“Why, that’s despicable!” Stephanie gasped indignantly. After a moment, a new realization dawned. “Oh, dear! If you married him, that means you had to…make love with him. Without loving him. How awful for you, Rissy. With Joel, it wasn’t at all what I expected, but at least I love him. You must have been so unhappy.”
Sharisse smiled. She couldn’t help it. “That was not one of my complaints, Stephanie.”
“You don’t mean you liked him?” The younger girl was aghast.
“Lucas is a devilish rogue, handsome, exciting all the time. He has more faults than saving graces, but as a lover, he was superb, Steph. I was very happy.”
Stephanie didn’t know what to say. She was shocked by her sister’s candor. And she was also envious after her own disappointing experience with Joel.
At last she said petulantly, “I don’t know what you’re so angry with me for. Why, you had a wonderful time during your stay with Lucas Holt.”
Sharisse had no reply.
Thirty-six
Lucas was beginning to think that if you’d seen one gambling club, you’d seen them all. The one Henri had found in the south of France was more opulent than most, and spacious, with ample room for tables to be set wide apart. The late April climate allowed them to leave the long windows open, and the perfume of pink laurels filled the air, vying with the fragrances of the women. And there were many women in the room.
“That one is married,” Henri said as he noticed Lucas staring at a statuesque brunette. “But it is good to see you finally taking an interest,mon ami.”
Lucas grunted. “I take it you can tell me a little something about everyone in the room, as usual?”
“Of course. I did not waste my time today as you did, walking on the beach. I found a waiter who loves to gossip. He was very informative.”
One of Henri Andrevie’s special talents was knowing the people he gambled with. He never failed to learn something about each of them before he sat down and proceeded to take their money away from them. Information of a personal nature was his edge, and Henri managed to support himself very well.
He was a little man, and he and the tall Lucas made quite a pair. Blond, with dove-gray eyes that twinkled mischievously, he looked younger than thirty-nine. He was a devil-may-care rascal who could talk his way out of any situation and could charm the ladies with just a smile. Lucas had seen, in the months they had been traveling together again, that Henri hadn’t lost his touch.
“You will find the English play together, as you see there and there,” Henri pointed out. “They come here to gamble, not to decipher languages, and there are many different languages represented here. That graying fellow is a duke. He plays seriously, but he never wins.”
Henri chuckled here, and Lucas couldn’t help grinning. He knew Henri so well. “You will have all his money before the night is through.”
“I think you are right,mon ami. Now those two, themessieursVarnoux and Montour, are brothers. But they do not wish this known, so they use different names. They send each other signals, clues, so stay away from their table. That fellow there you might enjoy playing against.” Henri pointed out a well-dressed man who was so good-looking as to be almost feminine. “He knows nothing at all about cards, but he is a gambler at heart and he will bet on anything. By the way, that was his wife you were staring at. Pretty, no?”
“Very.”
Henri sighed. “As much as I have been trying to get you to enjoy yourself, I must warn you against trying that one—unless you wouldn’t mind having the husband watch.”
“I think not.”
“Yes, they are a decadent pair. I was told his specialty is seducing virgins, and he takes wagers on how quickly it can be done. His wife knows all about it. Isn’t that charming?”
“But is he never challenged by an irate father or brother?”
“Occasionally. For that very reason, he and his wife never stay too long in one place.”
Lucas scoffed. “You can’t believe everything you’re told, Henri.”
“Ah, but there is always a grain of truth in every lie.”
A memory nagged at Lucas. “His name wouldn’t be Antoine, would it?”
Henri shrugged. “Gautier is their name. I do not know the first. Why? Do you know of him?”
“It would be too coincidental if I did. I don’t know why I even thought of it.”
Only he did know. He had been alone too long that day, and as usual when he was alone, he had thought about Sharisse without stopping. All of their conversations were recorded in his mind as if they had happened only yesterday, not last summer. And today he had remembered about Antoine. Antoine had wanted only one thing from her, just as this Gautier wanted only one thing from his victims—sport.
It couldn’t be the same man, but damned if Lucas didn’t wish it were. He felt so bad over his own treatment of Sharisse that he wouldn’t have minded exacting a little revenge for her sake. Trouble was, she would never know about it. As impossible as it had been to forget her, it would be disastrous ever to see her again. He was still hoping time would make the memories less potent, ease some of the pain, put an end to this ridiculous longing he still had for her.
