Knaves, Page 3

  Secondly, there were stories of Rider’s companion, an elusive Frenchwoman by the name of Jeanne Duval. Some of his friends, who claimed to have met her, told him that this woman was a beauty without compare, and of such wit and élan that they despaired why on earth she had committed herself to this vulgar Englishman. Valmont had Eloise, of course, but just as he refused to feel any jealousy towards her own encounters with other men (or, indeed, women), so he did not even consider that she would stand against his desire in any way. He would meet this Jeanne Duval and, if she suited his tastes, he would have her. There could be no question of things going any other way, of course.

  Eloise murmured something and he looked up briefly from his cards. As though answering a summons, Rider was now making his way to the table and Valmont’s eyes flickered almost immediately back to his hand. It was the woman on Valmont’s arms who caught his gaze, however.

  The idle chit chat of his friends had done her a great disservice. Jeanne Duval was not merely beautiful—that much could be gleaned from the most hastily stolen glance. Her composure, her air, the shimmering atmosphere that seemed to descend upon her like the halo that one saw hovering above the saints in the old, baroque paintings at Valmont’s chateau, all these things indicated that about this woman was a divine presence.

  Her hair was as black as Eloise’s was blonde, and the sheer split of her evening gown revealed a body that was elegant and lithe, a whiplash of pale flesh against the raven fabric of her dress. Unlike the masterpiece at his side, Valmont was sure that this woman was an entirely natural creation, with merely the softest hint of makeup to enhance and embellish the virtues that birth had granted her. She seemed to perceive his gaze and, boldly, without embarrassment, she returned it. Her eyes watched him for a second, perceptive and clear, jade emblems in her face, and then she smiled, a perfect bow of her vermilion lips. Valmont bowed his head slightly and, somewhat to his surprise, stiffened down below. Now that, he thought, was unusual.

  As Jeanne Duval came closer to the table with her foolish beau, Valmont looked sideways at Eloise. In so many ways, he thought to himself, she was more much more stunning than the brunette on the other side of the room: her body was more voluptuous, and even to the most casual eye she hinted at that kind of decadence which only a few women were willing to indulge with such reckless passion. And yet, as he considered this stranger whom he had known—no, not even known, encountered—he wondered whether the eyes of the other players would remain on the blonde or the brunette. Blondes may have more fun, he considered, but brunettes were more clearly creatures of mystery.

  Eloise turned to face him, her eyes blue and sharp as the other woman’s emerald jewels. She raised an eyebrow slightly as she regarded him—a measured, controlled gesture. It was the slightest flaring of her nostrils, evident only to a man such as himself who made it his study to closely watch for any tell on an opponent’s face, which indicated that she was not completely in control of herself. Was it a mark of jealousy towards Jeanne Duval? Or perhaps, thought Valmont with a sudden stab of insight, the slightest hint of her lust to that pack of meat and muscle, Sebastian Rider, was what stirred her now.

  Sebastian and Jeanne had arrived at the table. Returning his attention to them, Valmont couldn’t help but smirk at how the other gamblers turned their gazes towards Jeanne, barely registering Sebastian. Whereas only moments before Eloise had clearly won any contest not directed towards their cards, now they struggled where to gawp discreetly, at the fulsome bosom of the blonde or that slash of pale skin in a dark evening dress.

  “Monsieur Rider,” said Valmont, barely able to suppress a smile at the thought of both women naked before him, simultaneously pleasuring him, “I thought you’d run away after the losses you incurred last night.”

  Sebastian gave a wide, stupid grin. A little too wide, thought Valmont, as though his buffoonery was slightly misplaced. That flash of white teeth against, the Marquis had to admit, very well-formed lips so that his smile emphasised the slight dimple in his chin, had the effect of making him appear even more handsome, in a somewhat oafish fashion. To his surprise, Valmont felt Eloise stir slightly beside him and realised the smile had not been directed towards him at all.

  “Gosh,” said Sebastian, smoothing away a faint crease on his white jacket before holding a chair for his companion to take a seat. “It was quite a drubbing, wasn’t it. Bit of a glutton for punishment, though, if you know what I mean.”

  As she sat almost directly across from him, Jeanne’s eyes were cool and collected. Interestingly, she ignored everyone at the table other than Valmont—and, the Marquis noted, Eloise. There was something a little too cool, a little too hard about her stare. Was she here because of the recklessness of Sebastian the night before? It was plain that whatever her attractions to the Englishman, physical looks and money obviously among them, she wasn’t with him because of his brains.

  “I do know what you mean, Monsieur Rider. Punishment, administered in the proper way, can be the sweetest of pleasures.”

  Valmont himself was pleased to see Jeanne Duval’s own nostrils flare, though whether through recognition of the truth of his statement or through anger he couldn’t tell. It would take a little longer than normal to read this woman, but Valmont was sure that winning her affections from the coarse Englishman beside her would be easier than he expected.

  “Oh, Marquis,” interrupted Sebastian, as though only just remembering the social niceties. “Please allow me to introduce Madame Jeanne Duval. Jeanne, the Marquis. Marquis, Jeanne…”

  To everyone but Valmont’s surprise, the German banker stood, his corpulent body swaying slightly as he stood and his face sweating slightly as he stared at the two new arrivals. Offering some hasty excuses, he left the table, leaving everyone but Valmont, Jeanne—and Eloise, of course—frowning.

  “I believe our friend heard of your excesses last night,” Valmont offered sardonically by way of explanation. “I do not believe his prudence will allow him to be quite as effusive as us, Monsieur Rider.” As Sebastian’s face spread into another slow grin, Valmont ignored him and turned his full gaze on his companion. “Madame Duval,” he said, his voice expressing some of the warmth he felt in his body, “je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance.”

  With a slight, graceful inclination of her head, Jeanne responded: “Monsieur le Marquis, j’ai bien l’honneur.”Her voice was fluid, golden.

  Frowning at this, Sebastian took a seat next to her. “Quite!” he muttered audibly then clapped his hands together, looking around the table gleefully. “So, what is it? Baccarat? Trente et Quarante?” He paused to beam as a man, smartly dressed, brought across a pile of chips which were deposited at the table. Valmont couldn’t be entirely sure, but he thought that for a second Jeanne’s face blanched slightly. Interesting.

  As though catching herself, the beautiful brunette raised her eyes to his and smiled before looking more pointedly at Eloise. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Marquis,” she said, returning to English (no doubt for the benefit of her ignorant friend who mangled every word of French he spoke with his stiff, plummy accent). Her eyes flickered towards Eloise before returning to him. “Yet I know nothing about your companion.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” said Rider with a loud guffaw. “You’re a dark horse, Valmont, and that’s no mistake!”

  Valmont’s smile was a little more strained than he intended. “Allow me to introduce Eloise Bissette.” Beside him Eloise said nothing, though he saw her bend her head slightly from the corner of his eye.

  “Can’t help but feel I’ve seen you somewhere before,” mused Sebastian, rubbing his chin. “Bad of me to forget a face like yours, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Eloise almost purred and Valmont glanced at her sharply. She merely smiled at him, enigmatically. He looked back at Sebastian and Eloise.

  “Eloise and I met at Cannes, she was an actress of some, ah, repute in those days.”
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br />   Jeanne frowned slightly at this, a delicious gesture that wrinkled her pretty nose slightly. “I don’t recall the name,” she said. “And I consider myself an aficionado of our cinema.”

  “I would hope,” Valmont interrupted, “that you were not an aficionado of Eloise’s productions. She tended to go by the name Lupa in those days.”

  Sebastian slammed his hand down on the table, causing the chips—and the prissy lawyer beside him—to jump. The Lithuanian scowled at this and stood up. “I thought we were here to play,” he muttered, aware that something was going on. “Marquis, perhaps another night.”

  Valmont saw him off with a negligent flick of his wrist.

  “La Lupa!” Sebastian exclaimed. “I knew I’d seen you before! Bloody hell! I never thought I’d get the chance to meet you.”

  This caused Jeanne Duval to glare at him for a second, but Valmont was more surprised to see that Eloise regarded the handsome Englishman with a frank expression of interest that she never displayed—unless it was with his permission.

  “Madame Bissette,” Jeanne asked, a certain iciness in her voice now, her words clipped and precise. “I seem to be in a state of some ignorance. What were the films you appeared in?”

  It was Valmont who answered. “I believe that when we met, you were in Cannes to promote… now, what was it? Les Voleurs de l’ne Perdu 3, ah, yes, that was the one.”

  Sebastian clapped his hands together once again, apparently completely oblivious that hell was freezing over beside him. “I remember that one. Yes! Incredible, the stuff you could do.” He winked at Eloise and flashed that bright smile at her again.

  “Raiders of the Lost Ass 3,” Jeanne translated, her voice dropping a degree in temperature with each word. “I hadn’t realised there was a trilogy, and I’m so sorry to have missed examples of your œuvre, Madame Bissette. I assume that Spielberg missed the chance to direct that particular masterpiece.”

  Valmont laughed, indulging himself in a moment of rare, undiluted pleasure. He could feel Eloise prickling beside him and was a little bemused, but also entertained, that for once she appeared to be discomforted by his revelation of her former career. “He was unavailable that day,” he remarked, “though I believe that everyone involved made a good deal of money, isn’t that true, Eloise?”

  “I was a big fan of your work,” Sebastian added, apparently oblivious to the fact that both women were glaring at each other now. Looks were not seeking merely to kill now, but also to disembowel and eviscerate in the most painful manner. Valmont felt a delicious thrill at the thought of how these two would behave if left alone.

  “Was?” asked Eloise, attempting to reassert her equipoise.

  Sebastian looked slightly bashful, his dimple reappearing as he smiled and dipped his eyes almost shyly. “Well, I’m sure you know how it is. A chap has obligations, and all that.” His eyes flickered towards Jeanne and, encountering hostility there, slid puppy-like towards Eloise.

  “I understand entirely,” Eloise observed.

  For a moment there was silence and, taking that as a cue, the dealer began to pass cards around the table to the three men remaining.

  “What are the stakes?” Sebastian asked, immediately forgetting any tension. “Shall we keep it small to begin with? Five thousand?” The lawyer looked concerned at this and, when Valmont nodded, it was his turn to blanche.

  As the dealer repeated the stakes, Jeanne was clearly not finished with the previous conversation. “An… unusual companion, if I may say so, for a Marquis.”

  Ignoring the sudden rudeness of the comment because he comprehended entirely it’s source, Valmont shrugged. “I am a man of unusual tastes, Madame Duval.”

  “I’ll say,” snorted Sebastian. He glanced sheepishly towards Jeanne and then, almost too quickly for even Valmont to notice, his eyes became keen as they turned to the cards before him. After that, casually—almost too casually—he looked towards Eloise once more and smiled. Valmont had noticed that look once or twice previously: from anyone else, it would have been nothing noteworthy, but in contrast to the Englishman’s usual demeanour it stood out like a blazing star on Sebastian’s face. It was time, the Marquis decided, for them to continue the conversation alone.

  Without even looking at his hand, he announced blithely: “Why don’t we get down to business, Monsieur Rider? As the banker, I say we raise the stakes. Is fifty thousand agreeable?”

  Only the dealer maintained enough professionalism to remain completely placid. Jeanne Duval was visibly shocked, though she mastered her concern quickly enough, while Sebastian worked hard to prevent himself from gulping. Even Eloise shifted in her seat. The lawyer looked as though he was about to faint, recovering only to quickly excuse himself. Now there were only four, plus the dealer, at the table.

  Between them was a mountain of chips, glistening and hard against the green baize of the table as Sebastian matched Valmont’s bet. There was a faint glow of perspiration on the Englishman’s brow and Valmont was sure that the diminished pile left in front of him would not be so easily replenished. As the dealer began to present another card, the Marquis let it be known that his cards were sufficient. Without even glancing at his hand, he was sure what the result would be.

  Taking another card, Sebastian laid his out. The six of clubs, the knave of hearts, and a three of spades.

  “Neuf points,” announced the dealer, her broad pallet next to her hands, ready to sweep up the cards once Valmont had revealed his hand. Slowly, he turned over the cards. A five of diamonds and the queen of hearts.

  “Cinq points,” was the steady declaration.

  “Congratulations, Monsieur Rider,” Valmont declared. Before the dealer could pull all the cards towards her, however, he lifted the queen between his fingers and stared at it for a second.

  “Always my favourite card,” he mused. “Such a pity it counts for nothing in Baccarat—but isn’t that always the way. The queen is always treacherous, nearly as much as the knave though you did not trust him this evening.”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Sebastian, very quietly. Then, shaking his head, he smiled again. There—it was evident once more to Valmont’s searching eyes: that look of piercing intelligence. What was going on here? As he slowly moved his gaze from Sebastian’s face to Jeanne’s the Marquis felt himself stiffening once more. No one else was speaking, as though a collective breath had been caught around the table. Blood surged through Valmont’s veins as he sensed his complete mastery.

  “Of course,” he mused, “we could play for entirely different stakes, couldn’t we, Monsieur Rider. I intimated as much last night.”

  Now Sebastian couldn’t control how his throat moved when he swallowed. “Indeed you did,” he replied.

  “What was it that you intimated, Marquis de Valmont?” asked Jeanne, her eyes moving between Valmont and Eloise as though the latter would ever reveal her master’s plans.

  Valmont smiled broadly, his Saturnine features masking for the moment his devilish intent. “Monsieur Rider and I were idly discussing how very different stakes could be arranged. Not here, of course.” He nodded towards the dealer. “The house would never tolerate it—well, not unless I ensured they received a substantial cut. But I was thinking…” He let the queen drop to the table and pressed his fingertips before his lips as though musing.

  “Don’t you find it strange,” he said to nobody in particular, “how we would say that someone is willing to lose their shirt? Why, there were times when whole estates would be won and lost at a table like this, when the stakes were not mere cash but the most valuable things a man could possess.”

  “Such as?” Jeanne Duval was watching him intently now.

  “Houses, property… all kinds of honour,” he said, ignoring Sebastian and Eloise completely. “For example, it would amuse me greatly for a game where the stakes were, say… now let me see. If Monsieur Rider were to win, from me he would receive ten million Euros.”

  “And if he lost?”

/>   Valmont paused.

  “Then I would have a night with you, to pursue any passion that my appetites desired.”

  For a few seconds Jeanne said nothing, her eyes glittering strangely. Then a look of disgust passed across her face but, Valmont noticed with interest, directed not at him but towards her companion. “You knew about this?” she asked Sebastian, a little too calmly. He said nothing before nodding, barely perceptibly.

  “I see.” She maintained complete composure. Her smile was forced as she placed her hands on the table, lifting herself up. “Thank you Marquis,” she said ambiguously. “Madame Bissette.” Beside him, Valmont could almost feel Eloise gloating.

  Before Jeanne could leave, Valmont reached out his hand towards her. “Madame Duval,” he said, his voice suddenly full of a longing that surprised him. “I have offended you. Please, accept my apologies. It would be the least I could do to accept you as a guest—the both of you as guests—at my chateau outside Mazan.”

  Again the slightly tight smile. Somewhere within her a conflict of passions was beginning to stir, and Valmont found himself extremely excited by the prospect of witnessing it—as well as a sudden realisation that he would lose something if she were to leave now. She said nothing, however, but—visibly upset—nodded briefly and turned her head so that he wouldn’t be able to see her eyes. Without a word to Sebastian, she began to walk away quickly. Both men watched her slight figure as it receded from the table.

  “Well, I buggered that one up,” Sebastian muttered. Briskly he stood from the table, motioning for the dealer to collect his chips. “Marquis, Madame… I guess I should say goodbye.”

  “I prefer au revoir, Monsieur Rider.”

  Sebastian said nothing in reply to this but instead left the casino.

  Without turning to face Eloise, Valmont asked quietly in French: “What did you see?”

  “She isn’t as clever as she thinks she is. He’s smarter than he looks.”