Chapter 14 #2
To the untrained eye, it might seem as though he ought to be wearing a pair of spectacles because his vision was weak. But really, Sebastion was using the cover as a way to eye the thick bulge in Lord Birchwood’s tailcoat pocket.
He knew from his sources that Lord Birchwood often carried important things on his person because he was paranoid that his staff might snoop through his belongings while he was out of the house.
If they found out he was flat broke and could not pay their wages, there was a possibility the household could turn on him.
The man’s paranoia only served Sebastian further.
“Place your first cards,” Worthington instructed, and Sebastian idly tossed down the first three cards in his hand. He didn’t care if he lost, he just needed a way to get closer to Birchwood. He wanted to look through that pocket and retrieve those documents.
The last man at the table, the one who had not bothered to introduce himself, lay down three cards that were utterly worthless.
His curly brown hair formed a wonky u-shape around the balding spot on his head, and as he cursed violently, he scratched in an agitated fashion at the open patch of flesh.
Apparently, the man could not calm his rattled nerves because the next move he made was to throw down his entire hand. Without saying another word, even to take his leave, the man shoved away from the table and stomped toward the other side of the room.
“Well,” Sebastian chuckled wryly, “I believe that is one less man to beat.”
“You were only one above him,” Poulter pointed out.
“Yes, but I am not a sore loser,” Sebastian countered. “Even if I lose the round, I will remain at the table to congratulate the winner. All is in good faith here, I believe?”
He let them give him disbelieving looks. This genial show would only add to his character. Sebastian let a faux nervous laugh slip from him as he gently laid what remained of his cards down on the table and patted down the sides of his wig.
If they imagined he was an old fool, they would think of him as an easy target and would keep him at the table. Besides, he had been the one to offer the biggest reward.
The next round saw the other man out, leaving only Poulter, Birchwood, Worthington, and Sebastian.
“You never gave us your name,” Sebastian noted as he leaned closer to Lord Birchwood. “You are doing rather well. You must be an efficient gambler, even if you lack the manners to properly introduce yourself.”
Lord Birchwood snorted. He fiddled with the shiny buttons on his waistcoat, then rocked back in his chair displaying an extraordinary amount of confidence. “One could say that. I have earned my wealth in many ways.”
How does he manage to lie through his teeth so well?
Sebastian tilted his head to the side and surveyed Birchwood’s posture. The signet ring on his little finger glinted merrily, and it was evident that the black cravat encircling Birchwood’s throat was made of the finest quality fabric.
Sebastian nodded, remembering the part he was supposed to play, and acted impressed.
“Then, are you a lord, I assume? Otherwise, how else did you amass so much wealth?” He let himself sound a little baffled and perhaps even a bit batty while posing as the elderly former club owner.
“Perhaps,” Lord Birchwood answered carefully. “I am… My title is Lord Tithering.”
Liar.
A sneer of derision curled Sebastian’s upper lip and he had to raise his cards once more to hide his facial features.
I ought to be used to liars and thieves and gamblers with higher debts than their own estate rooftops.
“So, you own good land, Lord Tithering,” Sebastian praised. “And you are a Viscount, perhaps?”
He saw how the minute offense flashed across the Marquess’s face before he composed himself, realizing that if he reacted strongly, he ran the risk of giving himself away.
“Y-yes,” he said.
“Impressive,” Sebastian lied.
Of course, not even a Marquess could claim bragging rights in a place like this. No, he had to fit in, too.
“I know.”
The response came through clenched teeth, but before Sebastian could say more, Worthington called for the next round.
Sebastian actually let himself assess his deck this time. He had decent cards and tossed down a set that would get him good points to the next round after being dealt another hand. Poulter cursed under his breath, and Lord Birchwood chuckled as he placed down his own set of three, besting Poulter.
“It is lucky for you and that you and your wife only produced eight daughters, Worthington. If you had a ninth girl, you would have been tempted to lose her dowry too,” Lord Birchwood drawled.
His tone was derogatory and dripping with condescension as he took that round’s winnings.
Their kitty grew larger throughout each round, with small sums going to each winner, until the ultimate champion could take the full loot.
Poulter cursed more awfully than the first man had and even threw his chair to the floor as he stalked off.
Then, it was only Sebastian and Birchwood left, adjacent to their dealer.
“So,” Sebastian said slowly, “we both know why I’m here. I’d give anything to keep my boxing club open, even my very last farthing.” He gestured to himself. “What do you play for, Lord Tithering?”
“That is none of your business.” Lord Birchwood’s lip curled. “Worthington!”
“I’m already dealing,” he snapped, clearly done with their show of boasting and showmanship.
He slapped three more cards on the table in front of each of them. Sebastian smiled, knowing his cards were terrible, knowing he would lose the final round, most likely.
That was exactly what he wanted.
The round went on for a while before they were called to make their final set.
Sebastian sighed dramatically, releasing his awful deal.
In return, Lord Birchwood chuckled and spread out his winning hand. Within seconds, he gobbled up the kitty with greedy hands and even taken the pouch that held Sebastian’s coins.
Sebastian stared at the pile of money and made some quick calculations.
That isn’t even enough to pay off a tenth of his debts.
“Well, Mr. Dartmouth,” Lord Birchwood laughed, “it seems I have won.”
“You have indeed. And, like I said, I am not a sore loser, so allow me to congratulate you properly. I might not be a lord, but I can congratulate you like one, respecting your title?”
“Of course you should behave in a gentlemanly manner, regardless of your station in life,” Lord Birchwood said. “Congratulate your winner, then.”
Heavens, you arrogant bastard, Sebastian thought as he rose from his seat, and positioned himself so that he had the Marquess exactly where he wanted him.
“You have done well,” Sebastian said as he shook the man’s hand. “You have bested me tonight and taken the round without batting an eye.” As Sebastian continued rambling, tugged Birchwood into a friendly embrace that lasted mere seconds.
But those few seconds were enough. Deftly, Sebastian slipped his hand into Birchwood’s pocket and withdrew the documents he’d had his eye on all evening. He rapidly replaced them with a roll of parchment that was similar in size and weight to what had been removed.
That was one of the first things he had learned in the service: always leave a replacement, no matter what.
A man would not immediately know what was taken if it was just a weight in his pocket.
Most men were too preoccupied to pat their pockets often and check to see if what had been placed there was still safe.
“A good game was played, Lord Tithering. Perhaps we will meet again someday, and you will give me a chance to earn back my coins.”
“I think that is unlikely,” Birchwood said as a coarse laugh dribbled from his lips.
“Now that I have taken your money pouch, I do not envision our paths ever crossing again.” He straightened his already neat cravat.
“After all, how would someone like me ever encounter a man like you except in a place like the Rolled Dice?”
Worthington snorted loudly as he collected the cards from the tabletop and began shuffling them once more. Sebastian spared him just a momentary glance before returning his gaze to Birchwood. It was almost time to make his exit, but first, he had one last thing to do.
Sebastian made a show of straightening his posture, then he tugged on the collar of his jacket in an effort to mimic Lord Birchwood. “I may not look like a dandy, Lord Tithering, but I have friends in enviable places.”
Lord Birchwood’s eyes widened then his gaze flicked up and down Sebastian’s form, truly taking in the state of his garb.
“I suppose that is to be expected,” Birchwood said flatly. “While I might not have ever dared to step foot in your little boxing club, it could be that other members of the peerage deigned to grace you with their presence.”
“Indeed, they did, my lord,” Sebastian dared to continue. “Until I had to close the doors last week, there were several gents who frequented my establishment on a regular basis. You may know Lord Simpkins and His Grace, the Duke of Pillsford?”
Birchwood shook his head automatically, but then frown lines formed on his forehead as if he needed an extra moment to process the names.
“Pillsford, you say?” He gave his head another hearty shake. “I have never heard that name before in my life.”
“Well, what about Tripleton?” Sebastian simply could not help himself from dropping that name into the mix.
“Tripleton?” Birchwood cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder as if he were afraid someone might be listening in on their conversation.
“Aye,” Sebastian continued, “The Earl of Tripleton is a good friend of mine. The last time I saw him, he promised to seek me out soon. Said he’d even take me to a few of his favorite haunts and see if I faired any better at the tables there.”
With that, he drew back, having planted the seeds of doubt within the mind of an already paranoid man.