Page 28 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
The older man amiably grumbled, but he stuffed a small stack of pound notes into Kieran’s palm.
“Parched in my defeat,” Hedgerly said wryly, “I’ll hie myself off to the refreshments.” He bowed again before ambling away.
“How did you know?” Celeste demanded once Hedgerly had gone. “That Lonsdale would scratch his nose? Did a fly alight upon it?”
“He possesses an obvious tell when his hand is poor,” Kieran explained, drawing her away from the table. His arm still blazed with the feel of her hand on him, and that sensation burned through his body.
“Given the way his hair and clothing were in disarray,” he continued, attempting to cage his wayward body’s response, “he’d been steadily losingall night, which makes him play recklessly. He called for another round of cards, so it was reasonable to assume that he’d go over. Thus, my wager.”
She stared up at him, and a snug little bubble of awareness enclosed them.
“I’m not certain what’s more surprising,” she said softly. “The fact that people are betting on things that aren’t actual games, or the fact that you’re an expert at it.”
“Because a scoundrel such as myself couldn’t have a skill?” He grinned at her, and her lips quirked in response.
“Because you’re so modest about it,” she returned. “Were it me, I’d be crowing from the top of my phaeton that no one can best me at seemingly random wagers.”
His smile widened as the bubble surrounding them shrank. “Boasting about one’s gambling prowess tends to scare off those who would wager against you. And if you want to see true expertise in gambling, you’d do better to study Finn. My brother’s facility with gaming borders on brilliance.”
“Finn?” She looked dubious.
Kieran’s spine stiffened, even though it made sense that she might question his assertion. Finn himself never bothered to contradict those who saw him as a dull-witted rake, a persona that had been affixed to him since Eton, where his academic efforts had been disastrous. In truth, Finn seemed to encourage others to believe that he was brainless.
But then she said, “We’re not always who the world believes us to be.”
He looked into her eyes, a mix of green and brownand gold, and the ground beneath his feet went unsteady, as if unmoored by her perceptiveness.
Seeking stability, Kieran glanced away. He recognized his brother’s dark-clad presence at the periphery of the gaming hell. It wasn’t a surprise, encountering Finn here. Whatwasunexpected was the fact that if Finn noticed Kieran, he didn’t approach, which was fortunate. It would be unlikely that his brother would correctly guess Celeste’s identity beneath her disguise, but better to avoid him altogether and not take that risk.
Even so, he and Celeste ought to keep moving so as not to tempt fate.
“The games of chance at the tables are adequate,” he said, “but if you’re in search of deeper play and more substantial excitement, seek side bets from the spectators. That’s where the sport truly happens.”
“And it’s a matter of studying the players at the tables,” she noted. “Watching them, tracking how their games proceed, and how they behave.”
“Precisely.”
She glanced toward the hazard table, and a smile of eager potential bloomed across her face. Her expressions were so dynamic, so emotive—impossible not to wonder what such responsiveness might mean in a bed partner.
Speculate all you want, Ransome. It’s not going to happen.
“Time to try my luck.” She gave his arm a slight squeeze before walking away.
He didn’t plan on watching her go, it simply happened. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at the bitable curve of her neck, and as she headed towardthe hazard table, more than a few heads turned in her direction.
Point your attention elsewhere,he instructed himself. He headed toward a hazard table but drew up when he heard a very young male voice say with strained good cheer, “Just wait here, Antoinette—I need to speak with the pit manager but I’ll be back presently.”
Turning, Kieran saw a pale boy who couldn’t have been more than eighteen hurrying away from an equally young woman in deep blue silk. The moment the boy left the woman’s side, his desperately merry expression fell away, leaving terror in its place. Wringing his hands, the boy glanced around in a panic, a sheen of sweat glistening on his ashen skin.
Kieran strode to the boy’s side. In a low voice he asked, “How much are you down?”
“P-Pardon?” the lad gulped.
“You’ve bet beyond your means,” Kieran said, careful to keep a jaded, disinterested look on his face. “Lost your quarterly allowance on deep play to impress the lady.”
The boy scrubbed a hand over a chin that sported a single blond whisker, not enough growth to warrant regular shaving. “I didn’t want her to think I’ve no ruddy idea what I’m doing.”
“The world’s most common blunder.” Kieran’s chest twinged in sympathy. When he’d been this lad’s age, how often had he done something similarly stupid?
