The Marriage Trap Read Online Free PDF

hadn't expected such a complete transformation.
    Flattered and amused, she said, “Well, where is the hackney?”
    He blushed. “Ah . . . ‘the hackney'? Oh, it's waiting for us in the rue de Rivoli.”
    “Splendid.”
    She waited until they were in the hackney and on their way before she voiced something that was troubling her. “When am I going to see Robbie?”
    He looked away. “I don't . . . that is . . . when things have quieted down, I suppose.”
    She really liked this well-mannered boy. He was tall, with curly black hair and a face that was, though not quite handsome, open and easy to read. The fact that his expression was now closed and he seemed ill at ease gave her pause for thought.
    There was something he wasn't telling her.
    All she knew was that Robbie had got in with a bad set, had run up gaming debts and spent lavishly with money he did not possess. And the more he ran up debts, the more he gambled, hoping to win so that he could pay off what he owed.
    She was partly to blame. All he was doing was taking her as his example. When she was in desperate straits, she made for the nearest gaming house and invariably made a killing. Robbie rarely won, but he always hoped his luck would turn. Time out of mind, she'd told him that luck had nothing to do with it. Hazard, vingt-et-un, rouge et noir—these were games of chance. She rarely played them except when the odds were in her favor. She had a mathematical mind and could calculate the odds without even trying. As a result, the only time she bet on dice was when she had money to spare, and only as a flamboyant gesture.
    What it came down to was that she had a gift that few people possessed, and Robbie least of all, if only he could be made to accept it.
    She touched a hand to Milton's sleeve, bringing his gaze back to her face. “That's not good enough,” she said. “He has been in Paris for almost a month. Why doesn't he want to see me?”
    “Oh no. You have the wrong idea. It's not that he's avoiding you. It's the moneylender's agents he is trying to avoid.”
    She might have believed him if he had not avoided her eyes. As severe as she could be, she said, “I'm his sister, Milton. I'm not likely to betray him to the authorities. Now, where is he?”
    He hesitated one moment more, then said, “Meurice's hotel in the rue de l'Echiquier. But it's a shabby place, not fit for a lady.”
    “I'll be the judge of that.”

    The Palais Royal was lit up like a beacon. This magnificent former royal palace had a courtyard Roman charioteers would have envied, and galleries on three sides that looked like cloisters. During the daylight hours it was quite respectable, its fine shops and restaurants a drawing card for visitors and the elite of society. When night fell, the gaming houses, theaters, and houses of ill repute opened their doors and the demimonde took over—actresses, birds of paradise, soldiers, gamblers, and idlers looking for trouble. And trouble was obviously what the authorities expected if the number of redcoats entering the courtyard was any indication. Paris was still a city under occupation, and British soldiers were always at hand to help keep the peace.
    In one of the arcades, beside a bookshop, there was a door that led to the upstairs floors. Milton led the way. She was glad of his escort, because she wasn't in the know about gaming houses in Paris. A woman on her own could easily run into trouble. Even in England she had to watch her step. If she'd been taller, she would have disguised herself as a gentleman of fashion. Men were always taken more seriously.
    When they pushed through the door to the gaming house, Ellie's pulse quickened. She was used to her pulse racing when she entered such an establishment. Once she had her cards in her hand, however, she always forgot everything but the game.
    In one room, there was the rouge-et-noir table. She took a peek inside, then hurried past as a group of gentlemen got up to leave. She recognized