Jasper sprang into action. “Mr Charleston is a promising young gentleman who has only just come up to Town and is—ah—taking in the local colour.”
Theo gave a strangled sound that might have been a cough or a laugh, or a dying pheasant. “Indeed?” he said, fixing his eyes upon Lottie with a brightness that did not bode well. “From Wiltshire, is it?”
Lottie nodded stiffly. “Born and raised. Nothing but mud and sheep.”
“I can imagine,” said Theo.
Morleigh gave Jasper a sidelong look. “Interesting relations you have, Deverell.”
Lottie reached for her brandy in desperation and took a gulp so aggressive she feared it might carry away half her moustache.
Captain Graham looked between them all, plainly irritated by the interruption. “Well? Are you joining the table or not?”
Theo lowered himself into a chair at once. “We shall observe the next hand. I always enjoy watching Deverell lose at cards.”
“Yes,” Morleigh said mildly, pulling up a chair from another table. “I’ve a particular fondness for watching him get thrashed.”
Lottie’s spine snapped straight. Of course they had come to tower and glower and ruin everything. Men always did adore appearing at precisely the moment they were least wanted. Well, she would not be frightened from the table like a child with jam on her cuffs.
“Oh, no need for that,” Jasper cut in. “Actually, I believe we were just wrapping up. The hour grows late, and poor Mr Charleston must return to—er—his sheep.”
“My sheep are hearty,” Lottie said with brandy-born defiance.
Jasper shot her a look that said, quite clearly,you little menace.
Captain Graham looked pleased. “One more hand, then.”
“Absolutely not,” Jasper said, smiling too tightly. “It would be irresponsible to continue gambling when the hour has become disreputable.”
“I say one last hand,” Lottie declared in her deepest voice.
Jasper stared at her, and she watched with satisfaction as Morleigh closed his eyes.
“Very well,” Jasper said at last, in the tone of a man accepting execution with grace. “One last hand. Double stakes.”
They placed their coins upon the table. Lottie dropped her final crown down with what she hoped was masculine unconcern and what was, in truth, the reckless flourish of a woman with nothing left to lose.
Her cards were dealt.
“Sixteen,” Jasper said.
“A card,” Lottie replied confidently.
He gave her one—a five. “Twenty-one.”
For one glorious second, Lottie forgot herself enough to smile.
Captain Graham declined another card. Mr Everly, after much theatrical anguish, took one and went over. Only Jasper remained.
He turned his cards. An ace and a queen.
“Vingt-un,” he said with a dimpled grin.
Lottie stared at him.
“Banker takes the tie,” he said, gathering the coins into his palm. “House rules.”
Lottie's smile dropped, and for a moment, she almost shrieked exactly where he could put his cheating house rules. Instead, she sat back, crossed her arms, and said in Mr Charleston’s lowest possible voice, “I say.”
