Page 27 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
“You know I don’t condone cheating.”
“I also know you have a dealer with the skills to control which cards land in front of which gents. I want him at that table where the earl just sat down.”
Aiden patted his shoulder. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” Then he strolled away to make arrangements with his talented dealer as though he hadn’t a care in the world, when Mick knew his cares were plenty. He wasn’t alone in that. Ettie Trewlove’s brood all carried far too many burdens.
The cards were with him tonight. Kipwick had felt the turn in the tide half an hour into play, when a new dealer had relieved the other. The past few nights he’d been bleeding money, and while he wasn’t presently winning as quickly as he’d lost, his abrupt change in fortune was a start toward putting matters to rights. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to be unable to keep his father from learning of his ever-increasing debt from. Although the debt wouldn’t be with him for much longer. Aslyn’s dowry would go a long way toward putting him back on a strong financial footing.
The fact that his father had recently transferred the nonentailed holdings into his keeping was also quite beneficial. When he needed to prove his solvency in order to gain a loan, he had only to point to the properties.
He cleaned out one gent—although referring to him as a gent was a stretch of the term—and watched as the large fellow scraped back his chair and wandered off. Most of the people here, commoners, were beneath him. The few aristocrats he recognized were black sheep, usually second sons, not likely to report anything of note to his father since they weren’t welcomed in most parlors. He liked the Cerberus Club and all that it offered: decadence at its most primal. It was an honest place, took pride in what it was. It didn’t try to fancy itself up with liveried footmen, wood-paneled walls, crystal chandeliers, or quiet rooms housing books so a man could pretend what he did outside those rooms was respectable.
Here he wasn’t a lord, with expectations weighing on him. Here he was just a man. And he loved it.
Glancing over as the chair that was just vacated was pulled out farther, he grinned at Mick Trewlove as he sat and went about exchanging a thousand quid for tokens. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever return.”
Without looking at him, Trewlove carefully lined up his chips. “I’ve been monstrously busy preparing to open my hotel for business.”
“I’ve heard it’s quite the thing.”
The ante was called for. Chips were tossed into the center of the table, cards were dealt. He received a pair of jacks. The night was certainly going his way. “Perhaps you’d give me a tour.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll invite you to the ball I’m hosting to celebrate the opening.”
Furrowing his brow, Kipwick pretended to consider his cards when in truth he was striving to determine the ramifications of attending should word get back to his father. “Unfortunately I’m not available.”
“I haven’t told you the date yet.” The tone was quiet, deathly so, brimming with displeasure. “Surely it’s not my bastardy that’s keeping you away.”
Lifting his gaze, Kipwick saw a face as solid as marble, all the features more pronounced, the blue eyes as hard as flint. No movement occurred at the table, as though everyone, including the dealer, was waiting to see if an insult was on the horizon, one that would no doubt be followed by a quick jab to his chin. “No insult intended, but I don’t usually attend public balls.”
Trewlove tossed away two cards. Movement began. Kipwick breathed, only then realizing his lungs had been frozen.
“My apologies,” Trewlove said, never taking his eyes from his stack of chips. “I thought you had an interest in investing.”
“I do.”
His gaze slid over to Kipwick, fairly impaled him. “My investors will be attending. Men of wealth who often hear of other opportunities for investment, sharing what they know of those prospects. I daresay I learn more by mingling informally with knowledgeable men than I learn by holding meetings with them.”
Kipwick exchanged three of his cards, fighting not to smile at the third jack. “It sounds as though it could prove a fruitful evening. When is it?”
“Tuesday next.”
He nodded. “I shall be there.”
A round of wagering. When it got to Trewlove, he raised the stakes by a hundred quid. Kipwick’s heart pounded. Before that moment, during all the hands he’d played that night, the most anyone had wagered was ten. Those tokens symbolizing so much were like a siren call. He matched the wager and raised another two hundred.
“Perhaps you’d bring Lady Aslyn,” Trewlove said as he called and raised another hundred.
Everyone else folded, until it was only the two of them. “Her guardians would not approve.”
“You don’t have to tell them. Besides, my sister would take great delight in seeing her again. And we must have women about else with whom are we to dance? A ball hosted by a commoner is not that different from one hosted by a duke.”
“Will other nobles be in attendance?”
“A select few are invited.”
He shook his head, striving to determine whether to call or raise. “It will do her reputation no good.”
Trewlove tapped his cards on the table. “Let’s make this interesting. If I win this round, you bring Lady Aslyn. If you win”—he dramatically waved his hand over the tokens—“all my remaining chips are yours.”
