Page 16 of The Danger of Desire
“Which means he’s probably cheating.”
“I’ve never once caught him at it.”
Stubbing out his cigar, Warren downed the rest of his brandy. “Perhaps I can.”
“You can try, but I’m pretty good at ferreting out the sharpers. And I would swear that young Jack is as good as he seems. Hell, I’m not even sure I care if he’s cheating, as long as he’s not found out. If he brings me more people, I can make money on what they lose at hazard alone.”
“Tell you what,” Warren said. “I’ll see what I can discover myself. It just so happens my brother Hart and my cousin Niall used to bet me that I couldn’t catch them cheating at cards, and I always did. Took a lot of money off them. They were young, and I figured it would teach them to behave themselves.”
“And did it?”
“They don’t cheat. Although they’re both still rascals of the first order.” He grinned. “And yes, so am I. Which is why I shall see if I can’t beat your Jack Jones.”
As Dickson chuckled, Warren strode into the room and joined a group of watchers that had formed about the table where the piquet game was going on. He was careful to stay behind Owen—it wouldn’t do for the servant to notice him yet.
While observing the play, he looked for anyone standing behind Jones’s opponent who might be signaling Jones concerning what his opponent’s cards held. Warren knew all the tricks from spending so much time gambling in the evening. A slightly open mouth generally signified hearts, a glance at the stack of cards between the men signified a knave, and the combination meant the opponent had a knave of hearts.
There were many such signals, and while he didn’t know them all, he knew enough of them to recognize when someone was using them.
But after a half hour of playing, he could see no signaling being done. The only thing hecouldtell was that Dickson hadn’t lied about Jack Jones being a damned fine piquet player. The man never took a step wrong. He had a strategy for every combination of cards, and he knew precisely how to work it to his advantage.
Dickson was right about the fellow’s disposition, too: He was as quiet as an executioner. He sat hunched over the table, muttering his declarations just loudly enough to be heard. The observers might chatter around him, but he didn’t participate in any conversation.
When he did speak, his voice had the odd timbre of a youth trying to sound older. From time to time, he would wipe his nose on his sleeve—not exactly the behavior of a gentleman. But though his hands looked a trifle dirty, they were nimble and his plays quick. It didn’t take long for him to trounce his opponent.
As Jones raked in the money, Warren stepped forward. “Evening, sir. The name’s Knightford. Might I try my hand at a game with you next?”
Apparently taken off guard, Jones jerked his head up to meet Warren’s gaze. And as Warren caught sight of arresting blue eyes, he realized that everything he’d thought about Owen’s friend was wrong.
The forced husky voice, the lack of gentlemanly behavior, the ill-fitting clothes, all made sense now.
Because the card player taking the gaming world by storm was none other than Miss Delia Trevor.
Bloody, bloody hell.
Five
The bottom dropped out of Delia’s stomach. What wretched luck! Why must it behim? Why here? Why now?
She ducked her head, praying he hadn’t recognized her.
Oh, what was she thinking? Of course he hadn’t recognized her. No one ever associated the outrageously attired miss who liked to tease with the mumbling, nondescript young chap who played cards like a sharper, had dirty hands and dirty habits, and kept his hat low over his face. She’d actually met some of her suitors in this place, and they hadn’t noticed anything.
But most of them were fools. Lord Knightford was decidedlynota fool. And Owen’s nudge of her knee—their signal for danger—reminded her that Lord Knightford had seen Owen with her. That alone would register with the man.
That is, if he’d noticed the servant. Most lords did not.
“Mr. Jones?” the marquess prodded. “May I play you in piquet... sir?”
That hesitation before “sir” gave her pause.Please, Lord, let him not have figured me out. He could ruin me with a word, and then all my plans would be for naught.
But she dared not refuse to play him. She had never refused anyone else, and the others would wonder about that change in behavior.
“Certainly, my lord.” She opened a new pack of cards and began to shuffle.
He took a seat. “How did you know to call me ‘my lord’?”
Bother it all. He was already rattling her. “Everyone knows the Marquess of Knightford around here.”
