by Robyn DeHart
The door opened and a man walked toward the table. He was a hulking man, standing way too tall and too broad. He spoke to a few people on his way over, then lowered himself into the chair next to her. He looked over and leaned back a little, surprise etched in his grizzled features.
Caroline’s heart stopped beating and she quickly averted her glance.
“You’re new,” the man said in a gruff voice.
She cleared her throat and dared another glance at him. “Grey,” she said, lowering her voice.
The man grunted. “Well then, Grey, I’m Erickson.” He eyed her. “You any good?”
“Decent enough.”
“Let us play then.”
Caroline didn’t know how long this would last, but for tonight, she’d infiltrated the man’s world, and she intended to continue to do so for as long as possible.
…
Two months later
Roe looked at the letter in his hand one more time before tossing it onto his desk. He swore and exhaled sharply. It was time to pay a visit to his brother, Justin, to see if Roe could finally get into the back room at Rodale’s.
As he climbed into his rig, Roe considered the letter that had come by post this morning. Mr. B.D. Cabot still refused to entertain an audience with him. It was a slap in the face, truly, because what good was being a damned duke if it didn’t get you an audience with a common archeologist?
Of course, Cabot was the best there was. The man wasn’t in London very often, but he was nursing an injury and had been home for nearly three weeks. Roe had tried several ways to contact the man, but to no avail. Damnation if he didn’t need Cabot since the men currently working for Roe were having no luck finding Constantine’s Shield. In fact, the men seemed no closer to it than he and Christopher had been nearly a decade before.
They had become interested in the artifact during a holiday stay at Cambridge and too much time in the library there. Christopher had found mention of it in an ancient text. Legend stated that before going into battle, Constantine had a dream that Christ instructed him to imprint the Greek letters for “Christ” on his shield and it would protect him. The following day, Constantine ordered the symbol printed on all the shields of his soldiers. But the first one made, Constantine’s Shield, was said to be specially marked and would be the most valuable. So had begun their quest. Someone would eventually find it; it was one of the most sought-after antiquities. But unless it was Roe, then his name would not be attached to the discovery, and he owed the man at least that. Had Roe not been so hell-bent on discovering the blasted thing, he and Christopher might not have taken that fated trip to Persia. It had been his bloody idea and he had to live with that.
Finding the damned antiquity would at least make it seem as if some of it had been worth it, worth Christopher’s life. Roe would go himself, go back and dig in that God-forsaken sand until his hands bled, but he didn’t deserve the pleasure of discovering the artifact himself. So he stayed in London, played cards, and funded whatever he could to make certain the shield was eventually found.
Perhaps the card playing would work to his benefit in this one situation, though. Cabot enjoyed the game, and Roe had tried once before to invite the man to join his table, but he’d declined. Cabot favored playing in the back room at Rodale’s, the room where the commoners and workingmen played.
The carriage stopped in front of Justin’s townhome and Roe made his way to the front door. A surprised-looking butler greeted him and led him into Justin’s study. It was on Roe’s tongue to make a sly remark to the butler when Justin walked into the room.
“Just now coming home for the evening?” Justin asked.
“Why is it that everyone assumes I do not know what morning is?” Roe took a seat across from Justin’s desk.
“You have such a strong aversion to mornings and daylight hours in general that I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you’d become a vampire.” Justin sat and offered his brother a genuine smile.
“An interesting notion, but no.” Roe sat back in the chair, extending his legs out in front of him. “I suspect I could be quite a good vampire, though.”
“Indeed.” Justin’s hand clasped together on the desk. “Now, what is it that you need?”
“What would you say if I asked for money?” Roe asked.
Justin’s brows rose in surprise, then folded in on a frown. “That seems unlikely, but if you need money, of course I would give it to you.”
“I don’t need any money.” They’d had this discussion a handful of times over the last several weeks, but Roe felt certain he could convince Justin to give him entrance. “I want to play the boy. The one in the back room.” Roe had started hearing rumors about a young man, known mostly as “the boy” who was on quite the winning streak. It was said he was the most skilled player at Vingt-et-un, other than Roe himself.
Roe had asked to play the boy on a few occasions, but Justin had not agreed, but now he knew that Cabot was in that back room as well and this might be the best opportunity to gain a face-to-face meeting with the man. He’d didn’t require his brother’s permission. He could do as he pleased. But he knew that the men who played in that backroom did so partially to get away from their employers, aristocrats the likes of him. Playing there would likely cause a disruption, so he’d sought Justin’s approval thinking that would ease the breach into that sacred space. The time had come to truly convince Justin, though. It was important he get an audience with Cabot. Playing “the boy” gave him the perfect reason to be there. No one would be surprised since his arrogance about the game was widely known.
Justin exhaled loudly. “You are not going to cease badgering me about this until I agree, are you?”
“I believe that is one of my finer gifts, my ability to badger people.”
“You realize entering the back room is going to cause a stir all over Rodale’s.”
Roe stretched his arms. “Since when do I give a damn about causing a stir? One could say that is a favorite pastime of mine.”
“This will not start a trend, where you damned aristocrats go to the back room to win monies from the poor working men,” Justin said.
He chuckled. “I doubt the rest of the blue bloods are eager to mingle with their servants and the like in such a setting. But I’ll be as discreet as possible.”
“See that you do.”
…
Caroline checked her cards again, then mentally ran through the ones that would remain in the deck. It was a risk to take another card, but she felt certain her calculations were correct and would result in a win. She eyed the dealer, then inclined her head, indicating she wanted another card. The man’s eyebrows rose, but he dealt her a card nonetheless. A three, precisely the card she needed to bring her total to twenty. She would win this hand. The rest of the table turned their hands over. The dealer chuckled. “You’ve won again, boy,” he said.
She gave a tight smile and accepted the money shoved in her direction. It was a good night, though it seemed the other players were beginning to get annoyed with her. She’d introduced herself with a fake name the first night she’d come, but no one seemed to remember it or her for the first several visits. Then they noticed she was winning, and winning regularly. They simply called her “the boy,” which was fine by her. Maybe if they all heard that enough, they’d believe it and no one would question or even consider she was anything but.
“That’s seven hands in a row, boy,” the man next to her said. He was a tall man with broad hands and long fingers. She thought she remembered people calling him Cabot. He’d been coming to play the last week or so. “Pretty good luck.”
“Perhaps it is more skill than luck,” Caroline said, using the lower voice she had perfected over the last month. She’d heard once that people saw what they wanted to see, or in this case, heard what they wanted to hear. She dressed as a boy, spoke as a boy, and thankfully, no one had suspected otherwise.
The man laughed, a jovial and authentic laugh. “And
cocky, too.” Cabot popped Caroline on the back so firmly the motion jarred her teeth. “I like that. Name’s Cabot.”
It wasn’t arrogance, but she wouldn’t correct him. “Grey,” she told him. If all the men here thought her winning streak was luck, then they hadn’t noticed her counting. The prideful part of her wanted them to know, wanted them to be impressed with her skill, but pride had no place in this. She was here to earn funds so she could finally be in charge of her own life, finally be beholden to no one.
Another man joined their table, one she recognized from her other visits to Rodale’s. He was a butler for the Earl of Bromley and he was an incorrigible gossip. She suspected he talked as much as he did to simultaneously entertain himself and distract the other players. Caroline was pleased he’d joined their table instead of one of the other three in the room.
Cabot gestured toward the butler. “Finley, you’re not usually off work on Wednesdays. Did you get sacked?”
Finley smiled and picked up his cards. “I did no such thing. Lord Bromley and his wife have gone to the countryside for the week. His sisters are too occupied vying for the affections of Viscount Hopkins this evening, so I decided to come and see how the likes of you are doing.” His eyes moved around the table as he checked his opponents. “Appears I chose a good night to come.”
“The boy’s showing us up,” Cabot said.
All eyes turned back to her. Caroline shrugged. “I enjoy the game.”
They returned to their hands. After the second round, Finley nodded toward Cabot. “How’s your injury healing?”
Cabot lifted his cane and tapped it against his leg. “The break is all but healed, but the damn bite hasn’t. At least, not quickly enough.” He shook his head. “The doctor says I should be back as new in a couple of months. Can’t travel until the damn wound heals, though.”
“Snakes,” Finley said with a shudder. “That’s what you get for traveling to some god-forsaken country. You ask me, London is dangerous enough as it is.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Cabot said. “Besides, someone has to go out there and find all the treasures that the blokes in the other room like to look at in the museums. Might as well be me.”
Cabot was obviously some sort of explorer or archaeologist. Caroline couldn’t afford to be distracted by their conversation, as interesting as that might be. She kept her eyes on the cards and her mind in the game, keeping careful count with each hand.
“What’s the new gossip?” Erickson asked Finley.
Finley eyed the man, who was at least twice his size, and then shook his head.
“Come on, I know you’ve got something,” Erickson insisted.
“Very well,” Finley said after a long pause. “Lady Abernathy’s youngest daughter eloped with one of their footmen.”
Cabot let out a low whistle. “That will no doubt cause quite the scandal.”
“Yes,” Finley said. “Especially since it was said that the Earl of Burkfield had expressed intentions to court the girl.”
Caroline won another hand, as did two other players since the dealer ended up with only eighteen. She always loved it when Finley showed up and fed them gossip. It worked two-fold for her—kept the other players distracted, but also gave her that improper glimpse into London’s most elite families. She couldn’t help it; she truly loved to hear the gossip from this side of the stairs, as it were. If they only knew how the commoners spoke about them, laughed about them.
They played another hand in silence before Finley spoke again.
“It would seem Mrs. Williams, the housekeeper next door, had an affair with Lord Rochester’s brother,” Finley said. “She’s twice his age.”
The door connecting the main room to the back room opened. Normally, the only people who crossed that doorway were employees of Rodale’s. At the moment, though, another man stood in the room. A hush fell over the floor.
“What the devil is he doing on this side?” Finley asked.
“Looks gentry. Perhaps he’s looking for you,” Cabot said with a chuckle. “Have you been gossiping about him? Who is he?”
Finley ignored Cabot.
The man’s large frame was imposing standing there in his greatcoat, waistcoat, and cravat. Cabot was correct in his assumption. This man was quite obviously a gentleman. From where Caroline sat, she could not clearly make out his face.
“Your Grace,” another dealer said. “I believe you’ve come through the wrong door.”
The man shook his head. “No, I’ve come to play. Where’s the boy?”
His voice carried across the room and seemed to echo in the silence. Caroline knew that voice. Nerves fluttered to life in her belly. Her mouth went dry. She fought the urge to gather her winnings and run out of there. There, standing in the same room as her, was Monroe Grisham, Duke of Chanceworth, and her legal guardian. The man she’d once tried to give her heart to. The man who had turned her down flatly with nothing more than a no.
Ah, the foolish fancying of her youth. Thank goodness she had recovered from that particular folly. Still, she hadn’t seen him since she’d left London nearly six years before. But there he was, the very man who had taught her how to play this game.
The boy. She was the boy.
Damnation! Roe Grisham had come to play her.
Chapter Two
Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat.
“The boy?” the dealer asked him.
“Yes, the one who has been called the best in this room. Where is he?” Roe asked, surveying the room.
“That’s the Duke of Chanceworth,” Finley said through his teeth.
She looked up just as her dealer put his hand in the air motioning to their table, and Cabot came to his feet, swearing.
“There’s no need to bring the boy into this,” Cabot said. “I know you’ve truly come to see me. Of all the arrogant things to do, come in here to play! Of course you couldn’t be a true gentleman and invite me to your table out front. Nonetheless, I’ve told you, several times, that I will not work for you.”
Roe turned his attention to Cabot. Roe’s brows rose slowly. “And you would be?”
“B.D. Cabot.”
“Ah,” Roe said with a slight nod. “Yes, well, it is nice to finally make your acquaintance in person, but I believe you are mistaken. Your reluctance to work with me, admittedly, is peculiar, but I shall not beg you. That being said, I came tonight to play the best.”
Caroline’s heart thundered. She’d heard people say that of her, that she was the best, but she hadn’t known the tales had breached the door into the big room where the entitled sat. Roe stepped further into the room and she was finally able to see his face.
Her breath caught.
She felt as though the past six years had changed her dramatically, not merely in appearance but her person as well, her character. But those same six years hadn’t changed Roe at all. Nor, sadly had the time altered the affect his appearance had on her.
That square jaw, covered in just enough stubble to give him that devil-may-care attitude, framed his lips. He kept his brown hair short, almost Roman in appearance. His aquiline nose and thickly lashed green eyes completed the picture of his very aristocratic face.
“The boy is here, Your Grace,” the dealer said.
Those green eyes narrowed in on her and she had to fight the urge to reach up and check her hat, ensure her hair was still well hidden. She had known it was a risk to play at this particular gaming hell, knowing she could very well run into either Roe or his half-brother Justin, who was the namesake and owner of Rodale’s. But it was the only gaming hell Millie would even consider allowing Caroline play in. She’d had to beg the woman not to alert Justin.
Boomer nudged her under the table. They’d developed a secret code so that people wouldn’t know he was here to protect her. She scratched her cheek, letting him know all was well and she didn’t need to leave. She would stay right where she was and play Roe. She could beat him.
Then may
be he’d notice her.
No, that wasn’t the reason she was here. She didn’t need him to notice her, she reminded herself. Despite the wounded pride of the girl she’d been, she was an adult now. Soon, she wouldn’t need his protection, or his money, either.
She also enjoyed the playing, she couldn’t deny that. And damned if things hadn’t gotten bloody boring in the country. She knew she could have come to London at any time and had Millie re-introduce her into Society so that Caroline could find herself a husband. But she wasn’t about to traipse around London in pretty dresses and pretend she was searching for a husband when all she wanted to do was play cards and be dependent upon herself and no one else. She was here to win. Those monies would go a long way in restoring her family’s townhome so she could finally live on her own.
Roe stepped over to the table. Cabot still stood, and Finley also came to his feet. They looked ready to bolt. “Sit, I won’t bite. I merely want a friendly game.” He took a seat and laid his monies on the table.
He looked over at Caroline, but she kept her head down, trying to hide much of her face under her cap. He was looking at her too intently, studying her. But it had been years since he’d seen her. She’d grown and her face had changed somewhat, as most people’s did when they aged from youth to full adulthood. With the current disguise, there was no way he’d recognize her. Still, the thought niggled in the back of her mind: What if? What would happen if he called her out, told everyone here she was a woman?
His eyes narrowed. “What’s your name, boy?” Roe asked.
“Grey,” Caroline said after clearing her throat. She spoke softly and did her best to lower her voice so that she appeared to be somewhat masculine. She looked up at Cabot and Finley and nodded, encouraging them to stay. She’d feel more comfortable if they were here. Especially if Roe and Cabot had some sort of previous relationship, perhaps it would take the onus off her.
“Well, then, Grey,” Roe said. “I’m told you’re quite talented at this game. I came to see for myself. You may call me Roe.”