Chapter Two
Heavy silence hung in the dimly lit gaming room as Stirling kept his gaze on the man across the table from him. Gordon Frasier was one of two men he knew who matched him at cards, and this could be one of the times Gordon beat him. Stirling grasped the edge of his down card and glanced at the card. A nine. He released the card leaned back in his chair. The two cards facing up in front of Gordon equaled fifteen. One six remained in the deck. Was that six the card that lay face down next to Gordon’s cards? If so, his twenty-one would beat Stirling’s twenty.
Eyes locked with Gordon’s, Stirling traced a finger along the rim of his sherry glass. “You can’t match my bet.”
“What do you want?” Gordon’s casual question belied the weight of the five thousand pounds sitting on the table between them. The man knew how to bluff as well as he did.
Stirling looked at the dealer. “Get everyone out—and you go with them.”
Surprise flickered in Gordon’s eyes, but when the dealer looked at him, he shrugged agreement.
The dealer stood. “Gentlemen, let’s give the players a bit of privacy.”
“Come now,” Robert Hastings cried. “This isn’t sporting of you.”
Grumbling rose amongst the other men, but the dealer herded them from the room. When the door clicked shut behind them, Stirling said. “I have a proposition for you.”
Gordon’s bemused smile made the slashing scar down his left cheek more prominent. “I can’t meet your bet. You’ve won.”
“What if I give you a second chance to win?”
Light from the hearth fire sent shadows dancing across the tabletop. “You never give anything away without asking something in return,” Gordon said with a laugh. “Last year in India, you graciously promised Devansh you would find his daughter a husband—if he purchased the sugar in the cargo hold of your ship. You’re up to something. What is it?”
“A proposition.”
Gordon stared, but said nothing.
“The Lady Belle,” Stirling murmured.
Shock registered on Gordon’s face. “You must be talking about an actress I’ve never heard of, for I know you don’t mean your ship.”
Stirling shook his head. “I do, in fact, mean my frigate.”
“What could induce you to wager her?”
“Marriage.”
“Marriage?” Gordon blurted. “Do you have another tea merchant with a spinster daughter?”
Stirling placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “No tea merchant. If your hand beats mine, the Lady Belle is yours.”
This time, Gordon’s expression remained impassive. The man was good.
“If I lose?” he asked.
“If you lose, you can still win.”
Gordon gave a small shake of his head. “I know you too well to think you’ve lost your mind. But anything that seems too good to be true, is— Which means I should accept my losses and walk away. Still, I must ask; what are you selling?”
“The second daughter of a duke.” A moment of silence passed, and Stirling added, “She needs a husband.”
Gordon blinked. “I was wrong. You have gone insane.”
Stirling nodded at the money on the table. “Five thousand pounds, Gordon. It’s yours, win or lose.”
“By losing, you mean marriage.”
Stirling leaned back in his chair. “She’s a beautiful woman.”
“If she’s so beautiful, why must you buy her a husband?”
“Not just any husband,” Stirling said. “A good husband.”
Gordon laughed. “By God, how the bloody hell do I qualify?”
“You’re a good man.”
His friend shook his head. “I have a considerable list of women who might disagree.”
Stirling held his gaze. “Five thousand pounds. This money will allow you to give up privateering and start your own shipping company. You might live longer that way. After all, you’re not as young as you used to be.”
Gordon scowled. “I think I still have a few good years left in me.”
“You’re likely to have more years as a shipping baron than a privateer. Five thousand pounds could give you that life. Turn your card over and the money is yours.”
Gordon’s eyes dropped to Stirling’s cards. As a privateer, Gordon had the opportunity to filch booty from the ships he raided as a sanctioned pirate for the Crown. Gordon, however, was one of those rare men who loved his country and wouldn’t touch a gold doubloon that wasn’t his. The Saint, he was called. He was a rare breed. A rare breed who couldn’t resist a high risk.
Gordon stared at the card. One heartbeat, two…three. His eyes flicked to the money, then he flipped over his card. Four of clubs. Nineteen. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Eyes locked with Gordon’s, Stirling turned his face down card upright. Nine of hearts. Twenty.
Gordon stared at the card so long that Stirling knew he was trying to convince himself the situation was real.
“You’ve won, my friend,” Stirling said.
Gordon’s gaze lifted to his face. “You don’t really think I’ll marry her?”
“You didn’t have to turn over your card.”
“Keep the money,” he said, and Stirling knew he was calculating how far a fast ship would take him before Stirling caught up with him.
“Lady Belle is the fastest ship in Scotland—England, as well, if we’re honest,” Stirling said.
Gordon shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to visit the Colonies. I hear they have wide open territories where a man can get lost for a lifetime.”
“You’re an honorable man,” Stirling said.
“I’m a pirate.”
“Privateer,” Stirling corrected.
“Not according to the French.”
Stirling leaned forward. “I’m not finished telling you about my proposition.”
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