My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(30)

Of course, if their father were still alive, Philip probably wouldn’t have fallen into such rakish behavior. The duke had been a patient man, tolerating a fair amount of youthful hell--raising, but only to a point. He wanted his sons to be strong, honorable men, and he would have put a stop to Philip’s gambling before it became ruinous—-something Jack had failed to do. “Philip hardly views me with such respect.”

She met his gaze head--on for a moment, then gathered up the cards. “Perhaps we should start with something simpler.” She dealt again, tossing a pair of cards in front of him. “Vingt--un.”

“What will I win?” he asked softly.

“Not me,” was her swift retort.

Jack grinned again. “How about . . .” He paused, thinking. “Music.”

She jerked. “What?”

“A song on the pianoforte.”

“It’s horribly out of tune,” she protested.

He made a dismissive gesture. He’d seen the way her eyes devoured the instrument. Music meant something to her. Even her protest hummed with longing. He said nothing, just waited.

Her gaze dropped to her cards. She reordered them in her hand. “Your ears will regret it,” she warned at last, “but if you insist, so be it.”

“I accept the risk.”

“Then you’d better pay attention and win,” she said tartly.

They played for an hour. Jack had agreed to the game only as a means to learn more about her, but he found himself drawn in. He already knew vingt--un, of course; he’d played it years ago, whiling away time when forced to attend balls at his mother’s instigation. Back then he’d been relatively adept at it, and even years out of practice, he fell back into a reasonable rhythm with the game. Within minutes, though, he realized Mrs. Campbell was far, far better at it than he’d ever dreamed of being. She smiled and spoke as easily, even as pertly, as ever, but her eyes noted every play. The way her fingers touched the cards was sensual. The way she tilted her head and smiled when asking if he wanted another card was distracting—-purposely so, he was sure. And her knack with the game was uncanny. After a time he realized she had to be keeping a tally in her head of all the cards played, increasing her chances of winning.

In short, she played like a professional.

Could that be? Jack tried to keep his attention on the game enough to avoid humiliation even as questions about the woman opposite him sprouted by the dozens in his mind. It would explain how she trounced Philip, who was—-as she had said—-utterly reckless when gaming. Jack had believed his brother was mostly distracted by her splendid bosom, but now thought there might be more to it than that.

Of course, if she really were as skilled as the men who supported themselves at the tables, why hadn’t she beggared Philip yet? She certainly could have. Perhaps it was out of some regard for his brother, but after some thought, Jack got the idea that she wanted to win, but never too large an amount. That would explain her horror at his actions and her angry charge that he was making a spectacle of her. She was a regular at Vega’s, everyone knew her and gambled with her, but she did not crave attention. Winning huge sums night after night would make her infamous.

That still didn’t explain everything. Jack hadn’t kept close track of how much he lost to her at Vega’s, but it had been a substantial sum, more than enough to keep a widowed lady in comfort for a year. She said she lost on occasion, but Jack was willing to bet she won significantly more often. Even now, with no money at stake, an intent focus had come over her face. She wanted to win, always.

Debts? Perhaps her husband had left her badly off. Who had her husband been, anyway? Why hadn’t he left her better provided for? She must have married as a girl to be widowed so young. Perhaps she frittered money away and had no sense for keeping it. He frowned slightly at that thought; it didn’t fit, somehow. She was too aware of everything. What would she be like, he wondered, if she ever let down her guard completely?

It was his distraction that saved him. Too busy thinking of why she needed money, and how he might get around her defenses to learn the reason, he declined another card when he meant to accept it. Smiling slightly, she flipped it over into her own hand—-only to blink at it in patent surprise. The six of clubs had put her over twenty--one, ruining her hand.

Jack looked at his own hand, a fourteen, and let out a shout of triumph.

“How—-” She turned over the last few cards in the deck. Every one was a four or smaller, and all would have beaten his hand if she’d drawn them. She mustered a smile. She had made a mistake. “Well played, sir.”

“It should have been your hand,” he said, feeling magnanimous in his unexpected victory.

She smiled as she gathered the cards. “No, no! Absent cheating, any win is fair.”

He believed that. This woman played to win, but she lost with dignity and grace.

“I suppose I shall have to take credit for being an excellent teacher, to have been bested within an hour. Shall I play for you now, or later?” She set the cards aside and faced him, smiling as easily as if they were old friends.

Jack had the most terrible desire to kiss her. In a housemaid’s dress, dealing cards like a seasoned gambler, she still managed to sparkle. He hadn’t had such a pleasurable morning in years, even with the questions battering at the back of his brain. She was a riddle, a delicious, beautiful mystery, and he was shocked by how mesmerizing he found her. He could easily spend the rest of the day—-the rest of the week—-trying to puzzle out her secrets, especially the secret of how to make her smile at him in truth.