Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

A RAVEN-HAIRED SIREN stood in Ben Clay’s richly furnished office on the second floor of his three-story establishment known to the gamesters of Wight as the Silver Heart. He took a step backward, his hand cupping his chin, and eyed her critically. A dark black, natural hair wig covered her tawny locks. Thick clusters of Grecian black curls were arranged all about her head and fell down upon bare white shoulders. Patches were no longer a la mode, but she had chosen to affix one, heart-shaped, just above her curving cherry lips, and the effect was charming.

A black, pointed satin mask curved over her eyes, the slits permitting only their green glints to show through. She had attached this thoroughly with pins to her hair, should any frisky male try to remove it.

Her red gown was Old World and made of red satin, daringly low cut and provocative. The long train was beaded with jet, and a bracelet of the same stones attached the folds to Jewelene’s wrist. Her hands were ungloved. Jewelene’s French was fluent, and she would play the part well.

Ben watched her as she whirled around, and indeed she did not look herself but rather like some French beauty who had just stepped out from an unknown stage. She did not look respectable, but that wasn’t the part she was playing …

“Lord, girl—you will do!” He shook his head. “I hope you are prepared to hear the most outrageous proposals … for you will hear them. If anything, this will prepare you for your wedding night.” He laughed.

She giggled. “’Tis a good thing I am not missish. Don’t fret it, Ben. They won’t be making those proposals to me—they will be making them to Babette.”

“Aye, but I don’t like it all the same …” He sighed. “I hope we only have to do this tonight …”

“According to my calculations, it will take three, maybe four times …”

“No … Jewels, it isn’t just the danger at the Heart—it’s the getting you here. The trick of getting you home with none the wiser …” He was shaking his head. “I’m sick over it.”

“Zees nothzing …” She tried to tease him.

“A gentleman wouldn’t do this to you,” he answered. “I am the worst of cads to allow you to do this …”

“No … we have our backs to the wall. We are dealing with a fiend … we are fighting fire with fire.”

“And there is another thing I won’t argue over. You are not riding home alone. I won’t have it, Jewels. I’ve made up my mind.”

“But, Ben …”

“You either agree to my accompanying you home … or this is over right this minute.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “Very well.” With that she preceded him out of the room.

Patrons of the Silver Heart had already begun to arrive, and Jewelene could hear their jovial voices below. A ruddy individual of some size and a foreboding mien stood at the door of the first-floor entrance. His name was Angus, and there wasn’t an upstart, bruiser, or rum touch that could get past his knowing eye.

For the regulars of his employer’s exclusive gaming house he had a ready smile, for the newly initiated a penetrating gaze, and for Ben’s intimates, a private jest or two. And there wasn’t a man who passed the Silver heart’s portals who didn’t wish to have Angus’s approval.

Soon the first-floor hall was filled with sound of merriment as patrons enjoyed a round of brandy and greetings. Jewelene could hear them making their way to the second floor, where the gaming rooms were situated. Ben eyed her a moment as he went about his business. After all, this would certainly be an ordeal for his little Jewel—whether she would admit it or not. But he could see she was bearing up, steady as ever. He remembered how she had visited the Silver Heart dressed as a lad three years ago—looking for her father when her mother had fallen ill …

He would have been very much more concerned had he known her heart at that moment was doing flip flops and pounding ferociously enough she thought it was about to burst from her chest!

Steady, Jewels told herself, steady now. Beating Ben and Papa at Faro was not quite the same as taking on seasoned gamblers, now was it? No, but she knew the principles of the game, and she had her head on straight. Besides … gamesters drank and got fevered. She would not do either.

Good lord … here they come, she told herself as they arrived in droves.

“Egad!” exclaimed one happy young man as he entered the room and discovered at the head of the faro table a mysterious, raven-haired beauty in a mask. “Egad, I say!”

Babette responded with a French accent, “Ah … m’sieur …,” and pursed her lips.

The gentleman at his side immediately put up a gold-rimmed quizzing glass and then dropped it carelessly so it swung on its dark riband. “I surrender …” he offered, forgetting his friends at his side and going forward to display his intentions. “Take me …” he said, going down on one knee and reaching for Jewelene’s hand.

She pulled her hand away with a laugh. “Mais non, m’sieur, get up do … at once!”

“If it is your wish,” offered the gallant, “but tell me what I may do to please you, and I shall contrive to do it immediately.”

“Ah, mais oui, that she is easy. You will play and lose at my faro table … oui?” Jewels smiled naughtily.

“Done!” the gallant replied, pulling up a seat as did so many others.

“He can’t lose half as much as I!” said another.