke the spell was not Charles’s voice speaking of love, but something else. Something that froze her blood.

  A small, polite cough.

  Appalled, they both looked up to find John standing there.

  He was smiling.

  “I say, old fellow,” he said amiably, “that’s going a bit far, isn’t it? Forcing your attentions on a lady! I could hear her tell you to let her go from half way down the terrace.”

  Charles was shaking with the passion that possessed him and from the effort to control himself. Somehow he managed to think clearly.

  Forcing his attentions on a lady! Yes, that was it. Only in that way could her reputation be preserved. His face hardened and that was what she saw when she looked at him.

  John strolled forward and took Cliona’s hand as Charles stepped back.

  “I guess I arrived just in time, my dear,” he said smoothly. “No need to make a fuss. Charles doesn’t mean anything by it. Devil of a ladies’ man, you know.”

  He was leading her back along the terrace as he spoke and she went with him in a daze.

  Now it was all over. Nothing could save her. She had misplayed her hand.

  And what did it matter anyway? Charles did not want her enough to fight for her.

  But as she walked she was praying desperately as she had done before when things had seemed beyond hope.

  ‘Please, please,’ she whispered silently, ‘let something happen. I don’t know what. I can’t think any more, I’m too confused. But throw me a lifeline – please – ’

  The guests now came spilling out onto the terrace, regarding them with wonder.

  ”So there you are,” hooted the Countess. “We wondered where the three of you had got to.”

  Charles never knew how he replied. His head was spinning. He supposed he said something meaningless about the ball, refreshments, the next dance, anything.

  “You should rejoin your guests,” said the Countess. “It is time to – good heavens, what is that noise?”

  A commotion was coming from the lawn just below, voices shouting, one voice shouting louder than the others, a determined bellow from a man who would not be denied.

  “You shall not stop me. Out of my way.”

  “Sir, you cannot –”

  “Out of my way!”

  In the darkness they could just make out figures running across the lawn to the steps that led up to the terrace. The first one to reach them was a man of about sixty. He was wild in every way. His white hair was wild and standing up on his head. His clothes were wild, his face was wild. But most of all his eyes were wild.

  Dark, mad eyes, burning with fever, with rage, with hate.

  “My name is Jacob Ormerod,” he said hoarsely, “And I have come to bring a thief to justice. “There he is!” he roared, pointing a shaking finger. “The cheat, the liar, the thief. He stole my home.”

  Servants had come stumbling up the steps after him and would have seized him, but Charles waved them back.

  All eyes were on the madman, shaking with fury and then at the man he had singled out.

  John.

  John stood motionless but his eyes were almost as livid as his tormentor’s. A thin smile played around his lips. He had confronted his victims before, but he preferred not to do it in public.

  “Thief!” the intruder screamed. “He stole my home.”

  “It was your idea to stake your title deeds,” said John coldly. “I was reluctant, but you insisted.”

  “It was my only way to win back what you had cheated from me,” the man cried hoarsely.

  “Be very careful,” said John waspishly. “What you have just said is slander.”

  “What I have said is the truth.”

  “Did you win this man’s home?” Charles demanded of John in a low voice.

  “In a fair game, and it was his idea to stake his deeds. I was against it, for precisely this reason. They insist on high stakes and then they scream if they lose.”

  “For pity’s sake, John, give it back.”

  “Are you out of your mind? This was my biggest stroke of luck in years.”

  “You should never have accepted the wager –”

  “But I did, and I won it fair and square.”

  “Did you?” Charles asked coldly.

  “What are you suggesting? That I cheated? Shame on you Charles. Think of the family.”

  Charles swore under his breath. He could not, under his own roof, accuse his cousin of cheating. If the club stewards had seen evidence of cheating, they would have intervened at the time.

  And yet John had deprived a man of his home, and this was the result. The damage to the family name was as bad either way.

  The man had staggered from the violence of his emotions and would have fallen, but some of the guests supported him while others led him to a stone seat. One of the women gave him a glass of wine.

  John’s mind was working fast on two tracks at once. He had behaved coolly when he found Cliona in his cousin’s arms, hoping that by not antagonising her he might still reap the golden harvest that she represented.

  Yet, at the same time, he knew that he had lost her. He was gambling on the chance of being able to claim her, even while he knew that chance to be almost non-existent.

  He might have to return Ormerod’s deeds, to impress Cliona. Yet another instinct told him to hold onto them, for he was going to need every penny for himself. And an odd twist in his nature forced him to play both parts at once.

  Cliona was talking gently to the old man, holding his hand. After a while she rose and came across to where Charles and John were standing. To Charles’s astonishment she was now laughing as though enjoying a joke.

  “It is quite absurd,” she said to John. “Mr Ormerod seems to be under the impression that you carry the deeds on your person at all times and can hand them over now. How can he be so absurd? You will have left them in a bank in London.”

  “What a splendidly level-headed woman you are,” he said admiringly. “That would, of course, have been the sensible thing to do, but I was reluctant to leave them.”

  Cliona clapped her hands. “You mean they are here in this house? Oh how clever! I should so like to see them.”

  He grinned at her, then lifted her chin with his fingers in a way that made Charles want to knock him down.

  At the same time he was appalled by Cliona’s behaviour. How could this scatter brained creature be the ethereal woman he thought he knew and loved?

  John summoned one
of the footmen, standing woodenly by the walls, pretending not to notice the drama going on.

  “Find my valet, Raskin,” he said, “and bring him here at once.”

  “John, for pity’s sake!” Charles said as they waited. “Give him back his home.”

  “My home, I think, Charles. Legally mine now. That should please you. The sale should bring in quite a bit. Assuming, of course, that I don’t find some other source of income in the meantime, which I rather think I will. That will please you too, I dare say.”

  “Keep your voice down,” said Charles sharply, glancing at Cliona who, mercifully, did not seem to have heard.

  John shrugged. “It’ll be no secret soon. Ah, Raskin, here is the key to the special box. Fetch me the documents inside, and hurry.”

  Raskin hurried away. A hush had fallen over the crowd. Some were looking at Ormerod, some at John, all looked unsure how to react.

  “Will you think carefully about what you’re doing?” Charles urged John. “These people have started to like you. Will you wantonly throw away their goodwill now you have it?”

  “My dear Charles,” murmured John, “they may take their goodwill and do with it as they please. What do I care for their goodwill?”

  Ormerod, slightly revived by a glass of wine was getting to his feet, his tired eyes alight with hope.

  “You have sent for the deeds? You will return them to me. I beg you – my family will be destitute – I beg you – let me have them back.”

  “Perhaps I will,” John mused. “We will see what happens.”

  “But you must – you must – ” Ormerod pleaded. “I am going mad – it’s a sickness, the gambling – it comes over me – and then I don’t know what I’m doing – ”

  Charles gently took hold of him and led him to a seat, where Ormerod half fell and dropped his head into his hands. Cliona was standing nearby and Charles drew her aside.

  “I don’t know if you have any influence over that cruel man,” he said. “But if you have, for pity’s sake use it.”

  “He goes his own way,” she said in an edgy voice. “He won’t give in without getting something in return.”

  “If he loves you, he will. Ask him, flatter him, implore him. Get those deeds back.”

  She gave him a direct look. “Is this what you want?”

  He did not answer. There were no words to tell her what he wanted.

  Raskin had returned with the deeds. Ormerod’s eyes brightened and he made a futile lunge for them, but John stepped quickly back, thrusting the deeds into his inner coat pocket.

  “You said you would give them to me,” Ormerod screamed.

  “No, I said perhaps,” John told him coldly. “I will make you a proposition, Mr Ormerod. You lost these deeds at gaming. I’ll play you for them again. And to show my good intentions, I shall not ask any stake from you. I stand to lose the deeds. You stand to lose nothing.”

  A relaxed murmur went round the crowd for they all thought they knew what John had in mind. He would let Ormerod win, and so return the deeds while allowing the old man to recover some dignity.

  But Charles was unconvinced. He knew John better than to expect any act of kindness. He was playing with Ormerod, amusing himself with the man’s grief. And he would humiliate him for more amusement.

  Ormerod had to have everything explained to him twice. He looked half dead with weariness, and as if he had not eaten for days and Charles was certain that he was in no mental condition to play a game of cards. He would have liked to stop this charade but he could not deny the poor man the chance to redeem his deeds, however slight a chance it might be.

  Ormerod finally raised his head and seemed to give himself a shake.

  “What are we to play?” he asked with a touch of defiance.

  “Poker,” said John.

  People looked at each other. Many had never heard of the game. Few knew how it was played.

  “It’s what we were playing that night,” said John. “So we must play the same game now.”

  Cliona was standing near to Charles. “They play it a lot in America,” she said. “Papa told me. As a young man he once took a trip on a riverboat along the Mississippi. He was on the boat for weeks, winning and losing. It’s known as ‘the cheating game’.”

  “Then John will cheat,” groaned Charles.

  “He probably cheated that night,” observed the Lord Lieutenant. “Perhaps he can only be defeated by someone with the same skills.”

  “And I doubt Ormerod has them. But it makes no odds. This is his only chance.”

  A small table was brought out for the players. Because the night was warm and the ballroom growing uncomfortably hot, the table was set out on the terrace, but near to the light.

  Now that the decision had been made, Ormerod was calm. Freddy began explaining the rules to the spectators.

  “It’s really a game of bluff,” he said. “Each player is dealt a hand of cards and then they raise the stakes if they think they have a good enough hand. The trick is to guess how good the other fellow’s hand is and pretend that yours is better than it is. You can improve your hand by changing cards.”

  “Very well,” said Charles grimly. “If we are doing this, we’ll do it properly. Sir,” this to Sir Kenton, “as Lord Lieutenant, will you take charge of the deeds, and award them to the rightful owner when the game is over?”

  “Certainly,” agreed Sir Kenton.

  The players faced each other over the table. Freddy dealt the cards and they each raised their hand.

  At once it became obvious that Ormerod could never compete. He added to his hand, discarded some cards, but seemed to do so without rhyme or reason. At last John laid his cards on the table. He had four queens. Only four kings or four aces would outdo them.

  Ormerod had a three, a five, and two sevens.

  “My hand, I think,” said John.

  Ormerod moaned.

  “Stop this,” said Charles sharply. “Stop tormenting the poor man.”

  “But I am offering him another chance,” said John. “I’m willing to play another hand. Will you deny him the chance?”

  There was the catch. Any attempt that Charles made to protect Ormerod could deny him his last chance.

  Ormerod knew it too.

  “Another hand,” he cried. “I’ll win this one.”

  “But you are not well, sir,” came a sweet voice. The speaker was Lady Cliona.

  “You are unwell”, she repeated. “Let someone else take your place.”

  The gentlemen looked at each other, aghast. Who could take on such a heavy responsibility?

  “Then I will play for you,” said Cliona, smiling at him. “I know this game well.”

  Ormerod rose to his feet, remembering that he had once been a gallant gentleman.

  “Too kind – this game is not for ladies – ”

  Cliona laughed.

  “Never fear, sir. I am not like other ladies. I play poker very well.”

  “As well as me?” John asked with a faint sneer.

  Cliona answered him strangely. “I play the same game that you do, sir.”

  “Not a game for ladies – ” Ormerod repeated. Then he swayed and had to be caught.

  Cliona seated herself firmly in his place. Charles came to her quickly.

  “Cliona, listen –”

  “The poor man has nothing to lose,” she said unanswerably.

  “But suppose I do not agree?” asked John. “Why should I? What do I have to gain?”

  “What do you want to gain?” asked Cliona.

  “You know what I want, ma’am.”

  Cliona smiled.

  “Very well, then. Mr Baxter, earlier today you asked me a question, to which I have not yet given you an answer. I answer you now. If you win this game, I will marry you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “No!”

  There was a general murmur of disapproval, but Charles’s cry could be heard over all the rest.

  “No!” he said
again. “I forbid it.”

  “You have no power to forbid it,” retorted John. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

  “Cliona,” he tried to take hold of her, “for pity’s sake stop this. You cannot do it. Just stop and think what you could do to us?”

  “Us?” she whispered so that only he could hear. “Is there such a thing?”

  “I will do anything you want,” Charles cried. “I’ll give in.”

  “I don’t want you to give in. I wanted you to come to me willingly and with a full heart. But you did not want to do that. Now I insist on my right to bestow my hand where I please.”

  With horror he realised that she was implacable. This girl who looked so frail had an inner core of steel. She was stronger than anyone. Perhaps she was even stronger than him.

  But was she stronger than John?

  It was hard to believe that she could be, as she sat there gently fanning herself with her outrageous feather fan.

  The game proceeded despite Charles.

  Once more Freddy dealt the cards. Cliona took a quick look at her hand, then held it against her chest, so that it was concealed from everyone else. Her face appeared calm.

  Charles moved to stand behind John, in order to get a better view of Cliona.

  At this very moment she held their future in her hands and only she knew what that might be.

  Charles raised his eyes to the heavens, high and dark above them. Such a terrible, icy indifference he thought.

  And then he saw his star.

  It sparkled and glittered, outshining any other star. It was his. She had given it to him and it would be his forever.

  His lucky star, she had told him. But could it help them now?

  She played with quiet concentration, taking up and discarding cards. John seemed confident, too confident, Charles thought. He changed cards, but not as often as Cliona, and he repeatedly asked her if she was ready to show her hand. Always she refused, and Charles began to get a sick, apprehensive feeling in his stomach as he realised that she did not know what to do.