Secrets of a Wedding Night (31 page)

Devon pounded his fist against the side of the coach.

“Can’t wait to get at Winfrey, eh?” Jordan asked.

His friend’s words shook Devon from his thoughts. His reply came through clenched teeth. “I’m ready to get this bloody well over with, that’s what I am.” He pulled on his gloves.

Jordan nodded. “I’m glad I’ll be there with you. There’s sure to be trouble. How did your father manage all those years without Winfrey harming him?”

Devon’s laugh was humorless. “Quite simple. My father never won. As long as he was giving Winfrey money and not taking it, he was quite safe. It’s the same reason I’ve been safe up to now.”

“But your father expected
you
to win eventually. He must have known he’d be placing you in danger if you challenged Winfrey and beat him.”

A humorless smile this time. “Make no mistake. My father never put people ahead of money a day in his life.”

When the coach pulled to a stop in front of a rotting storefront in the Rookery, Devon stretched his legs and took another deep breath.

“Ready?” Jordan asked.

“As I expect to be,” Devon replied.

“My eyes will be open. Don’t worry.” Jordan pulled on his cloak.

They descended the steps of the coach and treaded over refuse in the muddy, wet street to make their way to the front of the establishment. Raucous music spilled forth from the creaky, haphazard door. Street urchins ran up to them and tugged on their coats.

“Please, guv’na, please. Can ye spare a shillin’?” one small boy begged.

Devon glanced down at the children and swallowed. They were all scraggly and unkempt. Not to mention they looked half-starved. He considered their plights. The children of the dead or unwanted. One was a small boy with dark hair. He looked to be no more than Justin’s age. Devon swallowed again. It was only blind luck that Justin had been parented by someone who took him in, gave him an education, actually claimed him. Some of these children were no doubt the products of affairs with mistresses, as Justin was. Devon pulled a handful of coins from his pocket and tossed a pound to each small hand.

Beside him, Jordan shook his head. “You’re only encouraging them.” But Devon noted with a wry smile that Jordan had pulled money from his own cloak and tossed it to the children, even as he continued to shake his head.

The two men continued past the urchins and pushed their way through the door that barely clung to its frame, supported only by rusty hinges. The smell that hit him overwhelmed Devon. He pressed the back of his hand to his nose. Rotting food lay scattered on the floor, drunken men urinated in the corners, and the stench of unwashed bodies surrounded him.

“Quaint,” Jordan said, stepping over a pile of refuse as they advanced toward the large table in the dark, dank back of the place. A gnarly assortment of ne’er-do-wells already inhabited most of the rickety chairs surrounding the table. Gilbert Winfrey sat at the head of the table, a grimy king surveying his dirty kingdom.

Devon winced. How had his father been able to stand this? Abide this company? Be a part of this? Not only was gambling a disgusting habit that ruined lives and families, it also made false friends out of the most unlikely of compatriots. It just proved what a sickness his father had, the complete addiction to gambling that had taken over his life and ripped everything from him, including his own son.

“Ah, Colton, there ye are,” Winfrey said. He swept out his hand and offered Devon a seat at the opposite end of the table. Devon watched the men with narrowed eyes. There was the usual group of suspects, a stomach-turning assortment of men who had also allowed the game to rob them of everything. It was tragic, really. Heart-wrenching. But these men were doing this to themselves, and had no one else to blame. Devon thought of their wives and children at home, the people depending on these men who would be forever disappointed.

His thoughts turned to Lily. She
thought
she would be one of them if they had married. She had so little faith in him, she refused to wait and listen to his explanation. She’d jilted him again.

Devon sat at the table and Jordan took a seat several paces behind him along the wall with the other spectators.

“I believe we’re all here now,” Winfrey announced. “Let the gaming commence.” He smiled his crooked-tooth smile. “The first bet be fifty pounds.” He tossed a voucher on the table.

“The game is faro, laddies,” Winfrey said to the table as a whole, “and McGee ’ere is the banker. We’re all o’ us punters tonight. Including ’is ’igh-and-mighty lor’ship ’ere.”

Devon ignored the jibe and watched as the cards were shuffled by a questionable-looking man with an even more questionable moustache. Devon eyed McGee carefully. Then his gaze slid to the cards. Dirty and torn, they looked like they’d been plucked from the trash heap.

Devon raised a brow. “Isn’t it customary to use a new pack?”

“It’s me lucky pack,” Winfrey sneered.

Devon narrowed his eyes. “Lucky? Or stacked? If that banker’s box is rigged, I’ll know it.”

Winfrey spat on the ground. “Careful, yer lordship, ye don’t want ta end up wit a knife in yer belly for calling me a cheat.”

Devon returned his cold gaze. “Then. Don’t. Cheat.”

“Would ye prefer another banker, yer lordship?” His ratlike eyes narrowed.

“Yes.” Devon looked him straight in the eye. “I would.”

Winfrey nodded and spat again. “Yer the banker now, Monty.”

A hulking man lumbered up and took over. He gathered up the filthy stack and shuffled the cards again.

Devon watched the deal carefully. His years of gaming had taught him much and he knew when he was being cheated, when the sleight of a hand pulled a card from the bottom of the pack. Whether Winfrey would risk cheating on the first deal or whether he planned to lull his victims into a sense of security, Devon didn’t know, but the cards in the banker’s pack appeared to have been shuffled fairly. This time, at least.

“Care fer a drink, yer lordship?” Winfrey asked, eyeing Devon carefully.

“No,” Devon clipped. “Something tells me keeping my wits about me will be most important tonight.”

Winfrey growled again but nodded to a servant to bring drinks to the entire table. Soon, ale mugs were plopped in front of each player. Devon ignored his.

“’Ave a pint, Lord Ashbourne?” Winfrey called to Jordan.

“No, thank you,” Jordan replied coolly. “Nothing could entice me to partake of anything served in this establishment. As charming as it is, my health is of great concern to me.”

Winfrey grunted at Jordan’s response and turned back to the game. He tossed some checks on the table. The other men eyed them carefully and placed their bets.

“My checks,” Devon said, tossing his on the table.

The banker moved the spade layouts on the board. The players each placed their stakes. Winfrey placed fifty pounds’ worth of checks on the king at the top of the layout.

The pack was placed faceup in the dealer’s box.

“Ah, and first we burn off the soda,” Winfrey said, pulling the first card off the top of the pack and discarding it. It revealed the next card, the jack of hearts. The banker’s card.

“The losing card,” Winfrey announced, pointing to the banker’s box.

Monty placed it on the right side of the banker’s card. Then he placed the next card, the player’s card, the four of spades, on the left. “The winning card,” Winfrey called.

Devon watched the man sitting to Monty’s right. He was the case keeper and would ensure the banker wasn’t palming the cards. But Devon had no such issue. His mind kept the numbers inside in perfect order, and for every two played, he would know what was left, what was still in play.

And he would win.

*   *   *

Five hours later, Devon eyed Winfrey across the sooty, smoke-filled room. All of the other men had long since lost every shilling they’d come with. Devon himself had lost thousands. The only two players still in the game were Devon and Winfrey. Devon’s glance slid across the table to Winfrey’s hand. A garnet and gold ring blinked at him through the smoke-filled room.

It was time to end this.

“One more hand,” Devon said calmly. “Give me one more hand to attempt to win back my money.”

Winfrey smirked at him. “Just like a bloody Colton. Don’t even know when ye’s been bested. Ye’ve only got ten quid left, ain’t ye?”

Devon nodded. Once. “One more hand.”

Winfrey shrugged. “Ah, why not? It’ll be me pleasure takin’ that last ten from ye, yer lordship.” He tossed a ten-pound note on the table. “There ye go, Colton. I’m bettin’ all ye got.” He laughed.

Devon slowly shook his head back and forth. “So, you are worried about me after all, are you, Winfrey?”

Winfrey sat up straight. “What do ye mean? I ain’t never been scared o’ a Colton. Yer father would still be payin’ me off, if he weren’t six feet under right now.” He laughed a sickening laugh.

Devon squeezed the tablecloth so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Seems you’re scared of
me,
however. Otherwise, you’d bet everything
you’ve
got.”

“Why should I bother? We both know who’s walking out o’ ’ere a winner.” He smirked again, and beside him Monty chuckled.

“Then you shouldn’t mind giving me a chance to win back my money. Unless you’re scared.”

Winfrey’s eyes narrowed on him. “I said, I ain’t ne’er been scared o’ no Colton.” Winfrey pushed the entire stack of money forward. “I bet it all.”

Five thousand pounds. The entire pot.

Devon nodded. The dealer set the cards out and Devon and Winfrey gathered theirs. Devon eyed his hand. So did Winfrey.

“Well?” Winfrey spat onto the dirty floor next to him. “What say ye, yer lordship?”

Devon played two cards. Winfrey played two. Four more were dealt.

Devon kept the game moving quickly. The faster the play, the greater advantage he would have. Two more cards discarded, two more accepted. Winfrey wiped sweat from his forehead.

Four more discards.

Then two more.

One.

Devon tossed his hand on the table. “I win.” He smiled at Winfrey.

Winfrey stared at Devon’s hand in disbelief. He blinked repeatedly, muttering a string of expletives that would singe the hair off a drunken lout’s ears. Winfrey crumpled his cards in his fist and threw them to the filthy floor. “Blast it. How did ye do it?” He gave the dealer an evil stare. The dealer shrugged and loosened his cravat, looking decidedly nervous.

One of the other men pushed all of Winfrey’s money across the table to Devon.

Without saying a word, Devon pulled the money into his satchel and stood to leave.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Devon said, nodding at Winfrey.

“Blast it all, Colton,” Winfrey shouted. “I don’t know what dark magic ye just used but ye’ve got to give me a chance ta win me money back now.”

Devon inclined his head toward the man. “My pleasure.” He paused. “Do you have ten quid?”

Winfrey growled. “Ye know I don’t.”

“Very well. Again, my pleasure.” Devon turned to leave and Jordan moved to follow him.

“Wait! Wait,” Winfrey called. “I’ve got this.” Devon turned and Winfrey pulled the garnet and gold ring from his finger. “I’ll use this as me voucher.”

Winfrey tossed the ring on the table. It rolled across the pockmarked wood and came to a stop in front of Devon. His eyes sealed to it.

His father’s ring. His ring. His family’s signet ring. The one Devon had worn as a small boy and dreamed of owning one day. The value of the piece, its gold and garnet, might have been worth five hundred pounds or vastly more, but Devon had never cared about its monetary value. The piece had been a symbol of his ancestry. It was meant to stay in the family, to be treasured and protected and given to … his own son one day. Not to be tossed on a dirty wooden table by the likes of Gilbert Winfrey.

“How do I know that trinket is even worth anything?” Devon managed to say evenly.

“Take a look,” Winfrey replied. “I won it in a tournament. From yer bloody loser o’ a father.”

Devon’s knuckles cracked.

*   *   *

Half an hour later, Devon stood to leave again. He pulled the entire pot of money back into his satchel. He eyed Winfrey with excruciating distaste.

“We’re even now, Winfrey, you and I.”

Winfrey’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets and his mouth had a fine sheen of froth around it. He spat his words at Devon. “’Ow the devil do ye think that?”

Devon hefted his bag of winnings to his shoulder. “You cheated when you played my father and everyone knows it. You stacked the cards, had ringers in the game with you. I’d venture to say you’ve never played an honest hand of cards a day in your life.”

All of the other men around the table turned to stare at him with wide, anxious eyes. Winfrey’s face turned a mottled shade of purple.

Devon tossed his next words at the crowd. “It cannot be news to all of you that this man is a cheat.”

No one answered. They were all suddenly concerned with looking at their torn, dirty boots or examining their filthy fingernails.

There was a sharp scrape of a chair against the floor and Jordan stood up, his cloak billowing behind him. “To hear it said out loud and directly to the man’s face is shocking to these fine gents, no doubt,” he said. “I’d venture to guess none of them have ever heard anyone take on Master Winfrey this way before.”

“What about ye, Colton?” Winfrey sneered. “Do ye deny cheating me tonight? Ye’ve never won before. And suddenly ye cannot lose?”

“Cheating? Hardly,” Devon retorted. “I merely allowed you to win the few times we met before. Make you think you were better than you actually are.” He smiled at the blackguard and watched as Winfrey’s pockmarked face fell.

“’Ow dare ye!” Winfrey screamed, his face purpling further. “’Ow dare—”

Devon stepped up to him. He spat his words through clenched teeth. “My father was never particularly good with numbers, but I am. You’ve been playing someone actually worthy of your skill at deception, Winfrey. How does it feel to be bested by a Colton?”

Winfrey frothed at the mouth and looked as if steam might billow from his ears.