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Authors: Scottie Barrett
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already dealt the cards and she’d poured each of them a generous serving of sherry. Her cheeks had a rosy flush, and Tess suspected that this was not her first drink. Tess wondered if she’d consumed as much sherry before Sloan. “A glass of spirits always makes the game a tad more amusing.” She took a sip. “I find if I have enough, I am pleased whether I win or lose.”
They refilled their glasses at the start of each round. Cribbage was never one of Tess’s favorite games, but sherry certainly made the time pass quickly.
*
A heavy hand nudged Tess awake. She lifted her head off the table to peer up at Cyrus. He smiled and plucked off the playing card plastered to her forehead. The fire in the hearth was now a pile of glowing coals. The big man leaned over a dozing Lady Stadwell and scooped her easily into his arms. Tess got to her feet and followed behind. At the landing, she grabbed a handful of Cyrus’s coat and let him guide her up the stairs.
Even with her mind bleary from drink, she instantly recalled Beadle’s visit. Surely he’d gone by now. The nerve of the man to not have spoken with her. “Did Mr. Beadle leave a message for me?” she asked Cyrus.
“Mr. Beadle is still with Lord Marcliffe.”
She miscalculated a step and her toe smacked the edge of the stair. Had she had not been gripping the coat of the very solid giant in front of her, she would have fallen. If the meeting was taking this long, then certainly she could not be the topic of their conversation.
Tess tucked Lady Stadwell in as best she could then tottered off to her room. After struggling into her nightclothes, she tore off her unbearably itchy wig and shoved her hair under the sleeping cap.
She had started to drift off to sleep again when the dogs began another tiresome round of barking. Fighting dizziness, she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and gripped the bedpost. Her head throbbed. Blasted sherry . She would pay for her indulgence in the morning. Trying not to jostle her head, she treaded ever so gently into the hallway. She gripped the banister for support as she peered over the railing.
“What is the commotion?” she called down to Lord Marcliffe who stood at the base of the staircase with Beadle. She narrowed her eyes. The light from the wall sconces was entering her already pounding brain.
She was instructed by both men, speaking in near unison, to put something on and come downstairs. It was silly, really. The nightgown that Lady Stadwell had been nice enough to provide her was as revealing as a sack.
She staggered back to her room and pulled the ancient black dress over the thick flannel shift, feeling like she had two possessive husbands awaiting her. With luck, Beadle had brought her good news. Perhaps her days in this dreadful disguise were coming to an end. She took a quick glance in the small looking glass that she usually avoided. Her eyebrows were still in place and, except for the small spot where the card had adhered to her forehead, her skin was still powdered. But it had caked in spots, and she smoothed it to give herself a more natural appearance.
The alcohol made her unsteady. She carefully planted both feet on each step before proceeding to the next.
“You are as drunk as a piper, Miss Calloway,” Lord Marcliffe said.
She ignored him and turned her attention to the other man. “Mr. Beadle.” She said his name in a breathy, anticipatory whisper. He was, after all, the man who held her future.
Lord Marcliffe muttered a curse under his breath. She ignored that, too. “Can I come out of exile? Have you managed to sell the townhouse?”
“Rumor is, your hero bid it in a game of Faro. And lost,” Lord Marcliffe said between gritted teeth.
A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her. “Mr. Beadle, please tell me that isn’t true,” she pleaded.
Beadle shrugged. “I only wanted to see you better situated.”
“If you hadn’t been such a damn fool and wagered the
They refilled their glasses at the start of each round. Cribbage was never one of Tess’s favorite games, but sherry certainly made the time pass quickly.
*
A heavy hand nudged Tess awake. She lifted her head off the table to peer up at Cyrus. He smiled and plucked off the playing card plastered to her forehead. The fire in the hearth was now a pile of glowing coals. The big man leaned over a dozing Lady Stadwell and scooped her easily into his arms. Tess got to her feet and followed behind. At the landing, she grabbed a handful of Cyrus’s coat and let him guide her up the stairs.
Even with her mind bleary from drink, she instantly recalled Beadle’s visit. Surely he’d gone by now. The nerve of the man to not have spoken with her. “Did Mr. Beadle leave a message for me?” she asked Cyrus.
“Mr. Beadle is still with Lord Marcliffe.”
She miscalculated a step and her toe smacked the edge of the stair. Had she had not been gripping the coat of the very solid giant in front of her, she would have fallen. If the meeting was taking this long, then certainly she could not be the topic of their conversation.
Tess tucked Lady Stadwell in as best she could then tottered off to her room. After struggling into her nightclothes, she tore off her unbearably itchy wig and shoved her hair under the sleeping cap.
She had started to drift off to sleep again when the dogs began another tiresome round of barking. Fighting dizziness, she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and gripped the bedpost. Her head throbbed. Blasted sherry . She would pay for her indulgence in the morning. Trying not to jostle her head, she treaded ever so gently into the hallway. She gripped the banister for support as she peered over the railing.
“What is the commotion?” she called down to Lord Marcliffe who stood at the base of the staircase with Beadle. She narrowed her eyes. The light from the wall sconces was entering her already pounding brain.
She was instructed by both men, speaking in near unison, to put something on and come downstairs. It was silly, really. The nightgown that Lady Stadwell had been nice enough to provide her was as revealing as a sack.
She staggered back to her room and pulled the ancient black dress over the thick flannel shift, feeling like she had two possessive husbands awaiting her. With luck, Beadle had brought her good news. Perhaps her days in this dreadful disguise were coming to an end. She took a quick glance in the small looking glass that she usually avoided. Her eyebrows were still in place and, except for the small spot where the card had adhered to her forehead, her skin was still powdered. But it had caked in spots, and she smoothed it to give herself a more natural appearance.
The alcohol made her unsteady. She carefully planted both feet on each step before proceeding to the next.
“You are as drunk as a piper, Miss Calloway,” Lord Marcliffe said.
She ignored him and turned her attention to the other man. “Mr. Beadle.” She said his name in a breathy, anticipatory whisper. He was, after all, the man who held her future.
Lord Marcliffe muttered a curse under his breath. She ignored that, too. “Can I come out of exile? Have you managed to sell the townhouse?”
“Rumor is, your hero bid it in a game of Faro. And lost,” Lord Marcliffe said between gritted teeth.
A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her. “Mr. Beadle, please tell me that isn’t true,” she pleaded.
Beadle shrugged. “I only wanted to see you better situated.”
“If you hadn’t been such a damn fool and wagered the
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