Page 98 of Enticing Odds
“You don’t need to do this,” he begged.
“It’s done, Doctor. It’s agreed upon.” She pulled her hands away, regarding him without a hint of emotion.
Pain stabbed him in the gut.
“And if she wins?” Rickard asked.
“Oh, I’ll leave her and him be, forgetting any of their obligations, and any information about them I might have,” Sharples said dismissively. “Not that it matters.”
“What?” Matthew said, his heart arresting.
Cressida averted her eyes, a slight blush on her cheeks. Warmth rushed through him, along with countless thoughts and questions. She was doing this—at least in part—for him?
“Cressida,” he murmured, reaching for her hand.
This time she allowed him to hold it. She squeezed it ever so gently.
“Oy!” called out someone from the dozen or so spectators.
“And forgive our debts for the night, you lousy cheat!” bellowed another.
Sharples groused something inaudible to himself, then finally held his hands up, gesturing for the gamblers to quiet down.
“Yes, yes, and to forgive your losses, each and every one.” He spat. “But it ain’t happening, is it?”
Matthew didn’t know what to say. He was so overcome by her gesture, so lightheaded to think she still cared for him, that he almost didn’t hear the next words out of Sharples’ mouth.
“It’s bleedin’ hazard, ain’t it? She’s not going to win it all in one throw!”
Hazard. Matthew pulled back from her, agape.
She looked up at him from underneath those lashes, her dark eyes pleading, seemingly attempting to communicate something to him that he couldn’t mark.
He couldn’t think at all. His blood had turned to ice.
“Tell me you didn’t do this,” Matthew said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Tell me you didn’t agree to this madness… for me.”
Cressida summoned all her strength and smiled confidently. She prayed she appeared as foolish as she meant to.
“Of course I did. I’m a dab hand at dice.”
“It’s settled, man, now back off,” Sharples called out.
Poor Dr. Collier. He looked as though he’d been punched in the gut.
It killed her, putting him through this agony. But she strode forward, projecting as much naïve confidence as she could manage. Why had she staked everything on this one deceit? Not just because Matthew was kind. But because she needed his love.
And besides, she thought,this greedy wretch needs to be brought low.
Cressida had always trusted her own cunning. Which she needed now more than ever, as everything hinged on her next move.
She approached the hazard table, head held high.
The table stretched out before her, as slapdash as the rest of the gaming house. Sharples extended a wooden cup toward her and gave it a shake. The dice rattled inside.
She made a show of leaning forward to peer into the cup at the common pair, likely fashioned from bone.
“Oh,” Cressida said airily, delicately holding her hand before her mouth. “But these are so… filthy.”
