Page 80 of The Fortune Hunter’s Gamble

Sophronia placed her bet.

The men could not follow her and appear to be led by a woman, putting faith in her cleverness over their own. Humphrey shoved his checks onto the table. Bint dithered.

“This is the time to bet high, Bint,” Rowden told him. “You’ve five to one odds of a payout. Not as good as a dog fight, but better than a horse race. You could win everything back at a stroke.”

With a small sound that might have been a whimper, had it been audible above the general noise of the room, Bint placed his bet. Rowden drew two of the cards, then the last card in the deck, the hock. He laid them in order on the baize.

“Why, Sophronia!” Lady Amalie trilled. “Fortune truly favors you this evening. Well done, my dear.”

Sophronia darted a glance at Rowden, who pretended not to see it. Will reset his casekeep, cheerfully whistling.

Humphrey groaned as Rowden tallied up the bank and he saw the extent of his losses. Bint looked as if he might cast up his accounts on the table.

“Stiff upper lip, old man.” Humphrey clapped the banker on the back. “A gentleman can hold his drink and lose his fortune without turning a hair. Not that you’ll lose your fortune tonight. Stay for another game, and your luck will turn. Mine always does.”

“Checks for this round are five hundred pounds,” Rowden announced.

Sophronia tucked her winnings into her reticule and hesitated. Rowden could see she had half a mind to quit while she was ahead and leave with a thousand pounds in her purse. Rowden willed her to look at him while he shuffled the deck and primed the shoe.

There’s more, he told her. Trust me.

She pushed two banknotes toward him, but she addressed Humphrey.

“If I am not mistaken, you have just offered a slip on the shoulder to Lady Amalie, yet I thought you had taken up with Fanny Glass. Can such ardent love so soon be forgotten? They made a satirical print of the love poem you wrote her.”

“Fanny Glass.” Humphrey bit out the words. “Do not speak to me of that jade.”

Bint’s eyes widened and he looked up from the layout, where he was contemplating his next bet with an increasingly desperate look. “The courtesan?”

“Rowden gave her congé, so she is certainly in search of a protector,” Sophronia said. “I thought you had made a play in that direction, Humphrey?”

“As if I would want to sip from a cup that half of London has drank from,” Humphrey said.

“Really? I’ve known you to stand in the petticoat line before. Who was that girl you were courting before your father told you to try for me? I think you quite broke her heart. Her father was making noises about breach of contract, you’d taken things so far.”

“That is water long past under the bridge,” Humphrey said. “Lady Amalie, tell us what sort of gentlemen you find amusing. Beaus of fashion, I presume?”

“Mrs. Hinton,” Bint said, “you should not know so much slang, nor the ways of the demimonde. It does not befit a woman of your station.”

Sophronia widened her eyes at him. “I know the ways of my cousin, I must say. Lady Amalie, don’t spare a moment for him. He’s a dirty dish.”

Humphrey glared at her. “You’re a viper.”

She glared back. “Does that mean you’ll stop trying to steal my home?”

“Well, Rowden, you certainly have the liveliest table in the house. Ned and I have looked in at every table, so we should know.”

Fanny Glass planted herself directly in Rowden’s line of vision, wearing her favorite red-trimmed gown, but tonight the neckline had sunk indecently low, nearly exposing her bosoms entirely. She tugged at the arm of her escort, ensuring that Rowden noted him, too.

“How surprised I am to see you here, Mrs. Hinton,” Fanny said with a curl of her lip. “I should have thought Rowden would make every effort to protect his friends from his vices.”

“I have discovered my husband had left me in need of funds, and Mr. Bint does not approve the occupation I wish to take up to support myself, and so I am reduced to gambling.” Sophronia turned to Fanny’s companion. “How do you do, Mr. Delaval?”

“You know one another?” Fanny blinked in surprise.

“We met at the Duchess of Hunsdon’s antiquarian bookshop,” Sophronia said. “I was looking for a volume to add to my father’s library, and Mr. Delaval was there. He made several interesting recommendations.”

“He is half-brother to the Duke of Hunsdon. That is why he frequents the Duchess’s bookshop.” Fanny hugged her escort’s arm to her bosom and sent a defiant look in Rowden’s direction. Rowden merely raised his brows.