Almost Heaven Read online



  Suppressing the urge to cry out that she did not want to watch Ian Thornton be beggared, Elizabeth forced herself to keep her expression blank as she looked around at the groups of people clustered about the largest of the oaken tables, obscuring the view of the players seated around it Dark paneling on the walls and burgundy carpet on the floor made the room seem very dim in comparison to the ballroom. A pair of beautifully carved billiard tables with large chandeliers hanging above them occupied the front of the large room, and eight other tables were scattered about. Although those tables were unoccupied for the moment, cards had been left on them, carefully turned face down, and piles of chips remained in the center of each.

  Elizabeth assumed the players at those tables had left their own card games and were now part of the spectators clustered around the large table where all the excitement was being generated. Just as she thought it, one of the spectators at the big table announced it was time to return to their own game, and four men backed away. Lord Howard neatly guided his ladies into the spot the men had just vacated, and Elizabeth found herself in the last place she wanted to be—standing almost at Ian Thornton’s elbow with a perfect, unobscured view of what was purportedly the scene of his financial massacre.

  Four other men were seated at the round table along with him, including Lord Everly, whose young face was flushed with triumph. Besides being the youngest man there, Lord Everly was the only one whose expression and posture clearly betrayed his emotions. In complete contrast to Lord Everly, Ian Thornton was lounging indifferently in his chair, his expression bland, his long legs stretched out beneath the table, his claret jacket open at the front. The other three men appeared to be concentrating on the cards in their hands, their expressions unreadable.

  The Duke of Hammund, who was seated across from where Elizabeth stood, broke the silence: “I think you’re bluffing, Thorn,” he said with a brief smile. “Moreover, you’ve been on a losing streak all night. I’ll raise you £500,” he added, sliding five chips forward.

  Two things hit Elizabeth at once: Evidently Ian’s nickname was Thorn, and His Grace, the Duke of Hammund, a premier duke of the realm, had addressed him as if they were on friendly terms. The other men, however, continued to regard Ian coolly as they in turn plucked five chips from their individual stacks and pushed them into the pile that had already accumulated in the center of the table.

  When it was Ian’s turn Elizabeth noticed with a surge of alarm that he had no stack of chips at all, but only five lonely white ones. Her heart sank as she watched him pluck all five chips up and flip them onto the pile in the center. Unknowingly, she held her breath, wondering a little wildly why any sane human being would wager everything he had on anything as stupid as a game of chance.

  The last wager had been placed, and the Duke of Hammund showed his cards—a pair of aces. The other two men apparently had less than that, because they withdrew. “I’ve got you beaten!” Lord Everly said to the duke with a triumphant grin, and he turned over three kings. Reaching forward, he started to pull the pile of chips toward him, but Ian’s lazy drawl stopped him short: “I believe that’s mine,” he said, and he turned over his own cards—three nines and a pair of fours.

  Without realizing it, Elizabeth expelled a lusty sigh of relief, and Ian’s gaze abruptly snapped to her face, registering not only her presence for the first time, but her worried green eyes and wan smile as well. A brief impersonal smile touched the comer of his mouth before he glanced at the other men and said lightly, “Perhaps the presence of such lovely ladies has changed my luck at last.”

  He had said “ladies,” but Elizabeth felt . . . she knew . . . his words had been meant for her.

  Unfortunately, his prediction about his luck changing was wrong. For the next half hour Elizabeth stood stock still, watching with a sinking heart and unbearable tension as he lost most of the money he’d won when she first came to stand at the table. And during all that time he continued to lounge in his chair, his expression never betraying a single emotion. Elizabeth, however, could no longer endure watching him lose, and she waited for the last hand to end so that she could leave without disturbing the players. As soon as it was over the Duke of Hammund announced, “I think some refreshment would stand us in good stead.” He nodded to a nearby servant, who promptly came to collect the empty glasses from the gentlemen’s elbows and replace them with filled ones, and Elizabeth turned quickly to Lord Howard. “Excuse me,” she said in a tense, quiet voice, picking up her skirts to leave. Ian had not so much as glanced at her since he’d joked about his luck changing, and she’d assumed he’d forgotten her presence, but at her words he lifted his head and looked straight at her. “Afraid to stay to the bitter end?” he asked lightly, and three of the men at the table, who’d already won most of his money, laughed heartily but without warmth.

  Elizabeth hesitated, thinking she must be going quite mad, because she honestly sensed that he wanted her to stay. Uncertain whether she was merely imagining his feelings, she smiled bravely at him. “I was merely going for some wine, sir,” she prevaricated. “I have every faith you’ll”—she groped for the right term—“you’ll come about!” she declared, recalling Robert’s occasional gambling cant. A servant heard her and rushed forward to hand her a glass of wine, and Elizabeth remained standing at Ian Thornton’s elbow.

  Their hostess swept into the card room at that moment, and bent a reproving look on all the occupants of the card table. Then she turned to Ian, smiling gorgeously at him despite the severity of her words. “Now really, Thorn, this has gone on too long. Do finish your play and rejoin us in the ballroom.” As if it took an effort, she dragged her gaze from him and looked at the other men around the table. “Gentlemen,” she warned laughingly, “I shall cut off your supply of cigars and brandy in twenty minutes.” Several of the spectators followed her out, either from guilt at having neglected their roles as courteous guests or from boredom at watching Ian lose everything.

  “I’ve had enough cards for one night,” the Duke of Hammund announced.

  “So have I,” another echoed.

  “One more game,” Lord Everly insisted. “Thornton still has some of my money, and I aim to win it back on the next hand.”

  The men at the table exchanged resigned glances, then the duke nodded agreement. “All right Everly, one more game and then we return to the ballroom.”

  “No limit on the stakes, since it’s the last game?” asked Lord Everly eagerly. All the men nodded as if assent were natural, and Ian dealt the first round of cards to each player.

  The opening bet was £1,000. During the next five minutes the amount represented by the pile of chips in the center escalated to £25,000. One by one the remaining players dropped out until only Lord Everly and Ian were left, and only one card remained to be dealt after the wagers were placed. Silence stretched taut in the room, and Elizabeth nervously clasped and unclasped her hands as Lord Everly picked up his fourth card.

  He looked at it, then at Ian, and Elizabeth saw the triumph gleaming in the young man’s eyes. Her heart sank to her stomach as he said, “Thornton, this card will cost you £10,000 if you want to stay in the game long enough to see it.”

  Elizabeth felt a strong urge to throttle the wealthy young lord and an equally strong urge to kick Ian Thornton in his shin, which was within reach of her toe beneath the table, when he took the bet and raised it by £5,000!

  She could not believe Ian’s lack of perception; even she could tell from Everly’s face that he had an unbeatable hand! Unable to endure it another moment, she glanced at the spectators gathered around the table who were watching Everly to see if he took the bet, then she picked up her skirts to leave. Her slight movement seemed to pull Ian’s attention from his opponent, and for the third time that night he looked up at her—and for the second time his gaze checked her. As Elizabeth looked at him in taut misery, he very slightly, almost imperceptibly turned his cards so she could see them.

  He was holding four te