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“Dammit!” Tragmore leaned forward, hands tightly gripping his knees. “Hell and damnation!” he bit out long minutes later as Grand Profit crossed the finish line.
“A problem, Tragmore?” Pierce asked with apparent concern.
“Just a bloody poor informant.” The marquis slumped in his chair. “Sorry, Thornton.”
“It’s your money, Tragmore,” Pierce reminded him. “Remember?” Without awaiting a reply, Pierce eased back in his seat, turning toward Daphne.
What he saw made him grin.
Daphne’s eyes were sparkling, her chin tilted proudly in his direction. She looked exuberant and thoroughly pleased with herself.
“As I suspected,” Pierce murmured, brushing his knuckles across her flushed face. “Your instincts are quite good, my lady.”
She stared at his fingers as they caressed her skin. “I’m sure it was luck.”
“Perhaps. But good luck, nonetheless.” He ran his thumb across her soft lower lip. “Congratulations.”
Her breath broke in a tiny shiver. “I’m sorry you lost.”
“Ah, but I didn’t.”
“Pardon me?”
“Your enthusiasm was contagious, as was your logic. I placed my bet on Grand Profit.”
“You placed your…” Daphne shook her head in amazement. “All because of what I said?”
“A good gambler trusts his instincts. Always remember that.” Pierce winked. “Now, shall I choose the next winner or shall you?”
Daphne’s lips quirked. “I don’t believe in pressing my luck, Mr. Thornton, good or otherwise. I believe I’ll leave the rest of the day’s wagers to you. I suspect you are far more proficient at this than I.”
“As you wish,” Pierce agreed.
The remaining races were exhilarating, as was the extraordinary sum he won, but seeing Daphne blossom like a newly opened flower filled Pierce with more satisfaction than all his winnings combined.
That, and one thing more.
The sheer triumph of watching Tragmore squirm as his losses compounded, plunging him deeper and deeper into debt.
The indications of the marquis’s agitation were subtle, but, having survived thirty years on wits alone, Pierce knew just what to search for. He took in each bead of sweat on the marquis’s brow, each nervous quiver of his unblemished hands, each uneasy glance over his shoulder as he waited for the axe to fall, for Pierce to publicly expose him to the world.
No, you bastard, Pierce thought grimly. That would be too easy and too painless. Sweat. Die inside. Wonder if you’ll survive. Just the way I did.
Beside him, Daphne shifted. Pierce turned in time to see her peering over her shoulder, searching the crowd.
“Have you lost something?” he asked, leaning toward her.
Daphne started, pivoting around in her seat. “No.”
“I don’t devour innocent women.”
Those amazing eyes widened. “Pardon me?”
“You needn’t look so terrified. I’m harmless.”
Another hesitant smile hovered about her lips. “Are you? I think not, Mr. Thornton. In fact, I’m unsure why, but harmless seems the least likely word to describe you.”
Pierce acknowledged her assessment with a dry chuckle. “Uninteresting then? Given the fact that, since our introduction, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time viewing your back.”
