The Major and the Pickpocket - Lucy Ashford Mills & Boon Historical

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our rash youthful commitment, and her foolish mother hovered by her side all the time, looking terrified in case I should try to change Philippa’s mind. I didn’t, of course.’

      Hal frowned as he absently counted out the coins for the bill. He knew that Philippa’s parents, the businessman Sir John Fawcett and his wife, lived, when not in town, on a moderately prosperous estate in Gloucestershire that bordered Lornings to the south. Happily willing to overlook Marcus’s slightly dubious parentage in view of his being the great-grandson of the Earl of Stansfield and his expectation of Sir Roderick’s substantial estate, the ambitious father and vain, silly mother had openly encouraged the friendship that had grown up between their daughter and Marcus. Even Marcus’s long absence in the American wars had not dulled everyone’s belief that the two of them would marry.

      But Sir Roderick’s catastrophic change of fortune had altered all that, and now Philippa was doing her Season in London, intent on wealthier prospects. Hal felt deeply angry for his friend, who had come back from two years of brave service to his country to be faced with calculated rejection. But of course Hal knew that Marcus didn’t want his, or anybody’s, sympathy.

      Instead, Hal leaned forwards, and poured out the last of the wine. ‘Time to re-plan tactics, dear boy,’ he said briskly. ‘Plenty more where she came from.’

      Were there? Marcus had been remembering a summer’s day, just before he had set sail for the American war two years ago. He and Philippa had ridden out along the Gloucestershire lanes, unchaperoned—Philippa had laughingly escaped from her groom—and on a grassy bank by a secluded stream Philippa had allowed Marcus to kiss her and promised him that she would wait for him for ever…

      Hal was still talking. ‘Capitalise your assets, Marcus,’ he was pronouncing gleefully, ‘and get your revenge on Corbridge. Remember gambling is his fatal flaw!’

      ‘Revenge on Corbridge indeed.’ Marcus echoed Hal’s toast at last, and knocked back the last of the claret. ‘Talking of gambling, Hal—didn’t you mention a gaming house called the Angel?’

      It was eleven o’clock, and the night was just beginning.

       Chapter Three

      ‘Got it!’ Tassie was still sitting cross-legged on her bed in the light of a tallow candle, so utterly absorbed in her task of getting all the hearts to the bottom of the pack that at first she didn’t hear the quiet knock at her door. Then it came again, and she tensed, afraid that it might be Billy. But, no, it was Lemuel’s voice that she heard, calling out quietly, ‘Tassie. Tassie, are you in there? I was just wonderin’ if Edward’s all right, seeing as I was lookin’ after him for you…’

      Quickly Tassie scrambled off the bed, pushing her loose hair back from her face and tucking her big shirt into her slim buckskin breeches. Lemuel was a bit sweet on her, she knew, but she trusted him to keep his distance. She opened the door wide. ‘Come in, Lemuel, do. Yes, Edward’s fine. Moll hasn’t poisoned him—yet. My thanks for keeping an eye on him.’

      ‘Darling Marcus! Darling Marcus!’ cackled Edward, pleased with his new-found phrase.

      ‘Marcus?’ Lemuel stood in the middle of the room, frowning in puzzlement.

      Tassie laughed and coloured a little. ‘Oh, it’s just some nonsense he’s picked up.’ She tapped Edward’s perch lightly. ‘Be quiet now, Edward, do.’

      Lemuel nodded, his face expressing eager shyness. ‘And you, Tass? Are you all right? After—after—’

      She shrugged, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her breeches. ‘After hearing that Moll wants to get rid of me, you mean? Aye, Lemuel, I’m all right. She’ll not get the better of me, never fear.’

      Lemuel grinned at her approvingly, then his eyes fell on the pack of cards. ‘You been practising your tricks then, Tass? There’s none of us can beat you at cards, is there?’

      ‘No one,’ said Tassie earnestly, because it was true. She could even beat Georgie Jay, without him realising exactly which trick she was up to—the Kingston Bridge cheat, or shaving the cards, or even the difficult sauter la coupe. She’d mastered them all…

      And then, suddenly, she realised what she had to do next. It was so blindingly obvious that she almost laughed aloud. Her green eyes gleaming, she gestured Lemuel to the battered chair at the foot of the bed. ‘Sit down, Lemuel,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

      ‘To me?’ His freckled face lit up.

      ‘Yes, Lemuel.’ She perched on the edge of her bed again and gazed at him thoughtfully as he lowered his gangly frame into the chair facing her. ‘Last night,’ she went on, ‘I heard you talking with the others about a private gaming parlour that’s just opened up in town. You were saying that everyone of fashion—all the swells—are crowding into it. And I heard Georgie Jay tell how someone lost five hundred guineas at basset there—in just one evening.’

      Lemuel’s perplexed brow cleared a little. ‘Oh, the Angel, you mean? Aye, Georgie Jay was talking of us dressin’ in our smart togs and goin’ along there some time. Though it’s a bit risky, ‘cos the place hasn’t got a full gaming licence, you see. That means it could be raided by the Horneys, any time.’

      Tassie nodded, her chin resting in her hand. Mmm. So it was an illegal gaming den, patronised by the fashionable and the rich…Already her pulse was speeding up in anticipation. ‘I see. And what else do they play there, Lemuel, beside basset?’

      ‘Oh, the usual. Faro, vingt-et-un, piquet—you know, Tass, all those fancy French games! Apparently it’s full to busting every evening. Attracts everyone, from the highest blue-bloods to—well, to—’

      ‘People like us?’ slid in Tassie gently.

      ‘Aye! Though I told Georgie Jay I thought we’d be a bit out of our depth, seein’ as how the stakes are so high. And, like I said, it could be raided any time.’

      ‘So all the more reason,’ said Tassie thoughtfully, ‘to go as soon as possible.’ She smiled at him. ‘Like—tonight.’

      ‘Tonight?’ Lemuel shook his head. ‘Oh, no, Georgie Jay’s far too busy. He’s promised Moll he’ll move her some barrels of ale up from the cellar.’

      ‘I wasn’t thinking of Georgie Jay,’ whispered Tassie sweetly, leaning forwards from her perch at the edge of the bed. ‘I was thinking about you and me, Lem dear.’

      He gaped. ‘We can’t, Tassie! We’d never get in! And we’ve not the stakes—’

      ‘I have,’ she responded calmly. She patted the little money box at her side. ‘And of course we’ll get in. Ladies are admitted, aren’t they?’

      ‘Why, yes,’ stuttered Lemuel. ‘They say the ladies of quality think it fine sport to go along without their husbands knowin’, and play in secret. But you’re—’

      ‘But I’m what, Lem?’ Tassie stood up and gracefully pirouetted around his chair. ‘I shall dress up like a fine lady, and you can be my escort. And I shall win more money than you’ve ever seen before, and I’ll pay you your share, if you do exactly as I say!’

      Lemuel was still open-mouthed. ‘But, Tassie, we can’t just walk into a place like that and start fleecing them high-up swells.’

      She broke off her pirouetting to declare, ‘You’re just scared, Lemuel, that’s your trouble.’

      He jumped to his feet at that, burning with hurt pride. ‘I ain’t scared of nothing! But it’s too risky for you, girl! There’ll be all sorts lurking there amongst the gentry—cheats, rakes, whoremongers—bad company, Tass!’

      She gazed at him, her hands on her slender hips, her green eyes gleaming. Then come with me to protect me. If you won’t come—why, then, I’ll just have to

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