Chapter Three
Lysander had asked Meredith twice how she was holding up. That was sweet of him and she appreciated it. He might have been a giant, but he was soft beneath that muscle.
And the truth was she was enjoying herself. She’d been working the table for nearly two hours. Only brag so far, but it was a fast game and the stakes went from low to high in a heartbeat.
And right now, they were high. The four gentlemen at the table—Mr. Jules Habsburg, Mr. Brocklehurst, and two others whose names she’d forgotten—were hashing it out.
Only, in the last game, she’d spotted something. No, not something … someone.
In her peripheral vision was a tall, lean man, dark skin, wearing a red neckcloth. Occasionally, he’d walked behind her players, and once he’d stopped to speak to a waiter and his eyeline had slipped to Mr. Habsburg’s hand of cards.
She’d dismissed it, but only for a moment because then she’d noticed Mr. Brocklehurst making eye contact with him.
Something passed between them.
Mr. Habsburg lost that game, putting him two crowns down.
He frowned, his smooth brow furrowing in frustration, and slapped more money on the table. “Again.”
She dealt as instructed and looked about for Lysander.
He was nowhere to be seen, though there were several wolves around.
She dealt all the hands and once more, the man with the neckcloth made his way behind the players. But he passed right by, coughing.
Meredith’s hackles rose.
Something wasn’t right.
And it wasn’t just the fifth man in the game drawing her suspicion—it was the darting eyes of the three players who were beginning to win big and stake big.
Beard Man had a sheen of sweat on his brow.
The other two men were fiddling, one tapping his fingers on the table the other constantly adjusting his collar.
They were up to something.
And it wasn’t good.
Mr. Habsburg picked up, held his cards to his chest, and pressed his lips together into a tight line.
Beard Man picked up, but not the next man.
Neckcloth walked past again. This time, it was obvious he was trying to see Mr. Habsburg’s cards. Indeed, he waited until they’d been pulled from his chest, practically straining over his shoulder to get a glimpse.
Meredith’s heart was thumping. What was happening was very un-gentlemanly and quite honestly, preposterous at such a fine establishment.
From the corner of her eye, she saw some kind of secret, non-verbal message pass to the last player on her table.
He didn’t switch a card, which, moments later, meant he’d won.
“Excuse me.” Meredith held up her finger to a passing waiter. “Please could you get me a sweet lemonade?”
The young man’s eyes widened and he looked at the players who were waiting for her to dole out the prize. “Yes, of course.”
“And quickly, I’m particularly parched,” she said, feeling as though her own brow were developing a sheen of perspiration.
He slunk into the crowd and was almost instantly replaced by Lysander and two tall wolves. They wore stern expressions, their shoulders impossibly wide and their fists balled.
“You mentioned sweet lemonade?” Lysander asked, one thick eyebrow rising.
“Yes.” She swallowed. “I believe three of my players have an observer.”
“‘An observer’?” Lysander frowned.
“Over there.” She nodded at the dark-skinned man with the red neckcloth. “He’s been taking peeks at Mr. Habsburg’s cards and then using some kind of code letting the other players know when to stick and when to switch.”
“What? That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Brocklehurst said, slamming his fist onto the table.
Within a second, one of the wolves had curled his hand around Neckcloths’s upper arm and dragged him to the table. “Seems you’ve been rumbled.”
“We were doing no such thing. Brag is a game of luck.” The gentleman wearing glasses stood and went to reach for the pile of coins. “I won that game fair and square.”
“I really don’t think so.” Meredith cupped her hand around the winnings. “You cheated two games in a row. I bore witness to that and, if necessary, will testify in court.”
“Hey, hey, that won’t be necessary.” Mr. Brocklehurst also stood. He glared at the stack of money and then at her. “You got in a muddle, that’s all, dear. Tell the esteemed gentleman the truth. You weren’t thinking straight. A case of feminine hysteria.”
Heat rose on her cheeks as she glared at him and then the others. “Do not dare to suggest I do not know my own mind or what I saw.” She gritted her teeth so hard, she worried one might break. “And I will inform you I am not prone to hysteria of any sort.”
“Sirs,” the gentleman with the glasses directed at the wolves. “This is a prime example of why women shouldn’t be behind a table in the casino; they are prone to hysteria and fantasy. Just like this little chit here.”
“I will not deal for any of you again.” Meredith used all of her willpower to stop herself from slapping his bony cheek. “Ever. Cheating undermines the entire point of a gaming hall. And for your information, women see truth much clearer than men, for we are not tangled up in bloated ego.”
“I agree wholeheartedly!” Mr. Habsburg’s eyes were wide. “I, for one, had no idea this was going on quite literally behind my back.”
“Lucky for you, Mr. Habsburg,” Lysander said, gripping Mr. Brocklehurst on the shoulder. “You had a very astute dealer.”
“Indeed, I did.” His attention turned to Meredith, mouth slightly open and a look of amazement in his eyes as he studied her. “God looked out for me today in more ways than one.”
“Right, you’re out of here, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon won’t be having you back once she hears of this.” Lysander shoved Mr. Brocklehurst and, along with the other two disgraced players and the man in the red neckcloth, he was led from the room.
The small crowd that had formed to watch the dispute parted and shook their heads. A few calls of, “Disgrace” and “Off with them” and “Merry Andrews to think they could get away with that here” followed them out.
Meredith blew out a breath. She could hear the pulse in her ears. The pianist had gone silent as he’d also watched the fracas.
“Miss.” The waiter to whom she’d spoken earlier set down a glass of water in front of her. “Are you well?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” She sipped the water and then set it aside. “Mr. Habsburg. I do believe the rules of the house are if you are cheated upon in any shape or form, the table goes to the victim.”
“‘Victim’?” He frowned. “I don’t like to be thought of as a victim.”
“But I am sure you will like this pile of coins.” She pushed them toward him and his eyes went wide once again. “You would have been unlikely to make this much in one evening with brag, but now you have.”
“I do believe you are right.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing down to his white cravat. “Maybe those scoundrels have done me a favor.”
“You always do manage to make good luck out of bad, Mr. Habsburg.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon appeared at his side, her usual veil in place and a few curious glances following her. “And tonight is no exception.”
Meredith gathered up the cards and began shuffling them, for something to do with her hands more than anything else.
“I would like to thank the dealer.” Mr. Habsburg pushed a gold coin across the table. “Without her sharp eyes, I would be leaving here considerably down.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Meredith said, “I was just doing my job and—”
“That is very kind of you.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon set her finger on the coin and pushed it right up to Meredith. “And appreciated.”
Meredith hesitated for a moment and then pocketed the coin.
Mr. Habsburg stood and collected his money. It appeared to weigh heavily in his jacket pocket.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said to Meredith. “You have done very well this evening. Go rest and get something to eat.”
“Yes, thank you. Of course.” Meredith smiled at Mrs. Dove-Lyon and then Mr. Habsburg.
He grinned back, flashing neat, white teeth. The expression went to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners and making him even more handsome.
A flush of heat rose in her chest. He was possibly the finest-looking man she’d seen during all of her time in London. Chiseled, clean-shaven jawline, straight nose, not too big and not too small, and side-whiskers the perfect length to be fashionable but not overstated.
Quickly, she turned before he saw the flush of heat reach her cheeks.
Her heart rate picked up to a gallop and she slipped into the crowd and toward the ladies’ dining room. What was this feeling of excitement combined with soul-twisting self-consciousness?
And why hadn’t Mrs. Dove-Lyon ever matched her up with someone like Jules Habsburg?
These questions were burning through her when she came across Nancy by the food table in the Ladies’ Room.
“Are you taking a break?” Nancy asked, slipping a meat tart onto a plate.
“Yes… No… I don’t know.” Meredith touched her warm brow. “I mean, I’ve finished for the evening.”
“Did something happen?” Nancy bit on her bottom lip and studied her. “Couldn’t you deal, after all?”
“Of course I could deal, but yes, something went wrong.” She looked at the table of food, but her stomach was tight and fluttery. She couldn’t eat a thing.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” Nancy tutted. “Dealing is hard.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s perfectly easy when you know how, which I do.” Meredith dropped onto a chair and pulled a pin from her hair that had been poking her scalp. A long tendril slid to her shoulder and tickled her flesh. “They were cheating.”
“Who was cheating?” Nancy’s mouth hung open.
“Three of my four players. They were working together to cheat Mr. Habsburg out of his money.”
“Mr. Habsburg. Jules Habsburg?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
“Of him. I know of him.” Nancy sat beside Meredith with her saucer on her lap. “His reputation precedes him.”
“What reputation?”
“He’s a scoundrel and best kept at arm’s length.”
Meredith was shocked at the harsh summation. “He didn’t appear to be.”
“Well, he is. Rich and very handsome, he might be, but he’s been banned from many establishments in London.”
“For what reason?” This was so hard to believe.