Chapter Twenty Four
A wave of murmurs slid across the room, emanating from those closest—who had plainly been eavesdropping—to those furthest way.
Then, the laughter. Incredulous at first, swiftly growing riotous as it accelerated through the room. Even Grace snickered, swiping at her eyes as though the suggestion had been the most amusing thing she’d heard in recent memory.
“Oh, Henry,” she sighed, with a shake of her head. “You can’t win. You do know that, don’t you?”
“You taught me sleight of hand,” he said. “Perhaps I’m not a master—”
“You’re a novice at best. Your false shuffle is only passable. And I cheat.”
“Perhaps I’ll catch you at it.”
She pursed her lips together to restrain another laugh.
“No one catches me,” she said. “I have warned you before, you know. You should never agree to play against me. I’ll fleece you of all your money, and you’ll never even know it’s happening.
” She paused a moment, canted her head to the right reflectively.
“At the very least, you’ll never be able to prove it. ”
“I don’t want to play for money,” he said. “I want to play for your hand.”
“My…hand,” she echoed in disbelief. “You don’t mean in marriage?”
“What else might I have meant? Have you got a surplus of hands just lying about?” On impulse, his gaze slid across the room to where Mr. Moore stood, his arm about his wife, chuckling to himself. Probably, if anyone were to have some number of hands going spare, it would be him.
Grace resettled herself, schooling her features into bland neutrality. “And what do I get when I win?”
When. Henry fought a wince and lost. “Anything that is within my power to give you.”
An inquisitive cant of her head. “If I were to ask you to walk out the door and never approach me again?”
“That,” he said, quietly, “would be within my power to give you. But I hope—I hope you won’t ask it.”
“Henry,” she said patiently. “You really couldn’t win against me even if you were in peak form.
You’ve ruined your dominant hand, you know, at least for the next few days.
It’s unlikely you could even perform a proper false shuffle.
Your hand may be too stiff to palm cards.
You’ll give yourself away with a wince or a flinch. And you’re drunk, besides.”
He had the feeling she thought she was doing him a service in an attempt to dissuade him from it; a sort of mercy he hadn’t asked for and didn’t want.
“I’m not drunk,” he said. “Not entirely, at least.” Though the gin he’d consumed, coupled with the champagne had left him just the tiniest bit fuzzy-headed.
“And I won’t drink while we’re playing.”
“Henry—”
“I’m not asking you to spare me,” he said. “I’m not even asking you not to cheat.”
The smallest furrow of her brows. “Why, then?”
“Because—” He drew in a short, sharp breath, painfully aware of the silence that had fallen over the room in the wake of the cacophony of laughter.
Of all of the people listening in with rapt attention.
“Because if there is the smallest chance I might win, I have to take it. Because there is nothing in this world I want more than you.”
She didn’t quite believe him. Not yet, anyway. But some curious emotion flashed across her face for a fraction of a second before she smoothed it away, something rather like…hope, he thought. Or the shadow of it. There and gone in an instant.
Perhaps he could find a way to draw it to the surface once more.
Slowly she rose to her feet, smoothing at the skirts of her gown—that glorious, shining ivory that made her skin glow with hints of gold, made her lustrous hair gleam as if it had been spun of purest sunlight.
“We’re for the rose salon,” she said to the room at large.
“Lord Lockhart is determined to receive a sound thrashing. Enjoy the festivities; I expect I’ll be back down again shortly. ”
Naturally, she expected him not to be back down with her.
“Godspeed, you miserable son of a bitch,” Mr. Moore said to Henry as he rose from the couch and followed after Grace. “You really can’t win against her.”
No, he really couldn’t. He’d known it had been a futile endeavor when he’d made the suggestion.
She was too good, too clever. Her fingers were faster than his eyes could track, and she performed her sleight of hand with a proficiency and a dexterity that were beyond comprehension.
He, with his scant few days of practice, with his already clumsy fingers wounded and cracked and bleeding, had never stood a chance.
But if he were very, very lucky—if he explained himself properly, if he made himself vulnerable in a way he had never had to do before, then perhaps he wouldn’t have to win.
To truly win, he had to make her want to lose.
∞∞∞
“Have you got a deck of cards?” Henry asked as Grace set about rearranging the room to suit their needs.
“Of course I have,” she said as she dragged a small table toward the center of the room. “There are decks of cards stashed all over the house. The children often ask me to perform tricks for them.” She seized the back of a chair and positioned it at one side of the table.
“What sort of tricks?” he asked as he collected another chair and set it opposite the one she’d selected.
“All sorts. Palming cards, disappearances, reappearances. They’re very fond of find the lady,” she said. “Of course, I don’t allow them to bet upon it.”
“Because you always win.”
“I always do.” Grace retrieved a deck of cards from a basket upon a small table tucked away in the corner, and set it in the center of the table as Henry settled into his chair. “Would you like to count them?”
“Would it do me any good?”
“No. Still, it’s only good manners to offer.” She smoothed at her skirts as she took her own seat, adjusting her chair a bit closer to the table. “I will cheat, you know.”
“I expected as much. I intend to try my hand at it, myself.” But he sounded uncertain, and he flexed the fingers of his injured hand, struggling to keep his face placid through the pain of it. “This is…rather like a duel, don’t you think?”
One in which he was hopelessly outmatched.
“I suppose it is,” she said as she collected the deck of cards and ran it through a series of intricate shuffles designed to flummox the eyes.
“I shall do you the kindness of allowing you to select the game,” she said as she set the deck back down and brushed back a loose curl that had fallen over her shoulder, “since you are at such a disadvantage.” Two cards, palmed so expertly that Henry had noticed nothing, disappeared beneath the neckline of her gown.
Henry hesitated. “I thought vingt-et-un,” he said. “To a predetermined number of hands.”
Interesting. A game based more on luck than on skill. On the one hand, there would be fewer opportunities to cheat—for the both of them. On the other, each hand would be rather quick.
“I assume we’d alternate dealing?”
“Naturally. It’s only fair.” He reached for the deck and paused, his fingers hovering over it. “May I begin?”
“Certainly. How many hands?”
“Best of twenty,” he said. “I’ll need a few hands to find my stride.”
She’d still take him in eleven hands, whether or not he did. “Twenty suits me well enough.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed upon her. “Have you already begun cheating?”
“I’d be a fool to tell you, but feel free to shuffle again if it pleases you.” He’d not notice the difference in weight with only two missing cards. Nor would he notice the extra deck she’d slipped into her pocket while he’d been occupied with fetching his own chair.
Henry took his time with the cards, lingering over the shuffle as if to reacquaint himself with it. Slowly he dealt them two cards each, face down.
“Your false shuffle needs work,” Grace said idly as she thumbed up the corners of her cards. “But it is still better than last I saw.” She feigned an itch, delicately scratched her neck. Replaced the two he’d dealt her with the king she’d secreted away.
“Card?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
A frown etched itself between his brows. A hint of worry lurked within his eyes. “You’re certain?”
He’d dealt her an ace and a two. Plainly, he’d expect her to be in want of extra cards to reach the necessary twenty-one points. And now he knew she’d already cheated, and he hadn’t caught it. “I’m certain,” she said.
He dealt himself another card, but his hands were suddenly clumsier than they had been. He didn’t know how, yet, to cut to the cards he needed. His selections were limited to the top card or the bottom, and neither would allow him to beat her.
“Twenty,” he said slowly, as he flipped over his cards.
“Twenty-one,” Grace said as she revealed the ace and king.
“I dealt you a two,” he said.
“I know. I cheated. That’s one hand down.” She stretched out her hand, palm up, expectantly. “I believe it’s my shuffle.”
Reluctantly he set the deck into her hand. “I thought I could win at least one if I dealt,” he admitted.
“I did tell you not to wager against me.” A smooth riffle of the cards, the whoosh of the shuffle. It was easiest to cheat when one controlled the cards oneself. Now he was helpless against her, more or less. He couldn’t touch the deck. He would have to play the hand he’d been given.
“One,” he said as he peeked at his cards. And as she dutifully slid a five face-down across the table to him, which would take his total only up to seventeen, he added, “That night at the tavern. I know what it sounded like. But that’s not how I meant it.”
“You said you didn’t want your child to be born a bastard,” she reminded him.
“I don’t think less of you for the circumstances of your birth,” he said as he turned over his cards, revealing another losing hand. “But I think…I did think less of myself. I always have.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she slid the deck back toward him.