Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

LONDON, 1815

Helen sensed she was being watched long before the man stepped into view.

Keeping her eyes down, she pretended to rearrange her cards carefully while examining him from the corner of her eye. One had to keep their wits about them when playing deep at the Palais du Poussant, a gaming hell notorious for high stakes. Helen took a deep breath and focused again on the game at hand, keeping her attention on the men seated around the table. Commerce was a game of wits, strategy, and a large helping of bluff, and she needed to use each of those skills tonight.

Helen found that the men who congregated around the card tables at such places naturally tended to underestimate her, no matter that time and again she fleeced the lot of them before the night was through.

Apparently, Helen had built up a bit of a reputation, but that didn't stop the gentlemen who frequented the club from trying to best her whenever she sat down at the table. Although, considering that some men of the ton took gaming so seriously, they would lay a bet on even the most trivial of things, she couldn't really be surprised.

Boredom must be such a burden to the upper crust of society.

Just the other day, she had heard of a ludicrous wager based on which raindrop would make its way fastest down a window pane. Utterly ridiculous.

The Red Widow , was the name whispered behind her back, according to her friend, Amelia, an acclaimed singer and lady of the demi-monde who frequented such establishments. Apparently, it was a reference to Helen's penchant for wearing a daring shade of red, but secretly she preferred to imagine it referred to the fact that night after night she sent the arrogant twits away with a metaphorical bloody nose.

Helen loved the thrill of winning as much as she enjoyed watching those who challenged her sullenly slink away with empty pockets.

Never in her previous, respectable life, had she imagined she could ever become so mercenary, but finding out your beloved husband had harboured an entire other family , complete with a nursery of children, had a way of changing a woman.

Helen would never forget the day the solicitor called her into his office a week after James' passing, explaining that the bulk of the estate had been set aside for the illegitimate son she had not been able to bear him. The will had left Helen with a mere pittance to survive on.

It had been especially heart wrenching since James had never once made her believe he was anything but happy with her. Holding her tight and soothing her as she lost first one babe, then another.

As childhood sweethearts, Helen had imagined the pair of them would weather all the storms of life together, but it seemed James had chosen to rather find his happiness elsewhere.

But that was then, and this was now.

Now, Helen was building a life, and a fortune, on her own wits. With no one to depend on, or disappoint her again.

When one was left penniless and heartbroken, there was nothing left to lose.

Helen glanced briefly around, searching for the man again. There was something about him that was out of place here. Maybe it was the easy air about him, or the sardonic smile that quirked his lips while watching the play. Whatever it was, it was clear he was not there for the stakes.

He was there for something else entirely. But what?

There were of course other pleasures to be found in the Palais, but those were tucked away in the deeper rooms that Helen had only ventured into once, long ago. The sensual pleasures indulged in there had not been to her interest at the time, but the longer she spent in this new, hedonistic world, the murkier her previously held beliefs seemed to get.

Sometimes, late at night alone in her bed, Helen imagined taking a lover.

Why should she not?

But in the harsh light of day, she always shrugged off the idea as nothing more than a moment of weakness.

No, it would not do to entangle her emotions with a man again.

Helen turned her attention back to the game, raising her bet and accepting another card from the dealer before throwing one away. Careful to keep her face as impassive as a still pond as she glanced down primly at her hand.

Although she might appear unmoved to an observer, inside, her limbs tingled with excitement.

Her odds of winning had just improved significantly.

Helen pretended to sip at her glass of wine, noting that the man next to her was deep into his cups, slurring slightly as he turned to the men standing behind him observing the action. He bragged loudly to the room, and the assembled spectators guffawed with laughter as if their good sense had long ago been drowned in excess and drink.

All the better. It was at this late hour that a fortune could be made, as arrogance and pompous impulsivity had the lords assembled here throw outlandish sums into the pot.

She leaned slightly forward, allowing a flash of cleavage in the low neckline of her wine-red silk gown. It was perhaps an underhand move, but Helen had no longer any qualms about using her feminine charms if it would further her cause.

She had learned the hard way that there was no such thing as fair play.

There was a suitable amount of ogling from the group assembled, in the place of serious play, and Helen noted with pleasure her opponent's distraction.

The stranger moved closer, standing almost directly across from her now, behind the dealer.

Helen couldn't help a small frown of consternation wrinkle her brow. She really couldn't afford to be diverted at this crucial stage.

And distracted she was, as she flicked her gaze again up to his, the two of them like twin pillars of calm amongst the raucous cacophony of the gaming room.

He stared back at her with an intensity that made Helen want to squirm in her seat, but she ruthlessly crushed the impulse, narrowing her eyes as she boldly returned his look.

The strange man was undeniably attractive, with a roguish glint to his eye and an unruly mop of dark blonde hair, a hint of evening beard glinting along the line of his jaw in the candlelight.

The way he was looking at her sent an unexpected sizzle of excitement through her veins, her belly tightening with something she didn't care to examine too closely.

A most interesting reaction.

His attire was also outrageously vulgar, the yellow paisley waistcoat and burgundy evening jacket almost seemed chosen to offend the senses. No less than three elaborate watch fobs dangled from his pockets.

Really.

The man winked at her, a brazen expression on his face as his lips curled up into an impish smile, and Helen blinked in surprise, dropping her gaze quickly as an embarrassing wash of heat rose up her neck and flushed her cheeks pink.

Despite the unexpected distraction, she somehow managed to complete her play, winning a sizeable sum with a small smile of satisfaction.

She should have been pleased, but instead, she found herself inexplicably put out.

Never before had she found herself pulled out of the concentration she brought to the game.

Some whispered that Helen must beat the deck somehow, as it was impossible for a woman to be so good at play, or so lucky.

But the truth was Helen was simply good at cards. Whether it was the strange way she could remember the smallest details or the fact that she had a passion for strategy, she did not know.

Perhaps it was the fact that, of everyone here, she had the most to lose… and also, to gain.

Whatever it was that gave her the edge, she intended to use it for long enough to achieve her one desire.

Freedom.

Helen rose from the table in a swish of ruby silk, melting into the crowd as she made for the edge of the room, away from the thick hovering cloud of cheroot smoke that hazed the air above the tables.

She found she was no longer in the mood for cards, and she had learned to pay attention to such things. She couldn't afford to make a mistake.

Unlike the young dandies and pompous lords who frequented such establishments, she was not here for thrills.

No, Helen was here to win cold, hard blunt. As much as she could.

She was here to build her fortune so that she would never again be at the mercy of fate.

Helen found a convenient couch away from the tables and seated herself with a newly refreshed glass of wine, taking a real sip this time and fanning herself against the heat and smoke that lingered in the stifling air. She idly wondered if Amelia was performing tonight, but the thought drifted away like pollen in a breeze.

She stubbornly resisted the urge to look for her stranger. No matter the attraction she felt.

No, that was certainly not the reason she was still seated here, instead of seeking out her bed.

Her stranger. What an absurd idea.

Sipping her drink, Helen watched ebb and flow at the tables, unconsciously noting each hand dealt and the odds of the cards being held.

She had always had a head for numbers, and cards were no different. Her father had taught her to play at a young age, despite her sex, and she had quickly surpassed him in skill. It was the one thing he had done right by her, as laughable as it seemed.

The crowds parted, and the man came again into view, leaning against a wall across the room.

He still had his eyes on her, an intensity to his look that had Helen sucking in a shuddery breath.

She sipped her wine, allowing her gaze to linger on his face and slide down his body.

It was immediately apparent that this was no dissolute peer of the realm. Despite the foppish attire, his body was lean and graceful. Almost catlike, as he smoothly crossed his arms and blatantly returned her look.

A sinful fantasy crossed her thoughts, of her reaching up and dragging that arrogant mouth down to hers, letting those hands touch her while she nipped teasingly at those lips.

Was this unnerving feeling lust?

Helen had never had such a reaction to a man.

Perhaps not even in the faraway days of courting her late husband, had she felt this intense quivery excitement in her belly. The restless impulse tightened low, between her thighs, a slight throbbing in time to her elevated pulse.

Of course, Helen and James had both been chaste before their marriage, and Helen had not yet understood what she felt then at sixteen, in her innocence.

But at twenty-seven, widowed these last three years, she was astounded by this sudden flare of desire.

Whatever it was, It was dangerous, Helen knew, so she stood, cutting the brief moment off as she made her way towards the outer rooms of the establishment.

She would go home, go to bed and forget all about this feeling.

Tomorrow she would tally her winnings and perhaps enjoy a night at the theatre. It might be best to take a break from the Palais, all things considered.