Twenty-seven

Mrs. Grey gasped. Marcus gripped the table’s edge, ready to knock the Prussian into the wall. Better yet, he’d call him out. Men murmured behind their hands. None missed the foreigner’s possessive glance at Genevieve.

The beast dared to insinuate she was a gaming piece?

Marcus sprang from his seat. Samuel set a calming hand on his shoulder and slapped a paper on the baize. “Try this instead.”

Spare words had been scrawled across the foolscap. Men crowded closer, their body heat oppressive. Marcus yanked the loose end of his cravat.

Samuel tapped the note. “But only if you match the value with one hundred pounds.”

“What is it?” Herr Wolf snatched the foolscap and read it. Scowling, he tossed it aside. “You offer a horse. No.”

“A prime stud,” Samuel argued. “Atal can vouch for that. The bay is well worth it.”

Arms folded loosely, the baron shrugged. “I can’t say the stud is worth a hundred pounds, but he is a fine piece of horseflesh.”

“I need a horse like I need a third bollock.”

“Why? You aren’t using the two you have.” Marcus tossed aside his neckcloth.

Nervous chuckles sprinkled the room.

“Careful, Englisch.”

“No, you have a care. Only a coward would suggest a woman as a gambling token.”

Voices buzzed. The Prussian’s mouth pinched. Heat coursed through Marcus. All thoughts of going home fled. “I don’t know how it is in Prussia, but in England, we’re civilized. We court a woman.”

“Here, here!” one man shouted from the outer circle.

Herr Wolf’s gaze slid over the ring of disapproving men. Marcus breathed easier. What he’d said was the best argument he could muster, a reminder the Prussian played his game on foreign soil. Odds weren’t in the Wolf’s favor. Marcus started to rise.

“Wait.” Hands open, Herr Wolf motioned to the gathering. “As guest here, allow me to correct a simple misunderstanding. We play one round, and I accept your bet.” Herr Wolf smiled, but the effect was chilling. “I’ll improve the odds, put two widows on the table for goodwill.”

“A sporting offer,” Atal said. “What say you, Bowles?”

Samuel gripped the back of Halliburton’s empty chair, the tips of his fingers white. Men stirred, brought to life by servants bearing salvers laden with spirits and lively competition.

“You can’t deny Herr Wolf’s trying to make amends,” Lord Barnard offered.

Why did the old lord champion the Prussian?

Marcus swallowed. Herr Wolf had outplayed him. He could feel it in his bones, and he’d yet to comprehend the man’s ploy. “Very well. One round.”

The Wolf’s face cracked wide, his sharp incisors gleaming. “Good.” Fingers raised, he snapped twice for the footman. Without breaking eye contact across the table, he ordered the servant, “Bring us a bottle of whiskey. Your finest.”

Men dragged chairs closer. Eschewing formality, straddling their seats, leaning on the backs like waiting jackals.

Marcus dug the last pound notes from his pocket and tossed them on the table. “Shall we begin?”

“Not so fast. We raise a glass, you and I, in the spirit of goodwill.”

A spider could be crawling up Marcus’s back. He rubbed his nape, caught in a snare of his own making. The drink’s haze washed away clarity. Whiskey splashed into a glass, poured by a servant, and Marcus’s every muscle clenched. The gold tide threatened to carry away everything.

The Prussian raised his glass. “To your gentleman’s ways, Englisch.”

Frozen in his seat, Marcus lifted the glass and touched it to his lips. Fuzzy as his senses were, he blinked, aware of one thing. The Prussian hadn’t had a drop all night. This toast and the last round was the soldier circling his prey. Herr Wolf had already known his weakness, playing against it as skillfully as he played his cards.

“Don’t forget your bet of a hundred pounds,” Samuel said.

“Of course, how clumsy of me.” The Prussian added a wad of pound notes to the pile and dealt five cards to himself and Marcus. He set two widow cards facedown on the baize before turning the trump card face up.

The ace of hearts.

Marcus set aside his glass, the whiskey’s woody flavor on his lips. Beside him, Samuel’s eyes turned to icy chips.

The cards. Marcus picked them up. A pair of tens. And three heart cards. His heart thudded in his chest. He could win.

Herr Wolf examined his cards. “Do you wish to discard this hand or not?”

“No.”

Herr Wolf brooded, while his index finger circled the back of the center card. “Do you wish to discard and seek your widow?”

“No widows tonight.”

“And none for me,” the Wolf’s voice rumbled.

A clock chimed half past midnight.

“Shall we show our cards?”

Genevieve wedged her way beside Samuel. She was wide-eyed and pale.

“Please do.” The Prussian’s voice was smooth as he fanned his cards on the table.

Herr Wolf had nothing.

Marcus took a deep breath and laid his cards for all to see. Chairs creaked. Men leaned in.

Lord Barnard announced their hands. “Rotten luck for both of you. A pair of tens, a queen of hearts for Bowles. And a mess of low cards for Wolf.”

Samuel exhaled slowly, his grip on the chair relaxing.

“Nobody won?” Genevieve worried the gold trim at her waist.

Baron Atal smiled at her. “Bowles did…with his queen.”

“Then we can go home.”

“The sooner the better,” Marcus said.

“On the contrary.” Herr Wolf sifted through his cards, revealing the hidden middle card. “I won.”

The king of hearts.

Marcus froze.

The Prussian stood, his massive size causing men to inch back. With a heartless smile, he gathered his winnings and passed the IOU to his host. “Baron, would you be so kind as to send one of your men to fetch my new stallion?”

Mouth pursed, Atal checked the cards and nodded. “I’ll send a man to Pallinsburn in the morning.”

“Now is better. I wish to inspect my possession tonight.”

The baron grimaced at Samuel, but as gentlemen, the bet would be honored.

“I’ll see to it.” Atal waved to Marston.

The room exploded with chatter and chairs banging tables. Samuel backed away, his blanched face the only sign of discomfort.

“Well played.” Barnard slapped the Prussian’s back as they walked away.

Marcus sat alone, staring at his cards. The widow cards. He should’ve played them. He reached for the first widow to see what it was.

“Don’t second-guess yourself.” Hard lines bracketed Samuel’s mouth.

Marcus blinked, tried to speak, but no words came.

“Go home,” Samuel said for Marcus’s ears alone. “See to your wife’s safety. I’d wager the Wolf plans to destroy you and steal her.”

A jovial Barnard raised a toast with the Prussian and Lord Stoneleigh. Herr Wolf peered coldly their way before giving his attention to another man who joined their circle. Genevieve sought Marcus’s hand on the table and gave it a squeeze. Her hold was a lifeline in a sea of failure.

“I lost our best horse…the stud,” he said numbly.

“I know.”

“We’re finished without him.”

Genevieve was a whisper of silk and succor beside him. “Your venture will go on.”

“Not without a prime male to service the mares, it won’t,” he groused overloud.

“Then you’ll find a way to get the stallion back,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Don’t give up, milord.”

“Not likely. At best I’ve ruined our business.” His voice grating, he glanced at the doorway where Samuel exited. “At worst, I’ve lost a friend.”

“He’s hurting right now, but he’ll be back.” She rubbed Marcus’s arm. “Your friendship is solid. Truth is, you need each other.”

Had he pushed the limits of their friendship? And there was the mystery of Lord Barnard and Herr Wolf. The game tonight. The cards.

What had he missed?