The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(49)

"Speaking of pricks," one gentleman muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

A sprinkle of laughter filled the room, led by Travers himself.

He won the next two rounds, much to Willie's annoyance. She tossed her cards into the middle of the table and sat back in the chair, arms folded over her chest. She was down to her last five shillings.

"Your friend doesn't like to lose," Travers said in my ear.

I swayed away from him. "I'm quite sure nobody likes to lose."

Willie's flinty glare slid toward him. She hunched over the table and scooped her coins toward her like a protective mother cat. Lord Travers chuckled. His fingers skimmed my shoulder up to the bare skin above my collar. I shivered and recoiled.

"Would you care for a drink, ladies?" asked the blue-eyed gentleman who'd suddenly appeared between Willie and me. He addressed me, but his hard gaze fell upon Travers at my other side. "Why not join me in the refreshments room, miss? All this poker is making my head spin."

"Thank you." I put out my hand. "I think I will."

He led me away from the table. Willie didn't seem to notice that I'd left, and even Travers didn't seem to care all that much. He simply returned his monocle to his eye and studied the new hand he'd been dealt.

The gentleman steered me to the adjoining room where sandwiches and little cakes were set out on the table. A long white tablecloth edged with lace draped to the lushly carpeted floor. Decanters and glasses stood ready on a sideboard, their crystal facets glinting in the candlelight cast by the overhead chandelier.

"Brandy?" he asked. "Wine? Sherry?"

"Brandy. Thank you for your gallant rescue, sir. I appreciate it."

He smiled at me over his shoulder. Although he wasn't a strikingly handsome man, he had a friendly smile and clear blue eyes. I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, going by the lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes and stretching across his forehead. "I'm at your service. Miss Steele, was it?"

I nodded and joined him at the sideboard.

"My name is Dorchester." He poured two brandies from a decanter and handed one of the tumblers to me. "To your health, Miss Steele."

I sipped and eyed him over the rim of the glass. "Have you learned anything tonight, Mr. Dorchester?"

"I've learned not to play poker with Lord Travers."

"He does seem to win a lot." And have roaming hands.

"Your friend is an interesting character. Did I catch an accent?"

"Willie's American."

He made a face.

"You don't like Americans?" I asked.

"I've only met two, and they were somewhat brash, boastful fellows. They lacked polish and sophistication, if you know what I mean."

I simply smiled. While Willie and Duke certainly fit that description, Mr. Glass didn't, and I wasn't yet sure what to make of Cyclops. "What brings you to this gambling house?"

"Gambling." He grinned. "I'd heard about this new game of poker and decided to see what it was all about. I admit that I enjoy the thrill of winning, but I'm cautious too. I never wager more than I can afford to lose."

"Hence the evening spent observing rather than participating?"

"Indeed. And you, Miss Steele? Are you planning on returning to try your hand at poker another night?"

"I don't gamble." I had nothing to wager with, but even then I couldn't see the appeal.

"Perhaps you'll simply come and keep your American friend company again. It would make the evening more interesting if you were here." He smiled again.

Heat crept up my face. I sipped to hide it. "Are you from London, Mr. Dorchester?"

He shook his head. "I studied here in my youth, but reside in Manchester. I'm in manufacturing."

"Oh? Your accent sounds pure London to me." And upper class at that.

"So I've been told. I must have picked it up years ago." He sipped. "So tell me how a nice English girl winds up at a gambling den with an American woman who dresses like a man."

I laughed. "It's a long story."

"I have all night."

"Don't you want to return to the poker table?"

"Not when there is a more interesting option." Those lovely blue eyes fixed on me, and my face flamed.

I searched for something to say, but could only smile pathetically and sip my brandy. I was saved from responding by two men who joined us at the sideboard. They sported the cocky swagger of youth dipped in privilege and money. One poured drinks and the other, more portly fellow, helped himself to the cakes. The one with the drinks leaned back against the sideboard and downed the contents of one of the glasses.

"What's your name?" he asked me.

"Miss Steele," I said.

His pale gray gaze slipped over me, lingering on my chest, my throat, my mouth. His top lip curled into an indolent smile. "I'll double whatever he's paying," he said with a jerk of his head at Mr. Dorchester.

I blinked. "Pardon?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't pretend innocence, Miss Steele. It's not going to earn you anything more with us."

Us? I glanced at his companion. He sneered, but thanks to the dusting of sugar on his lips, it didn't seem quite as sinister as his friend's. Even so, I knew what these men wanted and what they thought I was selling. I backed away.