Page 76 of An Earl Like You
“Do not mention my wife,” Hugh said, very quietly. His dislike of Grenville veered close to hatred when the man said her name.
Grenville threw down another card and won the round. “When I’ve known her all her life? I’ll speak of her if I please, Lord Hastings.”
His glass came to a stop. Hugh breathed through his nose. “All her life?”
“That’s right.” Grenville’s smile turned smug and vindictive. “Such a sweet little girl she was. And grown into a very pleasant lady. Fit to be a countess.” He laughed, but no one else did. “Her father always said so.”
He could hear his own heartbeat, hard against his ribs. Grenville and Cross were friends. Of course. He’d never put it together. Cross had said something about never playing against Grenville, and Hugh had believed that meant he didn’t care for the man—which was all wrong.
“You’ve known her all her life?” He tried to keep his tone even and only mildly curious. “I didn’t know you were such a friend of the family.”
Grenville faced him, no longer laughing or cynical. “I am,” he said in subtle menace. “Cross and I go back for ages.”
“I didn’t know,” murmured Hugh, as if taken aback by the coincidence. “Perhaps you could advise me. He and I have not hit it off.”
“Advice?” Grenville looked him over with faint contempt. “Remember that he always plays to win. He never stops until he gets what he wants. Spare yourself the frustration and accommodate him.”
Expressionless, Hugh said nothing. He sat forward in his chair and scraped up his collection of markers. It was clearly time to leave, with his nine thousand eight hundred pounds of blood money. Tomorrow he’d be back, alert to avoid Grenville, and he would play again. Just the thought of throwing the money in Cross’s face had a motivating and soothing effect on his mind.
The play at the table was growing animated. The chap across from Hugh, Lord Talbot, exclaimed in disgust as he played. Grenville laughed, the sound menacing to Hugh’s ears. Another man called for more wine, just like George Alderton had done many weeks ago, and told the servant to pour it for everyone at the table. A slim taciturn fellow named Southbridge made an unusually large opening bid, eliciting a curse from several players.
There was something off that Hugh couldn’t put his finger on; he took his time gathering his winnings, watching the play. The hand ended, with Talbot having to pay the pot, which he did with an angry oath. It was an ordinary table of loo, with high stakes and crushing losses, until the cards were dealt again. The deal passed to Southbridge, and if Hugh hadn’t been right next to Grenville he would have missed it: Southbridge gave him an extra card. And Grenville kept it, hiding it in his sleeve with such smooth ease Hugh realized he’d been expecting it.
He raised one hand, and a servant stepped up. “Fetch Dashwood,” he murmured almost silently, naming the club owner. “Deal me in,” he told Southbridge when the hand ended.
“Recovered your nerve?” asked Grenville with a smirk.
Hugh grinned lazily. “I have. I’ve never seen a poorer lot of players. It’s foolish of me not to win some of your money.” Everyone laughed as Southbridge dealt him cards, and play began. At some point Hugh saw, from the corner of his eye, Mr. Dashwood step up beside him, as silent as a ghost. Dashwood never interrupted play. He would stand there for half an hour, waiting until his patron chose to speak to him. Perfect.
During every hand, Hugh deliberately needled Grenville. It was not his usual habit, but tonight it came without effort. Grenville was not easily rattled, but Hugh took vengeful satisfaction in every annoyed glance and tightening of his mouth. And finally, in the last round of the hand, Grenville slipped. He shuffled his cards and reached for his wine, and his sleeve gaped for a moment.
“I say, Grenville,” said Hugh, “it looks as though you’ve got a spare card in your cuff.”
The other man froze for a bare second. “How dare you,” he said with indignant offense. “It sounds as though you’re calling me a cheat.”
“I just remarked that you’ve got a card up your sleeve.” Hugh raised one brow. “I suppose it’s the extra one Southbridge dealt you.”
Grenville inhaled loudly. Southbridge, who had as much charm as an owl, blinked. “I say, sir! That’s too far.”
Reclining in his chair, Hugh motioned at Grenville. “Look in his cuff. I can see the edge of it.”
“That’s a serious allegation, Lord Hastings,” said Mr. Dashwood.
Hugh let his remaining cards fall to the table. “And if I’m wrong, you may banish me from your club.” He glanced up at the owner. “But if I’m correct...”
Nicholas Dashwood was watching Robert Grenville, who sat in tense rage. “Would you turn out your cuffs, sir?”
Grenville’s head went back. “If I decline?”
“I can also banish you from my club.” Dashwood said it mildly, but there was steel in his tone.
Grenville rose. He gave his jacket a jerk, and withdrew the card from his sleeve. Lord Talbot swore in amazement under his breath. Southbridge’s head sank on his shoulders.
“Don’t bother,” said Grenville coolly to Mr. Dashwood. He spun the card at Hugh. “I’ve had enough.” He turned and strode out the door.
“Sir David,” said Dashwood to Southbridge. “Did you deal him that card?”
The man shot a black look at Hugh. “I must have, without realizing my error.”
