Page 63 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

The duke, that is Drake, elbowed Simon in the ribs. “Never mind him. And I know what goes on between a man and a woman. But she’s mysister, for God’s sake.” He glared again at Simon, who laughed.

As he had before, Victor thought being a part of the duke’s family might be rather enjoyable.

The carriage came to a halt, and the driver lowered the steps. Victor had heard the talk aboutThe Knave, but he’d yet to enjoy its attractions himself.

A man the size of a young oak stood at attention at the door.

“Hartley, my good man! How fare you this fine evening?” Simon asked.

The man grunted. Victor swallowed as the man proceeded to look both him and Drake over. “Friends of yours, Beckham?”

“Indeed, and this one in particular has quite a lot of blunt to lose!” Simon patted Drake on the shoulder.

Hartley’s face broke into a wide grin, and he pushed the door open with one large paw. “Then, by all means!”

As they stepped past the man, Victor craned his neck back to stare at the fellow. “Are you certain this place is safe?”

His question was answered the moment he returned his gaze inside the building. Elegantly furnished, the establishment almost compared to White’s—other than the intermittent shouts of curses or exclamations of triumph peppering the air. One fellow flung his cards across the table at another as Victor and his companions passed.

Recognizable faces peered up and nodded a silent greeting. Lord Harcourt sat at a table with Andrew Weatherby, a cheroot clenched between his teeth as he scooped up his winnings. Other men Victor didn’t recognize sat alongside peers and landed gentry. Not as impeccably dressed as their table companions, their groans at losses, or whoops of joy at their wins were no more boisterous than those of the upper-class gentlemen.

“This place is marvelous.” Barely audible over the unfiltered conversation and clink of glasses, Drake’s words held a touch of wonder.

Victor agreed. “It’s like the best of both worlds. Less restrictive than White’s, but just as elegant. And safer thanThe Devil’s Draw.” Victor shuddered, remembering the one time he had ventured into the gaming hell in the East End. Never again!

Simon grinned. “I told you. Now, come. Here’s a table with some vacant seats.”

Victor hesitated at the sight of Lord Middlebury seated next to Lord Whyte at the table Simon indicated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Simon winked. “It’s perfect; we can begin Operation Catch Gus.”

Drake laughed and shook his head. “Is that what you’re calling it? That’s ridiculous.”

Victor frowned. “Who is Gus?”

“He’s an enormous brown trout on my father’s property. Slippery devil. We’ve been trying to catch him for years. Much like the culprit ofThe Muckraker. And besides, my wife gave thename for our plans her stamp of approval when I suggested it last night.”

Drake chuckled again. “You must have caught her half asleep.”

“Caught!” Simon barked a laugh. “Well done, Drake. But Charlotte was in a relaxed state and most agreeable, if you understand my meaning. Now, Drake, why don’t you toss out a line and see if we get a bite?”

Lord Whyte gazed up, his eyes widening in surprise, as Victor pulled out the chair next to him. “Don’t you have a wedding to prepare for?” the man grumbled. “It’s bad enough you broke my daughter’s heart. Must you rub salt in the wound by sitting next to me?”

“Our money not good enough for you, Whyte?” Drake seated himself across from Whyte and next to Middlebury.

“Your Grace!” Middlebury began to rise, blubbering something about being honored.

Drake held out a hand, motioning for the man to remain seated. “Don’t strain yourself, Middlebury. Goodness knows the owner of this fine establishment wouldn’t want a case of apoplexy casting a pall over things.”

Simon remained uncharacteristically silent as he sat between Drake and Victor.

A smirk spread across Whyte’s face. “The game is speculation, gentlemen. We will play pure, no checking cards even when bidding on a trump card. Markers equal one pound.”

Once everyone agreed and purchased markers, Whyte dealt the cards.

Victor’s palms grew sweaty. Coming toThe Knavewas a terrible idea. He prayed his normally poor luck at the tables would change.

He lost the first two rounds to Whyte, who seemed exceptionally pleased to take his money. “Perhaps it’s best youaren’t going to marry Lydia. You’d have her in rags before long. Fortuitous you’ll have a rich brother-in-law to support you.”

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