Chapter Twenty-Three
Tristan lost the next round, his pile of tokens shrinking as he tried to make trades and bets for cards in his favor. If he didn’t win this round, then he’d be done.
In his periphery, Lord Alston came around his side and Tristan ignored him. It wasn’t as if he could dispense advice now. This was all on Tristan.
“I’ll use my winnings to buy my fiancé a beautiful ring,” Revere said.
“How nice for you,” Hugstead said blandly as he put his tokens in the pot.
“Don’t have a wife, my lord?” Revere asked.
“Not yet. Too busy to court, I’m afraid.”
“And you, Mr. Cameron?”
“I think I’ll take yours,” Tristan said.
Revere’s face turned red. “Not very gentlemanly of you.”
“You’re no gentleman.”
Hugstead cleared his throat. “Let’s keep it civil.”
Tristan threw half his tokens in the pot. “I prefer violence. I know Mr. Revere does as well.”
Revere slammed his fist on the table. “I’ve had enough of your insults.”
“You haven’t. I’ll tell you when I’m done with you.”
“Chase,” Hugstead warned.
“What is it you’re playing for?” Tristan asked him. Did he know what was at stake?
“I’m not certain. You?”
“I’m playing for everything,” Tristan said.
Hugstead met his stare. “What does everything entail?”
“You bloody daisies going to make a decision?” Revere said.
“I’m going to bloody your nose if you don’t mind your damn business,” Tristan warned.
Hugstead sighed and knocked on the table.
“I’ll buy,” Tristan said. He had an ace, a seven, and a six. Not great odds. He slid a token to Peter in exchange for a card. Tristan turned it over and stared at the dancing shapes and numbers. He was holding a eight. He knocked on the table.
Revere cursed, which only added to Tristan’s excitement, but he kept his face blank. They turned their cards, and Peter announced a tie between him and Hugstead.
“Bollocks,” Tristan cursed.
“Likewise,” Hugstead said.
Peter inspected their cards. “Mr. Cameron wins with the higher sequence,” he said.
Tristan wasn’t sure he heard correctly, but Peter pushed the pile of counters toward him. He’d never seen so much money in his life. Not actually money, of course, but what the tokens represented.
Tristan set his hands over the top of his winnings, swiftly counting.
He had two hundred pounds 40 shillings in front of him.
He looked up at Peter who shuffled the deck.
The temptation to put it all in the pot, to risk it for the chance to double his winnings burned down his spine.
Logically, he knew it was stupid. He could lose it all, but if he didn’t—if he won again—he could come away with a small fortune.
The seconds ticked by as he considered what he should do.
Flick loomed large in his mind. The things he could give her with five hundred pounds.
The repairs, a new horse for Gwen, the possibilities that money could provide stretched before him.
He had enough right now. He could pay back the Den and take his forty shillings and go.
Behind the dealer, across from him, Alston paced. He caught Tristan’s eye and shook his head.
Tristan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Alston glanced up to the ladies’ gallery. Tristan turned and looked.
There she stood, in bright blue, smiling down at him. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes radiant. She blew him a kiss. Tristan nodded to acknowledge her then turned back to the table.
He pushed the stacks of tokens toward Peter.
Speculative chatter filled the room. Alston rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned away as if he couldn’t bear to watch, but Tristan smiled.
Lady Luck had blessed him. He couldn’t lose now.
Hugstead and Revere placed their bets. Revere sneered as he added another hundred pounds to the pot.
“You’re a fool, Cameron. No one is that lucky.”
“Luck favors me tonight, Revere.”
“I should have seen it,” Hugstead murmured.
Tristan studied him. “For what it’s worth, you’re the better man.”
Hugstead snorted softly. “But she’s in love with you.”
“What are you two talking about?” Revere asked in growing agitation.
“Quiet, Revere,” Hugstead said.
Peter dealt the cards. Tristan flipped his cards in his hands. Three aces stared back at him. His stomach dropped. His skin flashed cold and then hot. The room quieted; the sounds muffled as his own pulse raged in his ears.
“Buy or trade, Mr. Cameron,” Peter repeated.
Tristan blinked. The sound of the room rushed back at him as the talk bloomed to a dull roar.
Revere grinned. “Not so lucky after all?”
Tristan knocked on the table and his face fell.
Hugstead threw down his cards. “Good. I’d like to go home.”
Tristan set his cards down carefully. One card at a time while the room grew subdued and suspense thinned the air.
“Ace of hearts, ace of clubs, and the ace of diamonds. Congratulations, Mr. Cameron,” Peter said.
The room erupted with cheers.
Hugstead stood and offered his hand. “Take care, Chase. Of everything.”
Tristan shook his hand, but was still not quite sure this moment was real and not a fever dream.
Hugstead took his tokens and disappeared into the crowd that gathered around the table.
“Impossible,” Revere shouted over the din.
Alston appeared at his side. Tristan pushed to his feet and Peter gave him a nod.
“If you’re finished for the evening, I’ll secure this in the cage.”
“I’m done,” Tristan said, his head growing light. Alston grabbed his shoulder and gave him a little shake.
“You’re insane,” he said, but he was smiling. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“That’s because it’s not possible. You rigged the game. You cheated,” Revere accused as he pushed his way to Tristan.
Peter straightened. “Sir, to accuse another player of cheating is a grave offense to this club.”
“I don’t bloody care. I was invited here to play as a special guest and now I’ve been fleeced!”
“Mind your words, chap,” Alston warned. “You’ve no friends here.”
“Who the devil are you?” Revere spat.
Lord Alston folded his arms. “Your nightmare, if you’d like me to be.”
Tristan stepped between them. “We don’t need to do this here.”
Boos and grumbling answered. The gamblers wanted action and drama.
“Correct, we can do this at dawn,” Revere threatened. “I’ll collect my winnings and my fiancée now.”
A hush fell over the crowd.
Tristan laughed. “She was never yours, Revere. She’s always been mine. Now, you can stuff your ignorant words back down your throat and leave with a little dignity intact, or I can do it for you.”
Revere pressed closer. “This isn’t over. I always get what I want. You’re nothing but common London slag. No honor, no money, no—”
“I’m a Scotsman,” Tristan said. “I carry the honor of Scotland wherever I go. Unless you’d like your final resting place to be in a bog somewhere in the Highlands, you’ll speak carefully.”
“This isn’t done.”
“Good. I’d like more opportunities to hurt you,” Tristan said quietly. “But not with so many witnesses about.”
Revere shoved away from him and the other men pushed him back and forth until he was out of sight.
“Let’s get out of here,” Blakewood said. “The ladies are waiting.”
Tristan led the way. Helena caught his attention and showed them to the private parlor in the ladies’ area.
“Be quick,” she said. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon wants a word.”
Tristan entered the parlor and froze midway across the room. There she was. Lady Amelia sat beside Flick on the sofa with a cup of tea in her hand.
“I thought we ought to escape the melee,” Lady Amelia said.
“Good idea,” Blakewood agreed.
Flick stood and walked, as fast as her dress would allow, and leaped into his arms. Tristan spun her around and his mouth caught hers. He set her down and she grinned brighter than he’d ever seen.
“I can’t believe you won.”
“I think luck had a bit to do with it,” he teased. He wanted to kiss her again, but—he looked around the room. They were alone, the door closed. Bless Lady Amelia. He’d name his first daughter after her.
“I couldn’t bear to watch, but I couldn’t look away either,” she said.
“I never realized how intense these games are. I understand the thrill now, how easy it is to think just one more turn can change everything, and it did. For us.”
She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. “I should be upset you were playing for my hand, shouldn’t I? But I can’t, because you won.”
Tristan winced. “I wasn’t playing for your hand, Flick. I was playing to win back Lark Hall—or rather, the sum the deed is worth. Now I can repay my brother’s debt to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, and yours. But she did not include you in the bargain.”
Her eyes searched his, her joy leeching away. “What does that mean? For me? For us?”
She tried to step back but he wouldn’t let her. “It means you’re free to marry anyone of your choosing.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. Tristan brushed a loose curl from her cheek that had come undone during their joyful spin.
His heart pounded, but he had to do this now.
He couldn’t think of a better time, when the world waited outside that door—and the complications that came with it.
Like fathers, domineering widows, and violent former fiancés.
He took her hand and placed it over his heart and held it there.
“If you would have me, it would be my greatest honor, Miss Felicity Brandon, to be your husband, your lover, and your friend until my last breath and beyond.”
“Oh, Tristan,” her lips trembled as she smiled. “Yes. Please, God, yes. I will marry you and love you for the rest of my life and beyond.”
Tristan grinned, his heart so full of love it may have stopped beating all together.
He could only feel her, the rapid pulse of her wrist beating against his fingers.
He dipped his head and her mouth welcomed his.
Her arms slipped around his neck, and she folded her body into him.
He relished every curve against his hard frame, the slide of her dress under his hungry hands.
His blood roared with desire. He lifted her off the floor, her hips settling against his throbbing cock. He moaned into her mouth, thrusting into the inset of her thighs.
“Flick, I need you. Right now, I have to have you.”
She nodded. He set her down just long enough to rapidly pull up her skirts, lifting her with a jerk.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and Tristan walked her back to the wall, shifting her so that he was perfectly aligned with her hot core.
He teased her folds apart, dipping his fingers into her sweet wet heat.
She was already ready, moving with the shallow thrust of his fingers.
She angled her head, deepening the kiss while Tristan fumbled with his breeches, jerking the fabric down and palming his erection, he lined himself up with her center and thrust home.
She cried into his mouth, a long shuddering moan as he pumped greedily, his mind disintegrating as the hot grip of her body stole his wits. He was all animal, claiming his mate in a frantic, all-consuming coupling against the wall.
She tore her mouth away, panting as she gyrated against him, her fingers digging into his scalp.
Tristan watched her face, her flushed cheeks, the glaze of need in her eyes.
She was his. He may not be a titled lord with impressive connections and a name that opened doors, but he loved her, he’d die for her, and now he could provide the kind of life she deserved.
Not fancy and filled with parties and operas.
But they would have open fields of wildflowers, the crisp Highland breezes, cozy nights around the fire with blankets and whisky.
There would be work to do, animals to feed, fields to sow and harvest, lambs to birth.
But what gave Lark Hall its majesty, for all its mossy stone exterior, creaky shutters, the stone floors, low ceilings, and soot-stained hearths, was the love that had endured over time.
The laughter soaked into its walls, the history, the heritage, the pride.
It was not a life for a gently bred young lady with soft hands.
But Flick was not that kind of lady. She was made of steel and fire, with a heart of pure gold.
She tipped her head back against the wall as her hips met his hard thrusts and she slammed herself down again. Her breath caught, her thigh muscles tightening around his waist as she gripped his shoulders, nails biting through his coat.
“That’s it, love. Let go.”
She gasped out his name, barely a whisper as she trembled in his arms. Tristan continued his demanding pace as her body clung to his, her slick passage clamping around him in the throes of her climax.
He was nearing the horizon, the building inferno in his body roiling to its finish and taking him over the edge.
He pulled out, holding her up and watching as he coated her folds and thighs, claiming her, imagining the future when he’d spill inside her.
When they were ready to grow a family and put the past behind them once and for all.