My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(9)

She made herself laugh lightly, aware of Mr. Carter at her other side. “What else?” Before he could answer, she turned to the table. “Seven,” she announced, tossing the dice.

Hazard was a game of chance. A player called his main, from five to nine, and then rolled the dice. If the sum of his roll equaled his main, he had nicked it, and won the pot. If he rolled a two or three, he had thrown out, and lost. The rules got complicated beyond that, with rolls of eleven or twelve being generally losing turns, but often a player had an opportunity to roll again and again, until he lost three in succession and was forced to yield the dice.

It took her three throws to win. Lord Philip applauded. “A fine start!” He always lost so easily, as if he didn’t care about the money, and he quickly racked up two losses in two rolls. A flash of pique crossed his face but only for a moment. He took up the dice and rattled them for several seconds in his palm.

Years ago at Mrs. Upton’s, Sophie had figured the odds in hazard, burning her candle to a stub as she filled the back of her mathematics primer with calculations. After the headmistress’s stern words, she never dared gamble with other girls at the academy, but the boys in the stables were another matter. She’d learned many card games from her father, but in the stables she learned dicing as well. She knew the odds of every play and throw. She learned when to be cautious and when to risk it all, and thus far she had employed these tactics splendidly—-to whit, a saved sum of four thousand pounds, amassed slowly and painstakingly over three years in London, thanks mainly to the Vega Club.

Still, hazard was a fool’s game . . . except against Lord Philip.

He never calculated anything. If he rolled too high in one turn, he called a higher main; if he rolled too low, he called a lower one. He would improve his lot considerably if he simply played the odds, as Sophie always did. She didn’t like taking advantage of him, but tonight she was a little annoyed he had broken up her game with Mr. Carter. If she won a good sum, he’d leave her be. Some nights people practically insisted she take their money.

Giving her a sly smile, Philip rolled again and didn’t lose. His eyes grew bright with triumph, even though he hadn’t won yet. He dropped another marker onto his stake and played again.

A small crowd gathered around them, with whispered side bets flying around behind her. Sophie kept her demeanor poised and easy, watching her opponent’s play. He was on the road to ruin, she thought. It was unfortunate but undeniable. Every toss of the dice exhilarated him too much. He raised his stake every time he didn’t throw out.

In the end, it was a rather impressive eight throws before the fatal nine came. A little cheer went up as Lord Philip put back his head and groaned. He scooped up the markers and presented them to her. “Play another with me.”

“You shouldn’t,” she tried to say, feeling a twinge of conscience, but he leaned closer and winked.

“One more? Be sporting.”

She hesitated. Philip would probably remain here all night, from the looks of things. If she didn’t win his money, someone else would. Perhaps after another round she could persuade him to try something less ruinous. “I’ll play one more—-but only one more . . .”

“She’ll win one more, she means,” said someone nearby, to laughter.

Lord Philip shot the fellow a peeved look as he collected the dice. “If I must lose, at least I’m losing to the most beautiful woman in London.” He offered her the dice with an extravagant bow, ever the flirt.

Sophie also knew how to play to the crowd. This time she kissed the dice before she rolled them, and this time she nicked it—-winning on the first roll, earning a huzzah from the crowd. She offered the dice to Philip. “Your cast, my lord.”

His eyes were fixed on her in unblinking fascination, his lips slightly parted in awe. “Kiss them for me,” he said, his voice dropping a register. “For luck.”

From the corner of her eye, Sophie could see Giles Carter watching, expressionless. Drat. Philip was becoming a problem; she would have to start actively avoiding him. “Since you are in dire need of it . . .” She blew a kiss toward the dice. “Bonne chance, my lord.”

“Stop this instant!”





Chapter 3




The hard, flat words cut through the air like a sword, startling Sophie so she nearly dropped the dice. Lord Philip released her as if burned, thrusting his hand behind his back. “Wait,” he said, suddenly sounding young and nervous. “I can explain—-”

“Stop, damn you,” repeated the man who had interrupted, still hidden from her view by the crowd. He was furious. Good Lord, was there about to be a duel over the hazard table? Sophie sent a wary glance at Giles Carter; what should she do?

Mr. Carter stepped forward as the onlookers parted to allow the newcomer through. Comforted to have someone supporting her—-Philip had retreated another step and wore a tense, uneasy expression—-she stared with interest at the newcomer. Something about his face was familiar, and when Sophie glanced again at Lord Philip, she realized the two must be related.

Of course. Her shoulders relaxed. Philip had mentioned him. This was the duke, the dour elder brother who controlled Philip’s allowance and scolded him for losing at the gambling tables. Philip had called him boring and dried--up, and said he spent all his days reading ledgers, and Sophie discovered she had unconsciously formed an image of the brother as far older and far less attractive.