Chapter 5
Damon walked the perimeter of his ballroom, noting that his guests were well cared for: no glass unfilled, the refreshment table laden with fruit, cheese, and pastries, and no group lacking friendly conversation.
He’d applied himself far more tonight than most evenings when he hosted, mainly as a distraction, but partly to keep his attention from the Duke of Catherton where he sat at a table crowded by onlookers.
The man was easily identifiable, if not by his finely tailored evening attire, then by his two footmen that remained close by at all times, proudly wearing the Catherton’s burgundy and blue livery.
The room was dim with the chandeliers above only at half-light, though bright enough to see one’s cards and the person sitting across the table.
The terrace doors were thrown wide to allow in the evening air and help the music escape into the night.
The gathering was slightly larger than usual, yet the room was big enough to host several dozen more guests.
A group of men debated the merits of ventures to the Americas.
Another table, mostly women, conversed in hushed tones about a new musical instructor who was known to teach his pupils’ mothers far more alluring lessons than the harpsichord or the pianoforte.
Each table was full. And, by all accounts, his guests were enjoying their evening.
Yet Damon lurked on the fringes, never taking a seat at a table nor joining any conversation, though he’d overheard many that interested him.
His feet made no sound as he moved about the room unnoticed.
It was one of the boons of hosting masked card games.
Damon could remain unobserved unless there was trouble.
Would he ever enter a room and escape his misery in a friendly debate or idle chitchat?
Would the sight of his offspring ever stop bringing to mind everything he lost—they’d lost?
He’d managed to break free of his crushing troubles when he began hosting gambling parties, but the reprieve hadn’t lasted nearly long enough, and Damon soon found himself feeling more and more alone in his crowded ballroom, just as he’d been alone for the last four years despite his children’s presence.
Raised voices caught his attention as a chair skidded across the polished floor.
The Duke of Catherton stood and ripped his black half-mask from his face, his nostrils flaring as he held his gaming opponent with a pointed glare.
The crowd made it impossible for Damon to see who was on the receiving end of the duke’s anger.
This was exactly what Damon feared would happen if the duke took to attending the weekly Ashford affairs.
Damon stepped to the duke’s side when he arrived at the table.
“Is all as it should be?” He glanced at Catherton, focusing his efforts on calming the lord before his temper flared brighter, and the entire evening was brought to a halt—or, worse yet, fists were thrown. “May I do something for you, Your Grace?”
The duke didn’t take his glare from his opponent as he spoke. “This trollop…this uncouth harlot…this brazen-faced cheat has bilked me of ten pounds.”
A woman?
He turned towards the recipient of the duke’s scorn to see a woman he’d noted several times before at his parties.
She had hair of the darkest, rich brown, always pinned at the base of her neck with a single curl hanging over her shoulder and down her low-cut bodice.
This night, the lady wore a gown of the deepest red with gold beading.
Perhaps it was due to seeing her several times at his parties, but he could not dispel the increased feeling of familiarity with the woman.
He’d never attempted to look beyond the masks of his guests, just as he prayed they did not long to see past his.
To say she hadn’t caught his notice on several previous occasions would mean Damon was blind. He admired her for both her reserved beauty and her skill at the gaming tables.
“It is not my fault you are a bottle-headed ninny who has trouble counting his own cards.” She laughed with a wide smile.
Damon’s guests gave an uneasy chuckle, and he found himself smirking, as well.
Perhaps the duke would think twice about attending another game at Ashford Hall.
Catherton slammed his open palms against the table, causing coins to scatter, and the other players to reach for their winnings at the same time his two footmen stepped forward.
“Your Grace.” Damon attempted to shift the man’s focus—and rage—away from the lady. “May I offer you a drink in my study? We can discuss this matter privately and allow my guests to continue with their evening. I am certain this has all been a misunderstanding.”
Catherton scoffed, shrugging away from Damon as he began to move around the table.
“Your Grace, is it?” The dark-haired beauty’s blue eyes sparkled behind her mask.
“I think we can solve this here and now before our host. One final hand. If I win, I will depart immediately with my coin. If you win, I will return your ten pounds plus the rest of my winnings from this evening”—she glanced at the stack of notes and coins on the table before her—“another three pounds and four shillings.”
“You, my lady, are a thief and a swindler.”
Damon couldn’t see the woman’s expression behind her gold mask; however, she seemed rather unaffected by the duke’s claims.
Did he have a grifter in his house?
“Come now”—she paused to glance around the table—“we have the eyes of everyone on us. I certainly cannot cheat with so much attention.”
Damon should put an end to their scuffle and ask the duke to depart.
She reached across the table, gathering all the cards, and held them out to Catherton.
“You may shuffle and deal, Your Grace.” When the duke didn’t make a move to return to his seat, she leaned farther across the table, her glove slipping down her arm. “We do not wish to disappoint our waiting audience…unless you are a coward.”
Catherton’s face flooded crimson at the woman’s prodding and, had his opponent been a gentleman, there was no doubt the duke would have challenged him to a dawn meeting in Hyde Park for the remark.
A hush fell across the room, even quieting the musicians as no one made any movements. The seconds ticked slowly on as the woman stared up at Catherton, her head tilted ever so slightly to the left.
Damon reached forward, determined to put an end to the debacle by taking the cards and announcing that their evening had come to its conclusion; however, something on her exposed arm drew his scrutiny. The cards were forgotten as Damon recognized what stained the woman’s upper arm. Blue dye.
Miss Samuels? His children’s governess?
“One hand, but I will have more than what you have wagered on the table.” Catherton’s voice was a low hiss as he collected his chair and sat. “My ten pounds, your three pounds and four shillings, plus an additional twenty pounds.”
The crowd erupted in applause.
Did they not realize the threat and consequences of Catherton’s declaration?
Miss Samuels did not possess twenty pounds. The woman had fretted over her ruined gown that very morning, demanding it be replaced if his housekeeper could not remove the blue dye from the fabric.
Damon should be utterly stunned beyond words and command her to his study; however, he also wanted her to best Catherton and send the man scurrying home…without his precious coin.
After a lengthy pause, Miss Samuels nodded. “An additional twenty pounds it is, Your Grace.”
“Piquet?” Catherton asked, not waiting for Miss Samuels to agree before shuffling the cards. “When partie is reached and six deals complete, the player with the most points wins the prize of thirty-three pounds, plus the shillings, forgoing the usual payout for scoring.”
The game was one of memory, skill, and strategy.
His governess could not seem to muster the skill and strategy to handle two small children; certainly, there was little hope she’d best the duke at piquet.
However, her history in his very card room spoke to the contrary.
He’d witnessed her, week after week, besting some of London’s acclaimed gamesmen.
“I shall keep the scores,” Damon said.
The first hand was dealt in short order, and Miss Samuels laid down five cards and exchanged them for five from the talon pile. The duke scanned his cards, holding them close to his chest before similarly trading three of his cards from the remaining talon stack.
Damon listened closely as the players declared their cards, back and forth, paying special attention to the points, sequences, and sets.
After five deals, it was Miss Samuels who was ahead with ninety-eight points, while the duke wasn’t far behind with eighty-seven.
One last hand, and the match would be over. Both parties had agreed to adhere to the outcome, accept their fate, and continue the evening without another mention of cheating.
It was his governess’s turn to shuffle and distribute the cards—twelve each with eight in the talon stack.
The crowd inhaled sharply when the duke exchanged five cards, leaving three for Miss Samuels.
However, she didn’t exchange a single card for a new one.
It was rarely done, holding the originally dealt hand.
What was the woman thinking?
She’d played a strategic partie so far, expertly knowing when to hold certain cards and when to play them to their best advantage. Her lead was not so great that she could risk allowing those cards to go unseen.
However, when her chin notched up an inch, she declared, “Carte blanche.”
Miss Samuels flashed her cards briefly to verify, and Damon noted her added ten points.
“Five,” Catherton declared, his smug grin giving off the impression he’d already determined himself the victor.
“Good,” she replied.
“Forty-eight,” the duke said, declaring his score.
Thankfully, the set was far from over, as the last declaration gave the duke a clear advantage.