Good God, that worked!I couldn’t believe my luck.
I stalked inside and promptly gaped at the extravagant décor. My darling cousin was clearly a libertine to have a membership here—this place was equal parts bordello and gaming hell, all done up in deep lavish reds and stunning golds. It was similar in feel to the gambling den in Cambridge, though on a much more sumptuous, opulent level. Danforth’s clearly catered to a certain faction of the elite…the part that had money and wanted to spend it on every vice life could offer.
There were women here, too. Though not in the capacity of members, as Tarik had envisioned. Dressed in expensive wine-red gowns like a matching uniform of some sort, they had to be employed by the club. A haze of green discolored my vision. What would be the odds of finding Tarik here drowning his sorrows and flirting with one of them?
Jealousy wasnota pretty look on me, even dressed as a man.
I quickly canvased the first foyer and made my way to the inner rooms, surveying all the people and searching for the face etched into my brain. He was not on the first floor, or on the second. Just when I was beginning to despair and balefully contemplating the stairs that led to the upper levels, a head of dark waves capping a lean body caught my eye walking toward a table in the main gaming room.
My relief was palpable. I hurried toward him before anyone could take the empty seats. There was not one directly beside him, so I had to be content to sit one player away. Tarik barely lifted his head, even as I sat and placed my bet. I lost the first round to the dealer, completely distracted as my mind tried to come up with something clever to say.
But as I studied Tarik circumspectly, all I could think about was how sad he looked. Sad and gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten properly in days. He wore his new clothes, though they were rumpled and disheveled, his cravat askew and his coat unbuttoned. Regardless, he was still the handsomest man in the room.
“My lord,” the dealer said louder, startling me out of my thoughts. “Play is to you.”
Distractedly, I stared at my cards. Eleven. I signaled for another without speaking. A queen of hearts appeared. Twenty-one.
“Congratulations, my lord,” the dealer said.
“Thank you,” I said.
I felt the jolt of Tarik’s stare followed by his surprise…and subsequent fury. His roiling emotions were tangible enough to sense. My eyes flicked up and to the side slowly. The collisionof our gazes was to be expected, since he was glaring at me, but the electric force of it still punched the breath from my lungs. Those blue eyes were glowing like heated stones, incandescent with rage.
At least I still made him feelsomething.
“What are you doing here?” he growled, making the player between us flinch.
“Last I heard, gentlemen have free will.”
His glare intensified even as it dropped to my bare lips for an infinitesimal second. “Yes,men.” His voice lowered, and I warmed at the fact that even in his anger, he wouldn’t expose me. “You should not be here, Roz.”
I let my lip curl arrogantly. “Who’s going to stop me? You?” I wanted him to stand up and say yes…I wanted him to drag me out of there like I meant something to him. Except the boiling ire drained from his face, leaving nothing but a blank, defeated expression that I hated.
“No,” he muttered. “I don’t care what you do.”
Clearly uncomfortable, the man in the middle swung his stare between us. “Would you like to switch places?”
Tarik growled no just as I said yes. The other man stared down into his cards.
“Coward,” I said softly.
“Liar,” drifted back, and I winced.
The dealer cleared his throat, and play resumed in weighted silence with a new deck. The next few rounds went quickly, and I must have been lucky, because the dealer went bust each time. My mound of money was sizable. Tarik lost, though I wasn’tsure if he was even keeping track, betting only the minimum as he was. I was attuned to every single movement he made, even the breaths that left his lips.
To get his attention, I put the maximum bet down on the next hand. Fifty pounds.
That goteveryone’sattention.
His shoulders stiffened at my boldness, but he grunted and stayed focused on the table. By some miracle, I won that hand with a natural, and with a two-to-one payout, that meant one hundred and fifty pounds, but I didn’t care about the money. Emboldened, I wagered the maximum again, this time earning myself another grunt and a sidelong glance of warning. My heart thumped with illicit thrill. As pure luck would have it, I received another natural.
One was lucky enough; two in a row drew attention. Not the good kind.
Three hundred pounds in two hands.
“Cheat!” one of the players jeered. “Either he signaled to the dealer or bribed him, but deceit is afoot.”
“I think I saw him palming a card,” the man between me and Tarik said. “Check his sleeve.”
