Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(39)

He grinned and gestured to a wine bottle poised on one of the card tables. “Let’s drink to that.” He filled a glass and handed it to her. He lifted the bottle to his lips and swigged the rare vintage with a carelessness that would have caused a Frenchman to cry. “Fine stuff, I s’pose,” he commented. “All the same to me, though.”

Sara tilted her head back and closed her eyes, rolling the exquisite flavor in her mouth. “Nothing but the best for Mr. Craven,” she said.

“Pompous bastard, our Crawen. Though I newer likes to insult a man while drinking ’is stock.”

“That’s quite all right,” Sara assured him. “Insult him all you like.”

The stranger surveyed her with frank appreciation. “A pretty piece, you are. Did Crawen break it off with you, then?”

Sara’s bruised vanity was soothed by his admiring gaze. “There’s nothing to break off,” she admitted, lifting the wine to her lips. “Mr. Craven doesn’t want me.”

“The bloody fool,” the stranger exclaimed, and smiled invitingly. “Come with me, my little tibby, an’ I’ll make you forget all about ’im.”

Sara laughed and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s my beat-up mug, aye?” He rubbed his battered face regretfully. “I been sent to dorse too many times.”

Realizing he thought she was rejecting him because he wasn’t handsome, Sara interrupted hastily. “Oh, no, it’s not that. I’m certain many women would find you appealing, and…did you say ‘sent to dorse’? Isn’t that a pugilist’s term? Were you once a boxer?”

Looking self-important, he stuck his chest out an extra inch. “Ewen now, I could beat any bruiser to the punch. They filled the stands to watch me in a set-to…Sussex, Newmarket, Lancashire…” Proudly he pointed to his nose. “Broke three times. Near ewery bone in my bloody face ’as been broke. Once I almost ’ad my brains knocked out.”

“How fascinating,” Sara exclaimed. “I’ve never met a fighter. I’ve never even been to a prizefight.”

“I’ll take you to one.” He jabbed the air with his fists in a couple of combinations. “Nothing like a good match, ’specially when they spill the claret.” Seeing that she didn’t understand the term, he explained with a grin. “Blood.”

Sara shivered with distaste. “I don’t like the sight of blood.”

“That’s what makes it exciting. Me, I used to fill buckets durin’ a set-to. One back’ander, and ffshhh…” He mimicked a spray of blood coming from his nose. “They pays more when you bleed, too. Aye, fighting made me a rich man.”

“What is your occupation now?”

He winked slyly. “I ’appens to operate an ’azard bank myself, on Bolton Row.”

Sara coughed a little and set the glass down. “You own a gambling club?”

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Ivo Jenner, at your service, m’lady.”

Chapter 6

Sara lifted her mask and stared at him incredulously. The mischievous twinkle in Jenner’s eyes was replaced by surprise as he saw her face. “What a beauty you are,” he muttered.

Suddenly she gave a burst of laughter. “Ivo Jenner? You’re not at all as I imagined you. You’re actually rather charming.”

“Aye, I’ll charm the drawers off you tonight, given ’alf a chance.” He came forward to refill her glass, plying her with a liberal dose of wine.

“You’re a rogue, Mr. Jenner.”

“That I am,” he agreed readily.

Sara ignored the wine and leaned back against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. “I think you would be wise to leave as quickly as possible. Mr. Craven is looking for you. Why did you come here tonight? To make mischief, I assume?”

“Wouldn’t think of it!” He looked wounded at the very idea.

“I’ve heard from the employees that you’re constantly scheming to plant spies here, summoning the police to conduct raids during the busiest times…Why, rumor has it that you even caused a kitchen fire to be started last year!”

“Bloody lies.” His gaze flickered over the half-exposed mounds of her br**sts. “There was no proof I ’ad anyfing to do with it.”

Sara regarded him suspiciously. “Some even suspect you of hiring men to attack Mr. Craven in the rookery and slash his face.”

“No,” he said indignantly. “That wasn’t me. Eweryone knows Crawen’s fancy for ’igh-kick women. It was a woman what did it to ’im.” He snorted. “Pull a cat’s tail, and she’ll scratch. That’s what ’appened to Crawen’s face.” He smiled insolently. “Maybe it was you, aye?”

“It was not me,” Sara said in annoyance. “For one thing, I don’t have a single drop of blue blood—which makes me completely uninteresting to Mr. Craven.”

“I likes you better for it, love.”

“For another thing,” she continued pertly, “I would never dream of slashing a man’s face just because he didn’t want me. And I wouldn’t chase someone who had spurned me. I have more pride than that.”