Page 67 of Five Nights with a Rakish Duke
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Another,” Asher said, pointing to the brandy glass beside him.
“Do you not think you should slow down a little, my friend?” Dorian asked from Asher’s side.
“Do I look like I want to slow down?” Asher asked, blinking lazily at him across the card table in the gambling hall. He was aware of Dorian and Vincent glancing at one another, though in his drunken state, he couldn’t quite make out their expressions. “What is it?” he asked as he took the brandy glass the footman had just refilled.
“We have never seen you like this, Asher,” Vincent said with a shake of his head as the dealer dealt them all new cards, along with a fourth man who sat at their table as quiet as a mouse, without a word uttered past his lips.
“Well, this is the new me!” Asher said with finality and gestured to his torso. “You will have to grow accustomed to it.”
“Bid to play,” the dealer said.
Asher peered through the smoke that hung around the eaves of the gambling hall, looking across the room. It was a dark place indeed with only a few candles to light the space. Harlots walked between the tables, as the gambling hall also worked as a brothel, but Asher couldn’t look at any of them. Each time he did, he thought of another’s face, and her green eyes, the touch of her, and the sounds she had made when he had pleasured her.
I want her back.
Asher added his chips to the center of the table as they all picked up their cards. As they played the round, more than once Dorian attempted to pry the brandy glass away from Asher’s clutches, but he never quite let it happen. Asher had to keep snatching it back and lifting it to his lips another time.
“It is your turn, Your Grace.” The quiet man spoke up at last and gestured toward Asher. “Or we will be here all night trying to take your money.”
Asher squinted, trying his best to see the gentleman’s face, but between his hazy view from the brandy and the smoke-filled dim room, he could not make out the features clearly. He added more chips to the pile.
“Woah! Asher, surely you do not need to bet so much!” Vincent said hurriedly, trying to push some of the tokens back toward him.
“Why not?” Asher asked, leaning dangerously to the side in his chair.
“Do you want to lose it all?”
“I do not think he cares if he does.” Dorian sighed and sat back in his chair, earning Asher’s gaze another time.
“You disapprove of me, my friend,” Asher said, pointing lazily at Dorian.
“What tipped you off?”
“All I am doing is enjoying a few drinks and some gambling. What is so wrong with that?” Asher asked and glanced back to the footman that was wandering between the tables. “Another, please!” The footman promptly returned with a carafe of brandy.
“It is wrong because this is not you, Asher,” Dorian said in a hissed whisper. “You are no drunkard although the last four nights you have done a good impression of persuading me that you are.”
“What is going on? Are you drowning your sorrows?” Vincent asked. Asher flinched at the words and took the brandy glass, trying to hide his expression behind it.
“I thought we were here to play cards,” the mouse-like gentleman spoke up again.
“We are,” Asher declared and leaned forward. “You have my bet. Are you going to call or fold?”
Dorian and Vincent both folded instantly. Even in his hazy state, Asher did not miss how they shook their heads and glanced at each other, their expressions more than a little worried.
“And you?” Asher asked, addressing the mousey man.
“Call,” he said firmly and matched Asher’s bet in the middle of the table. He instantly placed down his cards, and Asher’s hand tightened around the brandy glass. From the candlelight, he could just about see the cards facing him. His opponent had a royal flush, a near-on impossible hand to beat. Asher threw down his cards in anger, the only answer he needed to give.
“Ha!” the man declared, gathering his chips toward him. “I rather like it when lovelorn gentlemen come to these tables, gambling away. It is good for the size of my pockets.”
“Who said I was lovelorn?” Asher asked, swaying in his seat and slurring his words.
“No one had to say it, Your Grace,” the man said, chuckling away. “I have walked this life enough to recognize a man trying to hide the pain of a broken heart. I’d wager someone else at this table knows what such a thing is like too. Brandy is certainly not a long-term solution.”
“I concur,” Dorian said, reaching forward and taking the brandy glass out of Asher’s hand before he could stop him.
