Page 6 of A Game of Scandal

I sent him a thin smile, and he surprised me by returning it, a flash of yellowing teeth that made him look quite sweet. It was a bolstering moment, and I sailed through the door and inside the Lucky Penny for the first time on a wave of confidence.

I hit an intense wall of sound so abruptly that it felt as if something had detonated before me.

The place was heaving with people, as excited groups gathered round the different games taking place. A long table with a roulette wheel had drawn a particularly large crowd. I took a moment to get my bearings. The room was big, and people slipped out from behind the heavy forest-green curtains that surrounded us – implying that there were smaller rooms off to the sides as well. This concurred with my own observations from pacing the perimeter of the building and counting the windows. There were no windows here, only this decadent cocoon of deep-green velvet, and so there must be other chambers beyond. The tables were polished mahogany, the seats upholstered in a deep plum-jam red, the occasional leafy palm stood next to heavy gold (though to my eye, not real gold) candelabras.

There was a great air of excitement, and the scene was lit by a blaze of candlelight. A number of deep-red light shades cast a rosy glow that made the room feel even warmer than it already was. Waiting staff in grey uniforms whirled deftly between the oblivious crowds, delivering drinks and small plates of food, silent as shadows.

I waited to feel my usual discomfort, but at the moment the scene was too captivating, the thrill rushing through me too deep for me to be anxious. Also, standing masked in this crowd, where not a single soul expected to find Lady Felicity Vane, made me feel deliciously anonymous. No eyes crawled over me; there were no naked looks of interest or calculation. As far as I knew, not one person in this room was worried about how I behaved or who I may or may not marry. No one was measuring me against some impossible standard. No one was paying attention to me at all. The thrill deepened.

I passed my cloak to the attendant and shook out my skirts, then I took a few minutes to wander around the room, watching the various games currently unfolding with interest. I accepted a glass of brandy from one of the uniformed servants, slipping a coin on to their tray. I sipped, feeling the golden burn of it run down my throat. It was surprisingly good – presumably part of the smuggled bounty mentioned by the group – though not a patch on the stuff I occasionally pilfered from Max’s study.

Eventually, I settled at one of the tables, where a man in a dark uniform was dealing vingt-et-un. This was what I had been preparing for; it was time to put my theories into practice. I watched for a while, knowing that the further into the deck the dealer got without shuffling, the greater my chance of success.

It was simply a matter of calculating the ratios and likelihood of high or low cards being drawn. I had only to keep the numbers clear in my head for as long as possible – and thanks to the way my mind worked, and the amount I’d been practising, I could keep them clear for a good, long time.

At last, I slid a single coin across the table, placing my first bet. It felt momentous. My heart thumped, and my hands had gone clammy, but after several cards were turned my prediction held.

“Vingt-et-un,” the dealer said with a smooth smile. “The lady wins.”

The feeling that ran through me then was more intoxicating than the velvet-gloved punch of brandy. My single coin grew to five, and I felt a smile curving at my own lips.

An hour later, the smile that the dealer gave me in return had grown wooden. “The lady wins again,” he said as the audience that had begun to cluster around me erupted into cheers.

I had been winning steadily for some time now. It seemed that my various hypotheses had been correct, and that was the greatest thrill of all. After that first win, the excitement in the act of gambling itself had faded almost straight away – what had remained instead was a giddy enjoyment in predicting the patterns of the cards. The numbers rang, crystal-clear bells in my mind, drowning out the crowd. All that existed was the problem in front of me as I calculated the probability that the card about to be drawn would be a six or lower.

“You play well,” a voice came from beside me, taking me by surprise.

I turned to find a man smiling at me. It was a broad smile that showed off straight white teeth. He was probably about Max’s age, with sandy hair and an open, friendly countenance.

“Thank you,” I said, my eyes turning back to the cards.

“It’s a thrill to watch a beautiful young woman experiencing a streak of good luck,” the man continued.

“It’s not luck,” I said absently.

“No?” The man’s voice lilted up in interest. “Witchcraft, then?”

This surprised a laugh out of me, and I turned to find him grinning. The mischievous expression on his face was winning, and he waggled his eyebrows, drawing another laugh from me.

“Perhaps it is witchcraft,” I said lightly, placing my bet.

When the four of clubs was revealed, I couldn’t contain a crow of triumph.

Suddenly, in place of the dealer’s elegant fingers, a coarse hand, the size of a dinner plate, came down on the table in front of me, jarring my concentration. I froze, held the numbers still in my mind as they threatened to leap about.

“Excuse me,” I huffed, irritated, eyes pinned to the cards. “You’re interrupting.”

“Boss wants to see you,” a growly voice boomed from somewhere above me, and when I reluctantly turned to look up over my shoulder, I found the burly doorman standing at my side. Only there was no longer a hint of sweetness in his face. Now the look in his eyes made my blood chill.

For a moment, my mind flashed to the voice in the library. There was a decided possibility that this boss might be the man at the wedding, and if that was the case, and he moved in such circles, I did not want to risk being recognized as Lady Felicity Vane even behind the protection of my mask.

“I have no desire to see your boss,” I said with all the calm I could manage. “Please thank him for the invitation, but tell him I decline to accept.”

“It weren’t an invitation,” the man grunted, and he tugged the back of my chair so that I came away from the table with a muffled sound of surprise. The crowd around us, including the smiling gentleman, melted away, plenty of wide-eyed, interested stares and gossipy clucking sounds in their wake.

I eyed the giant with dislike. He eyed me back. I made some swift calculations and it seemed the best plan at the moment was to defuse the situation, meet this manager of his and then be on my way. I would have to hope that my mask did its job and preserved my anonymity. The whole matter was made more frustrating, because – having made the effort to infiltrate the place – my winnings remained a long way from my goal for the evening.

I straightened my shoulders, treated the brute to another freezing look, then got to my feet.