Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(27)

He spread the cards again. “Choose your three, milady.”

She raised a brow and he laughed, spreading his hands wide. “Such mistrust!”

“Whyever would I think you were planning to fleece me?”

He put a hand to his chest and feigned affront. “Like an arrow in me heart.”

He was absolutely planning to fleece her, but Hattie hadn’t grown up around sailors for nothing, and she had plans of her own. She reached down and slid three cards from the spread, leaving them facedown on the table. The gamer collected the rest of the deck, setting it to one side, lifting the card from the top of the pile with a wide smile. “Nothing below board.”

It was all below board, but Hattie was willing to follow.

Using the card he’d selected as a tool, he flipped the three Hattie had chosen: the three of spades, the eight of clubs, and then . . . the queen of hearts. He raised wide eyes to her. “Well, the lady chose you, it seems.”

Hattie inclined her head. “And what do I receive for such a favor?”

That smile again. “The chance to play your luck, of course.”

“How much?”

“Sixpence.” It was an exorbitant amount—enough to prove to Hattie that he thought he had her.

And so she let him, digging into her pocket and pulling out the coin in question. She set it on the table. “And if my luck holds?”

“Why then I double it, of course!”

“Of course,” she said. This man didn’t lose. His entire livelihood was made here, on the edge of the market square, fleecing those who thought themselves above him. “What now?”

“It’s no trouble.” He smiled, turning the three cards over, returning their faces to the table. The queen’s card was curved more than the others, domed to the table. “Where’s the lady?”

Hattie pointed to the queen. He flipped the card, revealing her, then flipped her again. “Yer already a natural,” he said with a wink. “That’s all it is . . . watch the lady.”

And then he began to move the cards, tossing them over and under each other, in broad arching throws at the start, so Hattie could follow the queen, then faster and faster, until the cards were moving in a near blur. A novice would be following the cards on the table, of course, watching carefully, tracking the queen.

Hattie wasn’t a novice.

When the man stopped, the cards finally settled into another line of three, he turned his wide face up to Hattie and said, “Find the lady, lady.”

Hattie reached into her pocket and extracted a gold crown—more money than this broad-tosser would make in a week here at the market. “Shall we sweeten the deal?”

Greed flashed. “I’m listening.”

“If I lose, it’s yours.”

Then triumph.

“But if I find the lady . . . you tell me where I can find the Beast.”

Surprise, then doubt, as though he perhaps shouldn’t make the deal. But arrogance won out, as it so often did with men. To deny the offer was to admit he might lose.

He did not realize that Hattie played a much bigger game.

“A’right, lady. Ye drive a hard bargain.” He waved a hand over the table. “Where’s the queen?”

He expected her to choose the middle card. It was the card any good mark would have chosen if they’d been watching the cards on the table, not to mention having the domed middle they would be looking for. But Hattie hadn’t been watching the cards on the table. She’d been watching the ones in his hand.

She put a finger on the card to the left.

That broad smile again. “Let’s see, shall we?” He picked up the card furthest to the right and with it, flipped the card in the middle, revealing the three of spades—the card he would have let her turn over herself if she’d chosen it. “One step closer.”

But he was prepared. He would ask her to move and let him flip the card for her, and in the process, he’d perform the same sleight of hand that had put the queen on the table in the first place. He waved his hand to indicate she should move away.

Instead of moving, she turned the card herself, revealing the queen.

His eyes flew to hers.

“It seems the lady did choose me, after all,” she said. She lifted the crown from the table, returning it to her pocket. “According to our deal, you owe me. Sixpence and some information.”

His eyes narrowed to slits as he reconsidered her, seeing beyond the bonnet and shawl that had quickly labeled her a novice. “Yer a ringer. ’At’s a cheat, that is.”

“Nonsense,” Hattie said calmly. “I merely evened the odds. And if anything’s a cheat, it’s the fact that you were going to perform a buccaneer’s turnover and switch my queen for the eight of clubs in your hand.”

The man scowled and collected the cards in a smooth motion, quickly disappearing any hint of impropriety. “I don’ deal wi’ ringers.”

“Please don’t be disappointed,” Hattie said. “I’ve never seen a better tosser. But fair is fair, and we did make a bet.”

“Aye, but ya didn’t play fair.” He slid the deck of cards into his pocket and stood, revealing his small frame—at least six inches shorter than her own, and reed-thin. Still, he had no trouble lifting the tabletop and tucking it under his arm. “No deal.”