Playing to Win Read Online Free PDF Page A

worse than tears, pleas and coaxing.
    He had probably sounded harsh, he
thought. He felt a stab of contrition, and sternly repressed it.
After all, it was best to make clear at once who was the master.
The last thing he wanted was to set Clarissa up in London! Next she
would want cream-colored ponies and a high-perch phaeton, no doubt,
so she could rake all over town making a name for herself. Clarissa
in London would mean rivals bidding for her favors, and veiled
references in the gossip columns, and the Bond Street shops
offering her endless credit.
    And it would mean poor Bates might
catch a glimpse of her before he'd had a chance to explain his
perfidy. Doubtless Bates would have seen her at La Gianetta's, and
any man who had seen Clarissa once would remember her forever. He
could imagine his friend's emotions upon learning that Whitlatch
had the fair Clarissa in keeping! No, Bates had to hear it from
himself.
    She still had not spoken. He relented a
little. "I'll not take you far from town," he assured her. "My
affairs frequently require attention in the City. It would be
impractical to set you up at any great distance from the
metropolis."
    She neither replied nor looked at him.
Pouting, was she? He adopted what he hoped was a firm, but kindly,
tone.
    "I am sure you and I will deal
famously, Clarissa, but I wish to make matters perfectly plain to
you at the outset. While I hold the pursestrings, my dear, you will
live where I choose. You won't find me unreasonable about small
things; you may spend your allowance as you like. But don't plan to
take the bit between your teeth, for you'll catch cold at
it."
    He could discern no reaction at all.
Did she disbelieve him? Of course she disbelieves me, he thought
sourly, remembering that she had only brought three pieces of
luggage. She had doubtless been told that Trevor Whitlatch would
pamper and cosset her like a pet poodle, shower her with expensive
presents, indulge her every whim, and make her rich beyond the
dreams of avarice!
    He glanced impatiently at the rigid
figure beside him. "No doubt La Gianetta has led you to expect
satin sheets and diamond ear-bobs and a box at the opera. Well, the
stories about me are true, for the most part, but I've a habit of
learning from my mistakes! In the past I've spent money like water,
trying to please women of your stamp. It is a singularly fruitless
occupation, and I don't mean to try it again. The more I spend, the
more you will demand. No, don't deny it! And you'll end by
transferring your dubious affections to another, bidding me a fond
farewell."
    He stole another glance at his
audience. She sat even more stiffly than before, but the edge of
her bonnet was quivering a little, as if she were trembling with
some strong emotion.
    A pang of conscience smote Mr.
Whitlatch. A lightskirt's career was necessarily short, and such
females had to grab what they could, while they could. It was
unfair to upbraid her. After all, he was something of an
opportunist himself.
    His voice softened a little. "I realize
you have to make your way in the world. I won't begrudge you your
due, Clarissa. You'll have a comfortable life with me, and I'll not
discard you with a shilling. But you won't bleed me dry, and
you won't entertain my eventual replacement at my expense,
and, in short, you won't make me ridiculous."
    Her small hands clenched into fists in
her lap. So that was the emotion she was laboring under:
Anger! Mr. Whitlatch uttered a short laugh. "Sorry, sweetheart!
When it is time for us to part, I will let you know—not the other
way about. And to that end, my dear, I am taking you to Morecroft
Cottage, where I hope you will be able to stay out of
mischief."
    Slowing the curricle, he deftly
maneuvered his horses into a crowded and very noisy stableyard. A
boy instantly leaped to their heads. Mr. Whitlatch tossed the boy a
coin and assisted his companion to alight. She still had not
spoken, and kept her face averted. He maintained a firm