Patricia Rice Read Free Page A

port in the cabinet didn’t
dwindle as fast, all excellent reasons to develop her talents.
    Now that she was eighteen and more aware of society’s
strictures, she knew what she was doing was wrong. The quick glance at another
player’s hand, the warning signal indicating the wrong card to be played, the
sudden smile to tip off a right card, all the innocuous strategies she had
learned over the years would be considered cheating in the eyes of men like the
Earl of Merrick. When her father had died last year, she had thought they’d
ended. Duncan had disabused her of the notion.
    Not wishing to entertain dismal thoughts of her brother’s
selfish pursuits, Cassandra contemplated the room outside the alcove. Most of
the men were familiar to her, though few were of the class of gentlemen.
Occasionally a band of young swells would invade, or a lone gambler bent on
destruction like her brother, but this particular den of iniquity had an
unsavory reputation.
    She generally moved with impunity through these hells,
protected by her father’s rank and reputation and a certain camaraderie of
acquaintance. Lately she had become less sure of herself. Gamblers were always
inclined to testiness when losing or overt jocularity when winning, but their
treatment of her had changed of late. Whereas before they might have tweaked
her hair or cuffed her ear, now they tended to pull her onto their laps or give
her sloppy kisses or worse. She laughed it off as she always had, but she no
longer laughed inside. Had she given herself time to think of it, she would
have been afraid.
    Her attention caught on the appearance of a tall man at the
door. The way he walked seemed familiar, although his beaver hat and long cloak
disguised him from this distance. He wielded the walking stick in his hand more
like a weapon than an ornament, and he wended his way through the smoky, stale
fog with less than assurance. His stiff reaction to someone’s jostling brought
sudden recognition, and Cassandra smiled. Here was entertainment for the
evening, indeed.
    Duncan scarcely noticed as she slipped through the curtains
into the room beyond. The emerald velvet of the gown she wore tonight was less
daring than her primrose ball gown, but in these surroundings it caused heads to
turn. Any hand daring to reach for her met with her iciest stare.
    Fortunately, none were daring this night. A prizefight
outside the city had drawn the crowds away, leaving only the most inveterate
card and dice players at the tables. Even so, Cassandra could hear the comments
on the fight and its potential outcome from every corner of the room. These
were diehard gamblers willing to bet on every activity in the country,
including the date of their grandmother’s death if necessary.
    She lifted a hand to one of Duncan’s friends calling to her
for advice as to which way to place his bet. She rotated her wrist in a gesture
of a wheel to indicate her preference for “Millstone” Wright. A hoot of
disbelief rose from onlookers who favored his opponent, but a number of wagers
were hastily laid on the basis of the lady’s suggestion.
    The odds went up against Millstone’s opponent. Cassandra
smiled and looked toward the fat man tending the ale keg. He made an approving
gesture with thumb and forefinger. The wager Duncan had made earlier just went
up another point in his favor. He had assured her Millstone was a certain
loser.
    Without any seeming effort on her part, she floated to a
halt just behind the out-of-place gentleman in top hat and cloak. “Looking for
someone, my lord?” she whispered suggestively.
    Lord Merrick swung around and lift an eyebrow in disbelief. “Cassandra?
What the d...” He stopped and rephrased. “What are you doing here?”
    “I think the question is more of your presence than mine, my
lord. As you can see, you’re the stranger here, not I.” She lifted another hand
in greeting at a salute from the nearest table.
    Apparently horrified at finding her