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Cyril had one more throw. Charity could barely attend to what was happening yet she must. Her mind was a muddle. Just as the dice in her pocket were. Unwittingly, Hugo had mixed the dice — though how could she remove them from her pocket in front of such a crowd? It never would have worked.
“I call on Lady Luck to throw me another nine.”
Cyril stood with his chest puffed out, no doubt in anticipation that the game was his. Beside him, the sandy-haired gentleman exchanged a quick look with Rosetta and opened his mouth to speak.
To demand a change of dice, Charity assumed. The dice that Rosetta had slipped into Charity’s pocket.
A voice from the crowd cut in. “I challenge you to throw with dice not supplied by you, Mr Adams!”
Hugo!
There was a shocked silence. A few more gentlemen joined those at the table, flanking the northerner and the pale gentleman who was playing Cyril and who, Charity saw, sent a distinctly panicked look at Rosetta now standing at Charity’s left shoulder.
“Are you calling me a cheat?”
Charity gasped and raised her head to see Cyril’s eyes narrowed with anger.
“My own cousin? Who owes me such a grand sum?” His nostrils flared. “Why, of course, you’d say it, wouldn’t you?” He made a noise of disgust, turning to the rest of the company as if expecting them to refute such a claim.
No one did.
“Have the girl pick her own dice,” came a voice from somewhere and she twisted her head and saw it was the sandy-haired gentleman. He sent her an encouraging nod. He’d no doubt assumed the dice Rosetta had supplied were still in her pocket.
But then someone from the crowd was handing her two cubes and voices were calling across the table, “Throw it, young lady! Throw it! See if he gets his nine.”
What choice did she have?
So, she tossed and the dice rolled over the green baize table top with agonising slowness. A five…
Luck would not favour a four. It couldn’t. Only the Devil’s own luck.
But with a cry of triumph that’s what it appeared Cyril had for a collective gasp rang out as the second die raised a triumphant four to the sky.
For a split-second, Cyril seemed as disbelieving as the rest of them, before he crowed with laughter. “By God, if you won’t rue the day you slandered me, Hugo!” he said before deferring to the northerner adding, “Unless you’d like to cut your losses or, default to mine own beloved cousin. Come Hugo, I dare you to reverse my colleague’s losing streak. Take on his losses and turn them around to victory, I dare you. Everything on this throw, eh?”
Charity was so focussed on the exchange that she hardly realised the fact that Rosetta was insinuating into her palm the dice she’d retrieved from Charity’s pocket. The dice she’d put there ready for the moment when her partner in crime, called his number. Who knew what number he’d call but Rosetta believed the dice she’d retrieved would answer.
But unbelievably Hugo was stepping forward. It was the moment he’d engineered. The moment he’d intended Charity to work with him.
“Accepted,” said Hugo with a surprising degree of confidence after the briefest conferring with the man whom Cyril was beating soundly. “I call eight.”
Charity tried to shake her head. Tried to warn him with her eyes. She had no idea what the dice would roll. But Hugo must have seen her thrust her hand into her skirt pocket; he must have thought confidently that she had the means to restore his fortunes. Their fortunes.
But the dice Emily had put there had been joined by Hugo’s. She had no way of knowing which were which and now Hugo was confidently calling an eight. An eight to counteract his cheating cousin because he’d been pushed to the brink and cheating — yes, cheating! — was the only way he thought he could redress matters.
She could barely bring herself to watch. Hugo was about to compound the worst mistake of his life and Charity could only stand by and stare, helplessly.
“And now my lady luck will roll for you, cousin.” With a shrug, Cyril draped his arm about Charity just as a pair of dice were pushed into her hands. The dice from her pocket? From the table?
It seemed Hugo hadn’t moved but his gaze was fixed on the cubes in Charity’s palm. Now she was about a play and if she threw anything other than an eight, she’d effectively wipe away another fortune that rightfully belonged to Hugo. No, not a fortune. He’d be plunging him into debt from which it would take years to extricate himself.
“Five and four certainly does not make eight!” Cyril crowed. “I declare myself the winner. Hugo, are you ready to settle up?” He dropped a careless kiss upon Charity’s cheek. It was like an oily rag to a flame.
With a cry of rage, Hugo threw himself across the table scattering people, coins, and banknotes in his wake before he was restrained by a couple of burly fellows who’d appeared seemingly from the woodwork.
Chapter 7
Cyril had summoned them. Charity had seen the muted command from the corner of her eye though her horrified focus had been on Hugo. He’d wanted to salvage their terrible situation. He’d wanted mostly to do it for Charity. And yet together they had made everything so much worse.
