Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“Only you and Amelia know what truly happened all those years ago,” Diana said. “But nothing you can say would change my opinion of the impact you had.”
Sunderland regarded her from behind his black domino mask for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “That’s only fair.”
The intensity of the duke’s catlike eyes put her ill at ease, and she returned her attention to surveying the room. Her eyes clapped on her doppelg?nger standing behind Ian. “Where did you recruit my twin?”
“I vetted her myself. She’s sound.”
There was something about the way the sleeves hung on her imposter that bothered Diana, but the woman was too far away to assess it thoroughly. “The same tailor made her dress?”
“Of course. I take wardrobe and those who represent my operations seriously.” The duke’s demeanor matched his tone; it didn’t possess one ounce of self-deprecating humor.
Below them, the game proceeded. At the end of the first round, Ian lost twenty thousand of the Tarka’s pounds to Titus.
While Diana reassured herself it was part of their scheme, her insides quivered with nerves.
To her surprise, Titus did not maintain the advantage of the banker for the second hand and passed it to Ian.
When Ian called for bets, Costa raised the stakes of the round to one hundred thousand pounds.
“Posturing,” Sunderland muttered. “Titus was smart to test how much cash the Il Corno are willing to burn through to win.”
Costa won the hand and gave them all a cocky grin when he took over as banker for the third round.
“God, I hate this,” Diana whispered. “Ian should have won that hand.”
“That’s not what we have planned,” Sunderland reminded her. Ian couldn’t trounce them too quickly. They needed to extend the play long enough for the polizia to arrive and break up the game.
Costa set the next round at two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. After a moment’s contemplation, Titus agreed to the raise.
Ian glanced at his cards. “I move to raise to three hundred thousand.”
Murmurs broke out across the room. Diana used all of her restraint not to flinch when Titus accepted Ian’s offer; the rules of chemin-de-fer stipulated Ian would play both of their hands against Costa.
Costa sneered and flipped over his cards: a three of clubs, a four of hearts, and an ace, totaling eight.
Ian held a knave, a queen, and a nine of diamonds.
Applause broke out to cheer Ian’s daring and rewarding play. When her imposter stroked a hand down Ian’s arm, it took all of Diana’s strength to keep from flying down the stairs.
A gong announced a short break. When Ian rose from the table and slipped to the edge of the room to converse with the Tarka capo, she saw her opening.
She’d only managed to turn before Sunderland caught her elbow in a firm hold. “Two identically dressed she-devils standing by one player will send tongues wagging,” the duke warned.
“Then send her somewhere else,” Diana hissed. Her eyes flicked to the woman in her dress, and she was unnerved to find her staring directly back at them.
“You’ll distract him if you go down there,” Sunderland threatened. “Let this play out.”
Refreshment trays circulated downstairs, and a crush of observers jostled past them to descend from the upper landing. The duke steered them to a back corner away from the fray. Below, her stand-in held Diana’s gaze.
Then she casually lifted her hand and tugged her ear.
An irrational urge to laugh overcame her. She came up with that signal, taught it to her crew.
And they dared to use it against her.
“The Stags are here.” Her voice carried an unfortunate wobble. “Your vetted operative signaled someone.”
Sunderland cursed colorfully as his hand clamped tightly around her arm. “Exit plan. Now.”
“We’re not leaving Ian.”
“This is his play. You and I made him a promise.” He started to tow her to the staircase.
Diana reached for her knives.
Neither of them got far in their efforts. Scarlet silk swirled around them and two more women wearing her dress cornered them back against the railing.
A doppelg?nger thrust the end of a pistol beneath Diana’s ribs. Another imitator dressed in red held Sunderland in a similar position.
“Silence, signorina. Or you will cause a scene,” the Stag warned.
Frantically, Diana searched the reception room below. Ian was still deep in conversation with the Tarka capo at the back of the room.
“How may we be of service, ladies?” the duke asked in a frigid tone, which aristocrats typically reserved for insulting someone’s breeding.
“Walk to the stairs. There are shooters pointed at you, so don’t try anything.”
The gong chimed, warning the play would resume.
“You’re making a mistake,” Diana said. “This won’t work the way you want it to. It will only incite more violence.”
“Stop talking and start moving if you want to get out of here alive.”
The woman who held her was taller and broader, an enforcer by training, and Diana knew she couldn’t physically overpower her to escape.
But the harpy didn’t know that.
“I don’t wish to harm you,” Diana warned. “If you let me go, I will tell the authorities you cooperated.”
The enforcer reamed the end of the pistol into Diana’s ribs. “I said, quiet. Now move.”
“Everyone will notice.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Six more women wearing Diana’s scarlet gown and mask filtered onto the second floor. Half a dozen others assumed seats in the crowd.
Throughout this interlude, the duke made no protest. He didn’t reach for his pistol, either. Diana could only conclude he wanted the play to proceed as planned and his callous disregard for Ian’s life infuriated her.
Her captor yanked Diana’s arm. “Walk.”
In the reception room below them, a hush fell over the crowd. The manager handed Ian the decks of cards.
“Hold, signori,” Ian’s voice boomed from below them. “There is a problem.”
Diana’s pulse skittered. It was too early for him to make this move. He must have seen the Stags’s imposters and was advancing the derailment of the game. The foolish man thought he could stand alone against every enemy.
By now, he should have realized Diana would never allow him to.
“These cards have a cut on the corner.” Ian flipped one over. “Here, the knave of spades. And the queen of hearts.” He pointed to the edges. “Someone has interfered with them.”
Six more crimson gowns moved along the perimeter of the room. Despite the drama unfolding at the table, people in the crowd were taking notice of the women. They whispered and pointed at them.
“I must be mistaken,” Costa rumbled. “You didn’t accuse us of cheating.”
Diana reminded herself of all the years and all the training—both physical and mental—to deliver her to a place where she had the strength and the conviction to act on what she’d decided before walking into the hotel.
A future with Ian was worth any risk it would take to protect him.
She tore her eyes from him and evaluated the velvet curtains bordering the staircase.
As the enforcer dragged her past the column, her fingers seized on the braided curtain tie.
“That would be a mistake, signorina,” hissed her captor. “You don’t want to be here for what we have planned.”
Below them, Ian stood up and fanned the cards along the table. In a gravel-laden voice, he said, “The deck is compromised. And I certainly didn’t do it. One of you is attempting to swindle us all.”
Roars erupted from the crowd, and accusations of “traitor” were uttered in four distinct languages.
Diana seized her captor’s momentary distraction to bury her heel in the woman’s shins, before she grabbed the corded curtain tie and jumped.