CHAPTER15
The game was vingt-et-un.
The dealer was Wolf Sutton.
And those were two very bad facts for the Marquess of Granville, who, in the turn of a few cards, was going to lose his tremendous Derbyshire estate. And from the look of him—pale, fidgeting, his fingers tapping on the table in a rhythm of worry only he could hear—the marquess knew it as well.
What he did not know, and what he could not know, was that his very presence this evening was part of an elaborate spider’s web which had been lovingly spun, all with the intention of catching his wretched arse within it.
In this instance, Wolf was the spider.
Granville was the fly.
And Wolf was about to attack.
Luring the Marquess of Granville to The Sinner’s Palace II had been easier than Wolf had supposed. Fortunately, the new, fashionable gaming club in a part of London nobs deemed more acceptable to their lofty sensibilities was open. Also fortunately, many of Wolf’s siblings had established connections in the ton. Viscount Lindsey, who had married Wolf’s sister Pen, had proven an immeasurable boon when he had offered his patronage. He had also been certain to laude the glories of the diversions being offered there quite vociferously in the presence of the marquess. The next day, an exclusive invitation had been delivered to Granville’s town house.
But prior to that invitation’s issuance, Archer Tierney had sought out his half brother for a meeting. As planned, he had informed Granville that he was in possession of his vowels and that he intended to call them in. For a princely sum, to be offered within one sennight, Tierney would surrender them.
Granville’s desperation, coupled with Lindsey’s approval of The Sinner’s Palace II and the invitation to the game of chance, had led to the marquess accepting. The players had been chosen with care. The funds being wagered were immense. A few rounds having been played, the marquess was already heavily in debt. A debt he could not afford, given the massive sums he owed to Tierney.
But fortunately, in addition to being an expert house cracksman, Wolf was also damned adept at cheating at cards. His fingers were fast. No one had ever caught him in the act. Not even any of his brothers, and Jasper had trained them all to thoroughly watch each patron at the tables with a keen eye to making sure none were cheating. Aye, most of his talents were admittedly criminal in nature.
Still, he reasoned that if there were ever a time to engage in his illicit talents, it was now. Portia and her son needed him. And with the help of Tierney, Wolf was going to make damned sure they would have him.
Forever, just as he had promised her. After all, Wolf Sutton was a man of action. Just as he had proven to Portia the day she had first taken his gaming hell by storm. And then later, when she had taken his heart in just the same fashion.
Wolf had arranged the hands well. He had lost intentionally. Allowed some of the players to linger as the wagers grew. But now?
Now, he was going to win.
Wolf had one-and-twenty in the cards before him.
He met the marquess’s gaze, which was the same green as Portia’s and Tierney’s. But flat and cold instead, the whites shot through with blood.
“Another card, my lord?” he asked Granville, knowing full well that the marquess had a hand that totaled twenty.
Granville glanced down at his cards again, clearly calculating the risk.
He had wagered his palatial home, his massive estate. The crown jewel of his unentailed property. All he had remaining.
The marquess shook his head, declining. Containing the surge of violent relief inside himself was almost too much to bear as Wolf maintained his composure and completed the round, flipping over his own cards to reveal the winning hand.
“Christ!” shouted Granville, pounding the table with his fist. “It cannot be. I had twenty! The odds of the dealer making vingt-et-un are nearly impossible.”
With a deadly serious expression, Wolf held the stare of the fuming marquess. “Are you suggesting our establishment does not offer fair games, my lord?”
Granville’s cheeks went ruddy as he no doubt realized the dangers inherent in such an implication. Men were called out, dueled, and died for lesser insults.
“No,” the marquess muttered, shaking his head, before surging abruptly to his feet. “But this cannot be. It simply cannot be.”
“I am afraid it can be, Lord Granville,” he said calmly. “Indeed, it is. The Sinner’s Palace is now in possession of your Derbyshire estate.”
The marquess’s hands opened and closed into fists at his sides. “No, no. I cannot have lost it.”
Wolf clenched his jaw as he nodded to one of the lads to replace him at the table and slipped around the edge to pull abreast of the marquess. “You have, my lord. Just now.”
Granville remained in denial, face red, fists balled tightly as if he intended to strike someone.
Good, thought Wolf. Strike me. Take out your rage on someone your own size, you cowardly vermin.