Read Online The Prince of Midnight by Laura Kinsale - Free Book Online Page A

count swept up his plumed hat from the table and made a deep bow. "I beg
of you. The winnings are nothing; they are not of my interest—'tis my mind, you
see. I have a lively mind. I'm trying to be good, truly I am, I promise you. But
if I have no diversion, there's no saying to what I'll be driven."
    Definitely witless. S.T. shrugged and smiled. He could put twenty louis d'or
to good use.
    The count clapped his hands. "Excellent, excellent; you will play. Come and
sit down. Allow me the honor of presenting myself. I am ... ah—of Mazan. Aldonse-Fran ç ois de Mazan."
    S.T. bowed, politely ignoring the little stumble over the name. "S.T.
Maitland. Your servant, Monsieur de Mazan."
    "Ah. You have an English surname." He stared a moment at S.T. with a peculiar
avidity. "I love the English."
    S.T. sat down at the table. "Sad to say, then, I must admit that I'm of
Firenze. My father was English. I never met him."
    "Ah, Florence! The beautiful Italy. I have just left her. You speak French
very sweetly."
    "Thank you. I have a small talent for languages. Do you have cards,
seigneur?"
    The count had none—excellent evidence that he was no subtle sharpster. S.T.
rang and they settled down to the fresh deck Marc provided before he hurried
back out of the salon without even hanging about to watch the first draw.
Monsieur de Mazan was quite a decent player; though S.T. intentionally lost the
first two of three deals, by way of keeping the count interested, he didn't have
to try all that hard. As the nobleman dealt the third hand, S.T. set about
acquiring his gold louis. They came easily enough when he put his mind to the
task, sliding across the table to sit beside him with their dull metal gleam of
promise.
    With all twenty piled on S.T.'s side, the count gallantly offered to quit the
table. S.T. gallantly insisted on putting his winnings at risk. He felt the old
passion begin to dawn, the pleasure in the gamble.
    "Bless you," said the count. "You're saving my life. Here—another five
hundred livres against your louis d'ors." He watched S.T. deal. "So you've never
been in England, then?"
    "Never," S.T. lied cordially.
    "Pity. I should like to hear more of it. I've had several English friends to
visit my chateau. Miss Lydia Sterne, the daughter of the distinguished Mr.
Laurence Sterne. You've read his
Tristram Shandy?
So droll! I adore the
English. And Mr. John Wilkes has told me of his Hell Fire Club—" The count
smiled slyly. "That fraternity is of an interest most profound!"
    S.T. lifted his eyebrows and shuffled without answering.
    "Have you heard of this club?"
    He gave the count a level look and lied again. "No, I haven't."
    "Ah," the count said, and spread his stock face down. "Pity."
    The door to the salon opened again. The valet stepped aside, holding it open,
and S.T. glanced up from his hand to see Miss Leigh Strachan calmly enter the
room.
    All she did was walk past behind him in her blue velvet coat and silk
breeches and accept a cognac from Latour, but S.T. found his concentration so
suddenly cracked that he neglected to announce his
carte blanche
before
he discarded and lost ten points ere the play even started.
    Plague take her.
    The count seemed equally bemused. He stared past S.T.'s shoulder at her,
holding his cards loosely. Suddenly he ran his hand through his light hair. "Latour,"
he said, "have you a new acquaintance here?"
    "Indeed, monsieur—the young gentleman wishes the pleasure of watching the
play, if it is
convenable. "
    The count grinned. "A thousand times
convenable. "
He stood up and
swept a bow. "Come, come—present the boy, Latour."
    The valet made a formal introduction of Mr. Leigh Strachan to the Comte de
Mazan. S.T. did not stand up, but only nodded vaguely in her direction. He was
determined to be finished with her. Quite finished.
    "Perhaps you would permit me to give you my chair," the count suggested,
making a move to rise.
    "No,
merci
," she said in her