Page 7 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“I do not,” Silas said.
“Remarkable woman. Well, rather unrefined and a bit old, but remarkable nonetheless.”
“What lavish praise,” Silas said sarcastically. “Can we play?”
“Of course, I’m just making small talk,” Dilworth said, smirking as he laid down his cards. “Dealer, I’ll take two.”
Silas, Fishburne, Grant, and Dilworth played for the next hour, and Silas had to admit that Dilworth had played soundlyfor the first half hour. The viscount was talkative, chatting away with Grant, who was close to folding for good. Fishburne had already bowed out, having little care to lose more than a couple hundred pounds. Dilworth, on the other hand, seemed determined to win. Unfortunately for him, Silas wasn’t one for losing. At least, not at cards.
After Grant dropped his cards, Silas and Dilworth played another twenty minutes before Dilworth’s obvious tells started to annoy Silas. He would chew at his thumbnail whenever he drew a high card, or he would click his tongue when he got a three of a kind or lower. His eyes were constantly darting from his cards to Silas’s face, as if trying to gauge his opponent’s reaction. But Silas stayed perfectly motionless, like a jungle cat waiting to pounce until finally, they showed their hands for the last hand, the one on which Dilworth had staked all his remaining cash.
“His Grace wins,” the dealer said as Derek came up behind Silas, patting him on the back in a congratulatory way.
“Good game, Dilworth,” Silas said as he went to stand up, glad that the game was finally over.
“Wait,” Dilworth said desperately. “Let me use this,” he pulled out his ring. “As collateral.”
A few heads turned to watch as a small group came around their table.
“Dilworth, you don’t want to do this,” Silas said quietly.
“Why?” he asked abrasively. “Afraid?”
So much for being a good sport. Silas was well aware that the young man was trying to bait him, but he couldn’t help but want to teach him a lesson. Deep down, he knew that it had something to do with his baser urges to control and dominate. Instead, he told himself he was doing it for Dilworth’s unlucky fiancée. If Silas won, Dilworth wouldn’t have anything to propose with, and she might break free from her unfortunate engagement.
“Very well,” Silas said, sitting back down. “Play.”
Of course, Dilworth lost the ring in three rounds while becoming increasingly sweaty and frantic. Soon, all Dilworth had come with belonged to Silas. He stood up at the end of the hand and motioned for one of the footmen to collect his things. Ignoring Dilworth’s pleas, he moved around his chair.
Only then did he hear something that froze him in his tracks. He shook his head, wanting to believe that he must have imagined it, but from the stillness of the room around him, Silas hadn’t been the only one to hear it. Turning around slowly, he glared at the viscount.
“What did you just say?”
“Let me bet my fiancée’s dowry,” he begged, sweat trickling down his temple, his expression pleading.
Silas stared blankly at the man. A mixture of pity and disgust bubbled beneath the surface, but he felt no desire to accept the man’s vile offer. Dilworth was desperate, and Silas did not engage with his sort.
“Absolutely not.”
“Please, Combe!”
“It’s not your money, Dilworth,” Silas bit out. “She’s not even married to you.”
“Then I bether.”
The words fell from the man’s lips like coins on a table. The room became deadly silent. Everyone had heard Dilworth’s wager. There could be no denying what he had just said, even though it was entirely unbelievable. That Dilworth would bet his soon-to-be wife was beyond ghastly, beyond inhumane. It was the act of a frantic man. A sick man, which was precisely what Dilworth was.
Dilworth brought his fingers to his temple, wiping away the sweat droplets that beaded down his face.
“You’d bet your fiancée as collateral?” Silas asked. “Have you no concept of propriety? Or pride? What right do you even have to make that offer? You don’t actually have any claim to the poor girl.”
“This from a man who let his wife leave him?” Dilworth baited.
Though Silas didn’t make a move, Derek’s hand flew up to his chest to hold him back as the crowd of men collectively held their breaths. Dilworth was beyond the ability to think clearly, and Silas was aware of it. Still, he could not allow him any leeway. Not when he’d insulted Silas in front of so many people. It was an offense, a challenge that needed to be answered immediately. The others in the room likely expected him to challenge Dilworth to a duel.
But Silas had another idea.
“Very well,” he said, sitting back down. “One hand. If you win, you take everything I’ve won tonight.” Dilworth’s eyes flashed with greed and want. “If I win, I get your fiancée.”
