Paying the Virgin's Price

She bit her lip. If only there were some way to draw Mr Dale back and ask him if this information was recent or some time in coming. It was possible that he’d met the Gypsy before his demise on the ice some weeks ago. Marc had warned her before he’d left to be on guard against all strangers, particularly one with dark hair and skin. She was to summon him immediately if anything or anyone unusual appeared.

This morning’s visit had certainly been unusual. But Nathan Dale was not dark, nor was he threatening. He had been trying to help, and had brought a scrap of information that was already known to the family. If a specific threat had been imminent, surely he would have said more, or seemed more worried. And he had been smiling just now. How serious could the situation be?

She would adopt a wait-and-see attitude, doing just as Marc had asked. She would watch the girls more closely than usual. And if Mr Dale returned, she would try to find a way to draw him out and gain more information—without revealing that she had opened his note.

On thinking of it, she very much hoped Mr Dale would return. She suspected he was a most interesting gentleman and it intrigued her to know more about him. It was as though hard weather had rubbed away at a softer, less substantial person, until the core of vitality could shine through to the surface. There was an air of confidence about him, as though he had already seen and survived hardship and knew better than to be rattled by anything less than the gravest circumstances.

Perhaps he had already dealt with the Gypsy’s threat and was only tying up the loose ends of the contact, making sure that the man could do no damage elsewhere. If she needed his help during Marc’s absence, there might be some way…

Of course not. She reminded herself firmly of her first suspicions regarding the man: that he might be a suitor of Honoria or Verity. If he was a friend of Marc’s and sought the company of any of the women in the house, there was no reason to think that he would seek the friendship of their companion nor that he wished to be bothered with her concerns over the girls.

It was just that she had found the sight of him to be rather dashing, and now she was spinning fancies that they would have more time to talk.

She glanced down at the note, and Nathan written at the bottom. And she shivered. It was good that she had conversed with the man before seeing it, for past experience had taught her to dread that name, and all who carried it. If she had known he was a Nathan, she might have let an unreasonable prejudice colour her opinions of him. And then she would have been deprived of that marvellous smile. She smiled back, even though he was not there to see it.

Verity looked up as she entered the dressing room. ‘Who was it?’

Diana tucked the note into the pocket of her dress. ‘It was the most extraordinary man.’ Without meaning to, she gave a little sigh of pleasure. She had nothing to fear from this Nathan. He looked nothing like the man her father had warned her of, ten years ago. Mr Dale was not cold, or emotionless or the least bit cruel. Her spontaneous attraction to him came from the openness of his countenance, his easy nature and his selfless concern for others. He had a robust physique and the healthy colouring of a man who enjoyed nature, not the stooped frame, pinched face and anaemic pallor of a habitual gambler.

In short, he was the diametric opposite of Nathan Wardale.

Chapter Three

Nate hurried out of the Carlow town house and down the street, feeling the cold sweat beading on his brow. Of all the people, in all the places, why had he been greeted by Diana Price? He had been nervous enough, going to the house at all. But once he had arrived on Albemarle Street, the feelings of his youth returned. As a boy, he had run across the chequered floor of the front hall, chasing and being chased, laughing and playing. It had been as a second home to him. And to feel that moment of pleasure, as the young woman had entered the room. The Carlow daughters grown to beauty? But no. A stranger. A very attractive stranger. Delight, curiosity, an awakening of old feelings in him, long suppressed.

She was a lovely thing, with shining dark hair, and a small pursed mouth, ready to be kissed. Her large brown eyes were intelligent, but full of an innocence he never saw in the female denizens of the Fourth Circle.

She had looked at him without judgment or expectation, and a hint of responding interest that proved she was not wife to Marcus or Hal. Nate had felt quite like the man he once hoped to be. For a few moments, he was an ordinary gentleman meeting a pretty girl in a nice parlour, with none of the stink of the gaming hell on his clothes or in his mind.

And then he had discovered her identity, and it had all come crashing down. Thank God he had not decided to use his true name, for if she’d realized…

He hailed a cab in Piccadilly to Covent Garden and Suffolk Street, to the low haunts inhabited by Nate Dale the gambler. If the man he sought was anywhere, he would be here, waiting in the spot that he’d last been seen.

Nate went from the dim street, into the dim tavern connected by a tunnel to the Fourth Circle. ‘Mr Dale, returning so soon? And in daylight.’ Dante Jones saw him less as a friend than as a way to bring more people to the tables. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’

‘Mr Jones,’ he responded, with barely a nod, resenting the grimy way he felt when the man looked at him as though he was nothing more than a meal ticket. ‘Where is the damned Gypsy?’

‘The man who you beat last night? In the same spot as when you left him. And I am glad to have him, for his play draws quite a crowd. He is very nearly as lucky as you.’

‘Not any more.’ Nate stalked past Dante and into the gaming room to find Stephano Beshaley, or whoever he chose to be called today, seated in Nate’s regular chair, as though he owned it. He seemed impervious to the action around him, nursing his drink, long slender legs outstretched, as though he had been waiting for Nate’s return.

Nate pulled the silk rope from his pocket, and threw it down on the table in front of the Gypsy. ‘Take it back.’

Stephano only smiled and sipped his drink. ‘Once it is given, there is no returning it.’

‘Take it back. You have had your fun.’

‘Fun?’ Nate’s former friend greeted this with a bitter twist of his mouth and an arched eye-brow. ‘Is that what you think this is for me?’

‘I think you take pleasure in tormenting me. But you have done enough.’

And there was the ironic smile again. ‘You have changed much, in a few short hours. Last night, you said that there was nothing left to hurt you.’

‘And I was wrong. I freely admit it. You have found the one thing.’

Beshaley laughed. ‘I? I found nothing. But apparently you have. And I wish you to get what you deserve from it.’

‘You knew where I would go, when you returned. And you knew that Diana Price would be there, waiting for me.’

‘Who?’The Gypsy seemed honestly puzzled.

Nate reached into his pocket, and removed the tattered piece of paper that he had carried with him for ten years, like Coleridge’s albatross. He set it on the table before his old friend, who read aloud.

Should I lose the next hand, I pledge in payment my last thing of value. The maidenhead of my daughter, Diana. Edgar Price June 3rd 1804

Beshaley sneered back at him. ‘Just for a moment yesterday, I almost believed you. If you are innocent of any crime, then to carry vengeance to the second generation is to damn myself. But a man who would take such a thing in trade for a gambling debt deserves to suffer all that fate wishes to bring him.’

Nate glanced around, afraid that the people nearby might hear what he had done in that moment of madness. ‘I was young. And foolish. And in my cups. Edgar Price was my first big score, and I was too full of myself and my own success to think of what I might do to others. When I suggested this bet, it was intended as a cruel jest. I’d taken the man’s money. And his house, as well. I live there still. He’d bankrupted himself at my table to the point where his only options were debtor’s prison or a bullet. And yet, he would not stop playing. Like every gambler, he thought that his luck would change if he played just one more hand. I thought to shock him. To embarrass him. That if I pushed him far enough, he would slink from the table. Instead, he signed this to me.’

Nate took the paper back and stuffed it into his purse so he would not have to see it any more. It still pained him to read those words. ‘He cried when he lost. He begged me for mercy. And I told him that if I ever saw him again, or heard of him frequenting the tables anywhere in London, I would find him and the girl and collect what was owed me. And to his credit, I never saw or heard from him, after that day. I keep the paper to remind me what can happen when a man is pushed too far at the tables. And I have not taken a single marker, since.’

‘How noble of you.’ The Gypsy looked ready to spit in disgust. ‘You are lower than I thought you, Nathan. And after seeing this, I feel considerably less guilty about delivering the rope.’ He pushed it back across the table toward Nate.

Nate stared down at the symbol of disgrace, and in his heart, he agreed. He deserved punishment. But his mouth continued to try to justify the unjustifiable. ‘I thought the girl long married, by now. It has been years. She must know that I am no threat to her. But I went to warn the Carlows of you. And she was there. She is chaperone to Honoria and little Verity. You knew, you bastard. You knew it all along.’

The Gypsy smiled in satisfaction. ‘I knew nothing, other than that I would bring the rope to you, and see what resulted from it. Normally fate is not so swift. By your actions, you have made your own hell. Do not blame me, if today is the day that the devil has come to claim you.’

‘Whether or not you have staged this meeting with the girl, it will be the last one between us. I mean to leave Diana Price alone, just as I have always done. Now take this back.’ He slapped the rope upon the table.

Stephen arched his eyebrows. ‘And what will happen, if I do? Will she vanish in a cloud of smoke? You created the problem, Wardale. You must be the one to solve it.’

‘I can hardly be held to blame for what happened to her father, Stephen. He came to me, and he would not leave. He wanted to gamble. I am a gambler. I never set out to be what I have become. It is all the fault of your mother and your people.’

‘You won someone’s daughter at faro, and it is all my mother’s fault, is it?’

That sounded even more foolish than the rest of it. God knew how mad the rest of his defence would sound. ‘Did you know me for a gamester, before the curse?’

The Gypsy snorted. ‘You were ten years old.’

‘Yet I’d ruined my first man before I could shave. And that is the way it has been, from the very first wager. I am lucky. And it is all because of the curse your mother placed upon me.’

The Gypsy laughed. ‘You believe in luck?’

‘What gambler does not? I cannot claim that skill has brought me all that I have gained. I win far too often to think that it is always by my own abilities.’ He waved a hand in the direction of the faro tables. ‘These tables? All gaffed. Dante cheats. Only a fool would play here. But if you like, I will beat them for you. No matter how much Dante might cheat, he can never beat me.’ He stared at the tables in remorse. ‘No one has ever been this lucky. No one save me. It is not natural. And if I cannot lose? Then to play against others is little better than robbery.’

‘Then stop playing. Or tell them to.’

‘I cannot.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Every night, I swear I am through. But the next night falls and I come back to the tables. I mean to play until I lose. Not just a hand or a single pass of the dice. When I lose all of it, every last thing I have won, then maybe I will understand how the others have felt. Only then can I stop.’

The Gypsy’s snorts continued, combining into a gale of laughter. ‘First you thought I conjured the Price girl. And now you wish to blame me for your excessive good luck. That is the maddest thing I have heard yet.’

‘You do not believe in your own magic?’

‘I do not have to. Not if you do. I come here with a reminder of your family’s villainy. And you proceed to fill in the rest. In less than a day, you are near to prostrate with guilt. If you want freedom, Nathan, use this rope for the purpose it is intended.’ He held the noose at eye level, until he was sure the meaning was clear, and then tossed it back on the table. ‘Then my doings with your family will be over and you will no longer be able to concern yourself with the families of your victims.’

His self-control was a distant memory, as Nathan felt the long-buried rage burning in him again at the old accusation. ‘My father was hanged for a crime he did not commit. My family has paid more than enough, with that. Take back the curse, Beshaley.’

‘No.’

‘You dirty Gypsy. Take back the curse.’In fury, he reached out and grabbed his former friend by his bad arm, squeezing the bicep.

He had found the injury. Stephano Beshaley went as white as his dark skin would allow, and the pain of the contact brought him out of his chair and to his knees.

Nate was overcome with a shameful glee to see his enemy humbled before him, and he remembered why it was so important to keep one’s emotions out of the game. When one always had the upper hand, it was too easy to take pleasure from the suffering he inflicted. He pushed the anger from his mind, and squeezed again with clinical precision, watching the other’s face contort with pain. ‘Take back the rope. Let me go, and I will release your arm. You have my word.’

The Gypsy took a deep breath, as though he were trying to drive back the pain with the force of his will. Then he raised his shaking white face in defiance. ‘Your father was a coward and a murderer. And you are the sort who would gamble for a girl’s honour. Your word means nothing to me.’

Though the first statement angered him, the last was so true that his grip slackened on his old friend’s arm, and he watched as the colour returned to the man’s face. And in the place of the nothingness inside him, there was now a deep bone-aching remorse. ‘Please. I am sorry. For all of it, Stephen. Let me go.’

And for a moment, the man on his knees before Nathan was plain Stephen Hebden, as hurt and bewildered as Nathan was. ‘I cannot. I am as much a slave to the curse as you are, for I was the one left to administer it. If your father was innocent, then you are already free and what you think is a curse is all your own doing. But if not?’ He shrugged with his one free arm. ‘I can do nothing for you.’

Chapter Four

‘Well, this was a most satisfying afternoon,’ Honoria announced, as they neared the end of their shopping trip to Bond Street. ‘And perhaps next time, we will persuade Diana to buy something for herself.’

‘There is nothing I really need,’ Diana said, as much to persuade herself as the girls. It was always tempting, on these forays, to make a purchase of some sort. But even a small one was an unnecessary indulgence.

‘Then perhaps what you need is to sit down and have an ice. It would be very refreshing, after such a long walk.’ Honoria was looking longingly in the direction of confectionary.

‘The walk was not very long at all, Honoria, and should hardly exhaust you. Exercise, when taken in moderate amounts, is beneficial to health. And I am sure that tea at home will be refreshing

enough.’

‘Sometimes, Diana, you are far too sensible.’

Diana smiled at the accusation. ‘I need to be. Or you would indulge every whim, and grow too plump for your new gown.’

‘Is that the gentleman who called yesterday, Diana?’Verity Carlow was staring in the opposite direction, and making an unladylike effort to point over the stack of parcels she was carrying, at a man on the end of the block. ‘Oh, do say it is him. For he is every bit as striking as you described him.’

Diana prepared a reprimand, and then glanced in the direction her friend was looking, and saw the sun glinting off the silver hair of the man she had seen in the parlour. In the last twenty-four hours, she had spent so much time thinking of him that it felt almost as if she had conjured his image to appear on the street. It was hard to believe she was truly going to see him again after such a short time. But he must be real, for he looked very different than he had when she had seen him in the house. Today he seemed carefree. He was without a hat. And with the wind ruffling his hair, and his green eyes squinting into the sun, he looked almost as though he belonged on the deck of a ship, staring out at the sea.

She wondered if that was his true job. Sea captain. Or perhaps privateer. Surely something very romantic and commanding. He stood on the sidewalk as though he had conquered half of London. And here she was, spinning more romantic fancies around the poor man. But she had to admit, the effect that the sight of him had on her was sudden and difficult to control. It brought with it a faint breathlessness that increased as she realized that he was coming in their direction. ‘Yes,’ Diana said, trying to keep the excess of emotion from showing in her voice. ‘That is Mr Dale. Whatever can he be doing here?’

‘Shopping, I am sure,’ Honoria said. ‘Just as everyone else is doing. Perhaps he is visiting the tobacconist or the bank.’Apparently, the man’s imposing nature was lost upon her. She was looking at Diana in a most searching way. ‘While you made his behaviour yesterday sound very mysterious, you noticed nothing about him that would prevent him from mixing in society, did you?’

‘Well, no.’ It was just that she did not ever remember seeing him here before. And she was sure, had he shared the street with them in the past, she would have noticed.

Diana doubted Marc’s apparent friendship with the man would require his sister’s association with him. If it did, Marc would introduce them properly, in his own good time. For safety’s sake, she prepared to steer Verity and Honoria to the other side of the street. ‘You are probably right. He is shopping, or running errands of some sort. But I doubt he means to mix with us. He seemed most uncomfortable when visiting yesterday, and was in a hurry to leave.’

Verity gave her a round-eyed look. ‘He did not seem to hold us any ill will, did he?’

‘Of course not. But neither did I have any reason to think he might wish our company today.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Honoria. ‘We do not mean him any harm. We are only being friendly. It is not as if Verity and I are angling after him, no matter how flattering your description might have been.’

Verity shaded her eyes with her hand for a better look. ‘Flattering as well as accurate. He is most handsome, is he not?’ She grinned at Diana. ‘And it would show an amazing lack of Christian charity to appear to shun our brother’s old friend, if we meet him on the street.’

Although she was sure that Verity’s heart was at least partly in the right place, Honoria must know that an act of Christian charity by a marriageable young lady towards an attractive, eligible man was liable to be misinterpreted. But it was too late to explain this, for Honoria was waving her handkerchief at the gentleman in question. ‘Here, Mr Dale! Over here!’ She set out at a quick pace towards the man, who was momentarily curious as to the identity of the person greeting him. But then he recognized Diana, trailing in Honoria’s wake. And his eyes took on a distinctly hunted expression.

‘Honoria!’ she said sharply, hurrying after the girl. ‘You have not been properly introduced to the man.’

Honoria ignored the tone of warning. ‘Nonsense. He told you he had seen us as children, did he not? Then surely we need not be so formal. But if it bothers you, then you must remedy the fact immediately, and present us to him.

‘Mr Dale? I understand that you are an old friend of our family. I was most disappointed to be indisposed when you visited yesterday.’ She favoured Mr Dale with her most brilliant smile and then cast a significant glance in Diana’s direction.

Diana gave up, and said, with a resigned tone, ‘Mr Dale, may I present Lady Honoria and Lady Verity Carlow.’

He gave a somewhat stiff bow, and answered, ‘You are correct, ladies. We are already acquainted. Although you were both much too small to remember me, and I was but a boy when I last saw you.’

Verity said, ‘Miss Price and I were speculating on your appearance in Bond Street. I do not remember seeing you here before.’

Diana coloured and gave a small shake of her head to indicate that they had been doing nothing of the kind, for the last thing she wanted was to reveal the true nature of her speculations. She was sure that her head-shake looked nothing like the saucy toss Verity was giving her golden curls, to make them catch the sunlight.

Nathan Dale was wearing the same poleaxed expression that men often got when the Carlow sisters turned their considerable charms upon them. He muttered, ‘Tailor,’ as though he could barely remember what had brought him out to shop.

‘So you frequent the area?’Verity gave Diana a triumphant look. ‘I suppose we have seen you in the past. But the renewed acquaintance of our families puts a fresh face on the experience. Now that we know you again, we shall be running into each other all the time.’

Diana was sure that this was not the case. She was convinced that she would have been drawn to the man’s striking appearance, had she seen it before.

For his part, Mr Dale looked positively horrified at the notion that he would be seeing them again and again.

But Verity ignored this as well, and said, ‘Now that we have found you, may I ask you to be of assistance? We are overburdened by packages. If you could help us regain our carriage?’

No gentleman could refuse, although this one looked like he wished to. He glanced around for a moment, almost as if he was embarrassed to be seen with them. But then he bowed again and took the packages anyway, then turned to help them find their transport. Once that was achieved, it seemed Verity would not be satisfied with the aid of servants, but required Mr Dale to escort them all the way back to the house.

Diana could see him struggling to come up with a polite refusal, his eyes finding hers and holding them with a mute appeal for aid. But then, Honoria linked her arm through his, and all but dragged him into the carriage to sit beside her. ‘There,’she said, giving a sigh of satisfaction. ‘This is much better, is it not?’

Mr Dale gave a nod of polite agreement. Although since she was seated opposite him, Diana could see from his miserable expression that this was the last place on earth he wished to be. He remained in strained silence as the normally quiet Verity prattled on in a most annoying way about the price of ribbons and the challenge of finding a sufficiently fluffy coq feather in exactly the right shade of blue.

Diana had no idea what had gotten into the girl, although she suspected it had something to do with silver hair and green eyes. But she was well on the way to giving her a megrim. Mr Dale seemed of a similar mind, squirming in his seat as though he wished to fling open the door and dart from the coach, willing to risk a fall beneath the horse’s hooves, over slow death by millinery.

Honoria was no better, clinging to Mr Dale’s arm as though she sensed his desire and was trying to prevent the escape. If the girl truly wished to gain the man’s attentions, she would need to choose another approach entirely. And much to Diana’s dismay, she could find no desire to help either of them. If the man took a sudden and violent distaste to the Carlow sisters, it would forestall the risk that she might have to chaperone any of them, enduring painful evenings of lingering glances, staring intently into her needlework while ignoring their whispered endearments.