Page 65 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

Whyte bid ten pounds, eliciting a laugh from Middlebury. “You’ll have to do better than that. The pot alone is worth forty-six. What about you, Pratt?” He peered over at Victor’s pathetic pile of markers. “Pity. It doesn’t appear you have enough to appease me.”

Simon offered twenty-five pounds, Drake thirty. Middlebury turned both of them down. “I think I shall keep it. Shall we proceed?”

Drake’s first card was a ten of clubs. Simon turned up a three of spades and cursed. Victor revealed a measly four of hearts.

He consoled himself that he still had two cards remaining, especially when Whyte flipped up a seven of diamonds.

Still with the high card, Middlebury practically jiggled in his seat as the play skipped to Drake.

Drake revealed an ace of diamonds, and both he and Simon groaned.

“Right color but wrong suit, Burwood,” Middlebury said, a note of glee in his voice.

Simon turned up a King of clubs and cursed again.

Victor revealed a two of spades. Wasn’t this supposed to be an enjoyable evening? He gazed up at the owner, still puzzling out what about him was so familiar. There was something about his eyes.

Intent on studying the man with his artist’s perception, Victor missed Whyte’s play, only turning back at the collective groan from his table companions.

The Queen of Hearts smiled prettily at them. Bids were bandied about, while the captain stood like a sentinel over the proceedings. Whyte refused them all.

Reluctantly, Middlebury turned over his first card—a ten of hearts. Drake’s hands flew up in frustration with his last card—an eight of clubs. Simon followed his example, using some of the most colorful language Victor had ever heard upon seeing his Queen of diamonds.

Whyte turned toward Victor. “Why don’t you allow me to purchase your remaining card and put you out of your misery, Pratt? It will replenish your funds so I can win it back from you during the next few rounds.”

Simon shook his head. “Don’t do it, Victor. You’re overdue to win one, and there are still two cards that can beat him.”

Victor’s eyes snagged the captain’s. “What would you do?”

“I’m only here to oversee, not give advice. However, I would remind you that I run a gambling establishment. Risk is my business.”

Victor could swear the man winked.

“Twenty-five pounds, Pratt.” Whyte taunted him. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

“I think not.” Victor squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to look, then slowly turned the card over.

A collective gasp sounded, and he peeked through one eye, catching sight of the King of Hearts. “Not for sale, gentlemen.” He prayed his luck would hold and breathed a sigh of relief as Whyte and Middlebury turned over their remaining cards, none of which were the ace of hearts.

The captain slapped him on the shoulder. “Getting married, eh? Good luck to you!” He turned toward Middlebury. “And you, sir, if I ever hear of you abusing my girls here again, I will throw you out bodily myself.” He turned on his heels and, on long legs, strode away.

Pushing his chair back, Drake rose. “If you would excuse me. I want to speak with the captain.”

“There’s something about the owner that seems familiar,” Victor mumbled.

“It’s the eyes,” Simon said.

Victor nodded.

Whyte grumbled as he picked up his remaining markers to cash in. “I’ll leave you two to speculate about the mysterious Captain.” He barked a dry laugh over his play on words. “Enjoy your winnings, Pratt. It’s about the only luck you’ll have once you marry that commoner.”

When Simon protested and began to rise, Victor laid a hand on his arm and whispered, “Don’t. He’s upset because the Whytes had hopes for a match between me and Lydia. But it was never going to happen. Not if I had anything to say about it.”

Middlebury also left muttering something about having to attend to something important.

Simon flagged the same serving girl over and ordered drinks. Victor gave her a marker, apologizing for Middlebury’s unwelcome advances.

When their drinks arrived, Simon sipped his whisky, his blue eyes studying Victor over the rim of his glass. “Do you love Juliana?”

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