The parlour was set aside for those men who liked to gamble with money as opposed to a woman’s affections. Rumours of the wager between Matthew and Lord Boden had spread through the throng. Indeed, the guests piled into the dimly lit room, squashed and squeezed into every available space in the hope of witnessing the event. Consequently, the room was hot. The pungent odour of stale tobacco and cheap perfume tainted the air. The sickly sweet smell of liquor made Priscilla want to retch.

“Heaven help us if there’s a fire,” Priscilla said moving around the table to take the seat opposite Matthew. Lord Boden held out her chair despite Matthew’s mutterings of disapproval. “Thank you, my lord. I hope you will be as generous when we beat you at whist.”

Boden chuckled though a smile barely formed on his lips. “While I am more than confident in my ability to succeed, your optimism is refreshing. Indeed, there are not many ladies who—”

“Stop harassing my wife with your sentimental nonsense.” Matthew removed his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. “She can see through your amiable facade.”

“What you deem a facade is simply good manners,” Boden countered though there was a hint of amusement in his tone, a reluctance to offend.

“You must excuse my husband,” Priscilla said trying not to show she found the lord abhorrent. “His mood will be much improved once he wins back his vowel.”

“When I win, I shall be ecstatic,” Matthew snapped.

“Determination is an admirable quality,” Boden replied. “But you cannot hope to win. I excel at the game. There is no finer player in all of London. Ask around.”

Good. She’d cast a line to lure this big fish. Now Boden had taken a nibble it wouldn’t be too difficult to reel him in.

“Perhaps you exaggerate your skill, my lord. Perhaps your confidence is merely a mask to rouse fear in our hearts. After all, did you not lose at The Diamond Club last night?”

Excited murmurs drifted through the crowd.

“We lost, but the mistake was mine,” Mr Parker Brown interjected as he took the final seat. “I can assure you, madam, it won’t happen again.”

“A mistake?” The faint look of suspicion passed over Matthew’s face. It would not do to alert Boden that they suspected foul play. Besides, Priscilla wanted to use this opportunity to gain a pledge from the pompous lord and his partner.

Casting Matthew an inconspicuous look to be cautious, Priscilla said, “Precisely my point. Mistakes happen, my lord. While I admire your confidence, you cannot be assured of success tonight.”

As expected, Boden rose to the challenge. “Madam, I can assure you, losing is not a word I’m familiar with.” His gaze dropped to the brooch sewn onto her gown, scanned her exposed flesh. “I always get what I want.”

Arrogance was to be Lord Boden’s downfall.

“Then you should have no objection showing your benevolence. A gesture of goodwill will convince me of your generous nature and reinforce your assertion that you possess great expertise.”

“A gesture of goodwill?” Boden repeated, the slight tremor in his voice was accompanied by a deep line between his brows. “What are you suggesting?”

Priscilla steeled herself. “Have faith in your conviction. Make my uncle’s vowel part of the wager.”

Matthew cleared his throat. “I cannot cover your uncle’s vowel if we lose.”

Priscilla smiled. “Lord Boden need ask for nothing in return. If we lose, we shall simply pay the agreed amount. If we win, he will return both vowels. Being so highly skilled it will not be a great risk.” She looked up at the gaping crowd. “And does that not make for a worthier wager?”

Mumbled words of approval rumbled through the parlour.

Lord Boden scanned the horde of excited faces. To reject the idea would make him appear weak, a man who boasts but lacks substance. And that simply wouldn’t do.

“Very well.” The nerve in Lord Boden’s cheek twitched. “Should we lose, both vowels shall be returned though I can assure you that will not be the case.”

Mr Parker-Brown made an odd puffing noise. “Shouldn’t you consult me before—”

“The decision is made,” Boden snapped. “Mrs Chandler may trust that I will honour our bargain. That she alone has the ability to elicit my compassion for her uncle’s plight.”

Matthew grabbed the pack of cards from the centre of the card table and began shuffling them as though they had slighted him in some way.

“The excitement gleaned from taking a risk is sometimes its own reward, my lord. But I thank you for your kindness and pray you accept defeat with equal grace.” She waved her hand over the green cloth surface, hoping the tremble in her fingers wasn’t evident. “Shall we proceed with the game?”

“Do you wish to appoint a dealer, Lord Boden?” Matthew placed the cards on the table. “One of the gentlemen in the crowd, perhaps?”

“We know each other well enough to trust that one of us may deal.”

“Then I would prefer you accept the task.” Matthew pushed the deck towards him. “I’d hate for you to lose and then accuse me of cheating.”

“There are enough witnesses here to attest to honest play.”

Heavens, the gentleman’s hypocrisy knew no bounds.

Boden shuffled the cards without argument and presented the pack to Priscilla. “The lady may cut the deck to choose the trump card.”

“How kind of you, my lord.” Cutting the cards roughly halfway, she revealed the five of hearts to the gentlemen at the table, and the spectators gathered around. “The suit of one in search of perfect love. The ruler of home and family.”

Matthew smiled. “Then it was an apt choice.”

“Let’s hope Fate bestows a bounty of luck upon me.”

Boden gave an irritated sigh as he reshuffled and dealt the cards. “Before we begin, we should clarify the rules of play. Thirteen tricks to a hand. One point for every trick earned over six. The first team to reach five points win a game. The best of three games win the match. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” came their collective response.

“I recall seeing a decanter of port when I wandered in here earlier.” Lord Boden craned his neck though it was impossible to see anything beyond the wall of people. “As host shouldn’t you offer us all a drink, Chandler?”

“You may partake in a tipple, though I must decline.”

“Nonsense. In testament to the friendly spirit of the game, we must all drink together.” Boden glanced at Priscilla. “Surely, you will take a nip of port with me, something to quell the nerves.”

“After your generous offer to return my uncle’s vowel should we win, it would be rude to refuse.”

“My wife has no need to satisfy your whims.” Matthew’s defiant green eyes flashed with hatred.

“There is no need for concern.” She remained resolute. “You may trust my judgement. A small drop of port will do no harm.”

Gesturing to the waiting footman, Priscilla instructed him to bring the decanter and glasses. The servant placed the crystal vessel on the small trestle table at their side and began pouring. Matthew’s curious gaze scanned the unfamiliar decanter.

What, did he really think she’d be foolish enough to fall prey to Boden’s scheming? A few drops of laudanum would cloud her judgement enough to make mistakes in the game. A few drops would diminish her ability to stop the lecherous lord from making an amorous advance should the need take him.

“Instead of port, I wonder if I may have brandy.” Boden’s desire to drink something other than the drink he’d tampered with was not surprising. “You’d prefer brandy wouldn’t you Parker?”

The red-haired gentleman nodded. “Too much port gives me gout.”

“Well my husband shall join me in a glass, and you gentlemen shall enjoy a brandy.”

They all accepted their respective glasses. Matthew stared at her as he brought it to his lips.

“Trust me,” she reiterated. It was a lot to ask from a man who trusted no one. “The liquor will have no effect on your ability to play.” She turned to Boden. “Many a drunk has played carelessly at the tables.”

Boden snorted. “Indeed, hence it’s only right we all take a drink.”

The sneaky scoundrel.

It took a tremendous effort not to jump up and punch him on the nose.

Little did he know that she’d watched him enter the room when he thought no one was looking. Having learnt that he’d drugged the port at Holbrook’s card game, and that he’d presume port would be her choice over brandy, she’d arranged for both decanters to be changed. On Anne’s advice, the small amount of laudanum she’d added to the brandy would be enough to muddle the arrogant lord’s mind.

After raising their glasses in a salute to Fate, the game began.

Boden’s tactic in all previous games was to let his opponents win the first few tricks. As per their earlier conversation, Priscilla was to play low, particularly if playing her strongest suit, while Matthew would divert suspicion and mix up the play.

Priscilla and Matthew won the first four tricks — Boden and Parker-Brown the next four. The slight movements of hand and face were harder to detect when seated around the table. To stare at the men during play would seem odd. With so much at stake, the pressure to focus took tremendous effort. Indeed, the tension in the air was like a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders.

When they lost the next hand, Priscilla sensed her husband’s frustration and knew that they had no choice but to concentrate on their own game.

But how was she to communicate her intentions?

Matthew’s growl of disapproval when they lost the next hand gave her the opportunity she needed.

“Your mind is too distracted,” she said. “It is easy to analyse the game when watching from the crowd. To be in the midst makes it harder to anticipate how one’s opponents might play.”

“Perhaps it’s the port.” Matthew nodded to the footman who removed his glass.

Boden chuckled and swallowed a mouthful of his brandy. “Can’t take your liquor? Perhaps it’s time to accept you have no skill at cards.”

“Ignore Lord Boden,” Priscilla interjected before her husband leapt across the table and throttled the man. “He is simply trying to put you off your game. There is no need to look at anyone else here but me.” Their eyes locked. She arched a brow, exaggerated the movement in the hope he would read her silent communication. “Like the queen of hearts, I hope to have a favourable influence.”

One corner of Matthew’s mouth twitched. He rubbed his cheek, pressed his fingers together in the sign used by Boden and his ilk. “Then as your king, I welcome your assistance.”

Excellent.

He understood her meaning perfectly.

They continued playing, Priscilla using the breathing technique to convey the numbered cards, the slight movements to indicate the face cards. Boden and Mr Parker-Brown were too concerned with watching each other to notice anything untoward.

Counting the cards took concentration. But being the first to reach five points, they won the first game.

“It seems your luck is improving, Chandler.” Mr Mullworth tapped Matthew on the shoulder. The portly gentleman raised his chin to acknowledge Mr Parker-Brown. “You know what they say. Trouble comes in threes. There’s every chance you could lose again this evening.”

Members of the crowd jeered.

“Enough with your blabbering,” Lord Boden chided. The whites of his eyes carried a hint of pink. The pupils contracted to tiny black dots. The rigid line of his jaw had softened. “Only when you find the courage to play are you worthy of passing comment.” Snatching the brandy glass off the table, he downed the contents in such a way as to show his disdain. “Now let’s get on with the blasted game.”

Mullworth hung his head and shrank back into the crowd.

“Are you well?” Mr Parker-Brown shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. The man had taken but three sips of his drink and looked at his partner with an air of bewilderment. “Why don’t we stretch our legs before we reconvene?”

“You speak as though I’m infirm. Now be quiet and let me deal the bloody cards.”

Boden practically threw the cards at them and was forced to reshuffle and start again when a few flipped face up. This time he didn’t bother to ask Priscilla to pick the trump card but followed the rule that last one dealt denoted the key suit.

Priscilla examined her hand and glanced up at Matthew. “Are you ready to win another game?”

A mischievous grin formed on his lips. “You know me. I’m always ready.”

The first few tricks were always the hardest to win. The more cards played, the easier it was to work out what was left. Matthew and Priscilla won the first hand, Boden the second and third. Come the fourth hand, the lord’s movements were slower. Judging by Parker-Brown’s mumbled moans, they were struggling with the language of silent communication.

And so it went on, trick after trick.

“Winning this trick gives us five points and means we’ve won the game.” Matthew’s voice whilst conveying a hint of loathing, smouldered with satisfaction.

“I can damn well count,” Boden snapped. “You sound like a bloody governess determined to make a point.”

Parker-Brown’s bottom lip wobbled. “I trust you were not relying on Mr Chandler’s promissory note to pay creditors.”

“Of course not.” Lord Boden’s cheeks puffed and glowed red. “Do you take me for one of these debauched fools?”

Members of the crowd gasped at the lord’s audacity. Muttered curses breezed through the room. The air was heavy with disdain though no one openly challenged his comment.

Matthew leant over the table towards Lord Boden. “It’s your turn to play.”

The card quivered in Boden’s fingers. Still, his cruel mouth formed an arrogant curl. “Let’s see if you can beat the knave of hearts.” He threw the card onto the table, sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

From what Priscilla had counted, and from reading the signs, Matthew had the nine of hearts. When he threw it down, Boden gave a mocking snort. The spectators in the front row sighed with disappointment.

“It seems your confidence is misplaced,” Lord Boden derided.

“Thankfully, a trick requires four cards, not two,” Matthew countered.

“Mr Parker-Brown,” Priscilla prompted. “It is your turn to play.”

The man’s nervous gaze flicked about the room. The three of clubs fell from his grasp and landed on the table.

“Bloody idiot.” Boden was far from pleased.

Priscilla fought hard to hide any sign of emotion. She stared at the card in her hand, her vision growing hazy, her mind playing its own tricks.

A tense silence filled the room. Fifty pairs of eyes watched and waited.

“As the lady of the house, it seems fitting that this should be the last card of play.” Allowing a wide grin to form, she placed the queen of hearts on top of the pile. “It seems that a woman’s love is the key to success.”

Matthew’s green eyes shone brightly. “I trust you are right.”

Mr Parker-Brown bowed his head.

Boden snatched the queen off the table, flipped it over in his fingers and then held it up to examine it further. “You can’t have won.” The devil’s own fury filled Boden’s eyes. He waved at the footman. “Pour me a large brandy while I examine the cards.”

Many men booed and jeered.

“They’ve won, Boden. They’ve beat you.”

“Accept your fate with good grace,” another shouted.

Matthew pushed out of the chair. Wearing a smug grin, he said, “I shall expect both mine and Lord Callan’s vowels returned as a matter of urgency. There can be no doubt as to the winners of this game.”

A rapturous applause rang out. One gentleman after another approached the table to offer their congratulations.

“Damn good game, Chandler.”

“We knew you had him after the first few hands.”

Matthew placed his hand on his chest. “I cannot take all the credit.”

“Like all the best fillies, your wife pipped him to the post,” Lord Parson said.

“Indeed.” Matthew glanced at her. The look of admiration in his eyes stole her breath. “In this house, it is the queen who reigns supreme.”