Chapter Ten #2
At least she didn’t have to worry about him losing. After all, he was the Wolf, she thought sardonically. And anyway, with his wealth he could presumably shrug off any losses.
She frowned. It couldn’t always have been like that. When he was young and trying to make his fortune, it must have been nerve-wracking for him.
The words of that young man on the phone just now came back to her. In his tone, anxiety warring with determination.
Had Lycos once been like that? Needing to win. Fearing to lose.
Well, that didn’t apply any longer. Reluctantly she headed downstairs again, and slipped into the card room where Lycos was playing. Someone had already said it was the room with the deepest play. Just right for the Wolf.
He was still there, at the same table. Players came to him, it seemed, for now there were fresh faces around him.
Do they not care about losing to him, which is what seems likely to happen?
Presumably not. Everyone here was rich and was gambling for pleasure. They could afford to lose to Lycos. What they seemed to want, she’d seen, was to have played against him whether they won or lost.
Two new players took their places. One of them was apparently known to Lycos who afforded him the slightest nod and a brief greeting but nothing more.
Fresh decks of cards were being set down and the two other players were arranging their chips.
As for Lycos, he sat motionless. Arielle wondered whether to approach him, but refrained, mindful of his admonition not to distract him.
Another player joined the table, taking the place opposite Lycos, setting down his chips with an air of studied deliberation.
Arielle recognised him. It was the young man who’d been on the phone upstairs.
He sat back in his chair, one hand resting on the baize, a gold signet ring with an aristocratic crest on it, glinted in the light.
He seemed to give off an air of unconcern but Arielle frowned.
The unconcern seemed forced. Or was it, considering who he was playing against, mere bravado? Arrogance even?
A voice beside her spoke as she stood near the wall.
‘His father’s a vicomte,’ the woman, also an observer, murmured. ‘Handsome, isn’t he? And he knows it! He’s brave to choose the Wolf’s table though!’ She gave a low laugh and moved away towards the bar that occupied one side of the room.
Arielle leant back against the wall behind Lycos. Play started at his table. The cards were dealt and drawn. Chips were moved about. She couldn’t tell what was happening. The hush and palpable concentration in the room oppressed her. Play continued at several tables and she suppressed a yawn.
Her eyes started to glaze.
Lycos watched as the player opposite him hesitated then moved more chips forward.
He knew why and he knew what his own reaction would be whatever decision was made next.
But he also knew what the player’s next decision would be and moments later it was confirmed.
More of the player’s chips were pushed forward.
It was a stupid move because Lycos knew what cards he was likely to be holding and that the chances of improving them by his next draw were not good.
But then he wasn’t a skilful player. He made rash, unwise decisions.
The light glinted off his crested signet ring and the ‘de’ in front of his name when introductions had been made told Lycos what he was.
Some cocky aristocratic sprig, playing way out of his league. He would lose. And badly.
Play continued. Lycos continued to win.
The way the Wolf always did.
Arielle edged over to the bar set up at the far side of the room.
She didn’t want any alcohol, but her throat was dry.
Asking for a flavoured tonic water, she perched on a bar stool.
The room was a lot emptier now than it had been earlier.
Observers had wandered off and two of the card tables were deserted.
Now, maybe, she thought, only the hard-core gamblers remained.
She sipped her tonic water, watching Lycos’s table.
After a while one of his opponents folded and left the table.
The second was, it seemed to her, playing half-heartedly.
The third, the young man, the vicomte’s son, was betting heavily.
Very heavily.
Arielle started to frown. There was something else different about him now. He was no longer unconcernedly leant back, resting his signet-ring fingered hand casually on the baize. In fact, he wasn’t looking unconcerned at all.
His jaw was taut, mouth compressed, his face pale and, in his cheek, Arielle could see a tic working. Tension sat across his shoulders. His movements, as he drew cards or moved chips forward, were jerky.
He was losing. She could see that plainly enough. And his chips were going only in one direction. Towards his opponent. The Wolf.
Her eyes went to Lycos. His face was still expressionless, unreadable.
From time to time his blank gaze rested on the young man, then returned to his own hand.
The other players’ chips continued to dwindle.
Arielle could see a new emotion show on the younger player’s face.
Saw it and saw too that his movements were no longer just hesitant. His hands were trembling.
And in his face, and in his eyes, was a look of disbelief.
And something more…
Desperation.
Lycos set down his hand.
To his left the other player exclaimed with a pungent oath and displayed his own hand. Strong, but not enough to beat the Wolf.
Lycos’s eyes went to the player opposite.
The cocky aristocratic sprig with whom he’d all but wiped the floor.
He waited expectantly. For a moment, the young man hesitated, then showed his cards.
Lycos said nothing, only gathered the chips in play towards himself. The player to his left got to his feet.
‘Enough. The Wolf wins. Again. Damn him!’
Lycos said nothing, only gave a curt nod as the man left the table. His eyes rested on the remaining player.
‘Well?’ His voice was expressionless.
For a moment there was silence. He could see the young man’s face work. Then his chin went up defiantly.
‘I don’t quit, m’sieu,’ he said. His voice was gritted.
‘As you wish,’ said Lycos. His glance dropped to the meagre pile of chips still at the young man’s side. ‘Are you good for credit?’
Something flashed in the young man’s eyes, as though he’d been insulted.
‘D’accord,’ he said.
Lycos gave another curt nod. ‘Very well.’
He reached for a new pack of cards.
Arielle lurched to her feet, abandoning her drink. Rapidly she went up to Lycos.
He had started to deal. Her hand went to his shoulder.
‘Lycos, no—’
Her voice was low. Insistent.
He stilled. He did not turn, or look at her.
‘Laisse moi—’
It was not said loudly, and it might have been a robot speaking, but still she recoiled as if he had struck her. Then she leant forward, voice urgent.
‘Lycos, for God’s sake. Don’t play him again! Can’t you see—’
His head snapped round. His eyes were like a basilisk’s. He gave her a murderous look.
For one endless moment she held that basilisk stare. Then she dragged her gaze across the table. To the young man. He was scarcely more than a boy.
‘Don’t play,’ she said directly to him. ‘Accept your losses and go home.’
She got no answer. Instead, someone took her arm and drew her away. It was the player who had just lost to Lycos and had accepted his losses with a pungent oath.
‘Leave them,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing you can do. The boy has to learn.’ His voice came sardonic. ‘And believe me, the Wolf will teach him.’
Arielle’s eyes flared. ‘But he’s terrified! Can’t you see it? He’s way out of his depth, and—’
‘And it is not your business, or the Wolf’s.’ He gave a shrug. ‘His father’s a vicomte. He can stand the loss.’
‘Then why is he so terrified?’
The man shrugged again. ‘Loss of face,’ he said.
‘But he was a fool to join the table. Anyone could have told him that. Take my advice. Let this play out to the end. You can’t stop it anyway.
Not if Lycos is willing to accept vowels—the kid’s IOU.
Who knows…’ he gave a rough laugh, ‘…the Wolf might end the night the owner of an aristocrat’s chateau! ’
He walked away, leaving the room on a heavy tread. The room was all but deserted now. No other tables were in play.
Silently, Arielle went back to her place by the wall, behind Lycos. She felt sick. Sick and angry. Angry like the way she’d felt at the racecourse when that vile man had said he was killing his horse because it hadn’t made him any money.
Sick like the way she’d felt when Lycos had turned up at the mas and told her that he’d won it in a game of cards.
And now—
With heart thudding, she watched the game unfold until its inevitable conclusion.
Lycos crossed to the bar. The evening was finished. He ordered a martini and knocked it back in one. Then he glanced around. He frowned. Arielle had disappeared. His frown deepened. He had not meant to shut her down like that, but he had warned her that she must not interrupt him.
Let alone for such a reason.
His mouth curled. In his jacket pocket was a signed and witnessed IOU, the signature a shaky scrawl. Of the vicomte’s gilded son there was no sign. Off to lick his wounded ego no doubt.
He pushed back his empty martini glass. Wherever Arielle had got to, she would find him ready to go home. Chips cashed, winnings ready to bank.
Time to celebrate. And he knew just how he would do so.
Had it not been for years of rigid self-discipline Arielle tonight would have been a fatal distraction.
But now, now she could distract him all she liked.
He would apologise for snapping at her. They would get back to the hotel and order room service.
He was hungry now for more than Arielle.
And then for dessert… Well, the night was long and dessert could take a long, long time to feast on…