Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(96)

“Thank you, kind sir.” Sara set down the paper and reached over to toy with one of the large soapy feet propped on the porcelain rim of the tub. She wriggled his big toe playfully. “What about the part that says you’re reformed?”

“I’m not. I still do everything I used to do…except now only with you.”

“And quite impressively,” she replied, her tone demure.

He liked that, she could see. His green eyes gleamed, and he drew his foot down into the bath. “The water’s still hot,” he said, making inviting swirls with his hands.

Sara smiled and shook her head. “No.”

He slid lower into the water, watching her steadily. “I need help with my bath. There’s a spot I can’t reach.”

“Where?”

“Come in here and I’ll show you.”

Unable to resist his roguish appeal, Sara relented. Standing up from the chair, she dropped her robe and night rail to the wet tiles and blushed under his interested gaze. Carefully she stepped into the tub. Derek reached up to help her and lowered her gently into the warm water. She shivered at the feel of him beneath her, slippery and strong, his muscled arms and legs wrapping around her. His black hair gleamed like the pelt of a wet seal.

“Where is the soap?” she asked, brushing a clot of foam away from his jaw.

“I dropped it,” he said regretfully, and drew her hand down into the cloudy water. “You’ll have to find it.”

She giggled and splashed him. Puddles of water collected on the floor of the bathing room as they played. Linking her dripping arms around his neck, she pressed a wet kiss to his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t find the soap,” she whispered, her body drifting buoyantly against his.

“Keep looking,” he encouraged throatily, and sought her mouth for another kiss.

In his private moments Derek acknowledged to himself that all Lily had ever claimed about marriage was true. The sheer convenience of it was stunning. His wife was always close at hand, her small presence gracing his home, her hand on his arm when they appeared in public, the lingering scent of her perfume haunting him sweetly when they were apart. He knew it would be impossible ever to tire of her, for she was as vital to him as the very air he breathed. And yet he felt himself to be an imposter with every husbandly kiss he placed on her forehead. It was as if he had been given a handsome suit of clothes that didn’t quite fit. He found himself studying Sara intently, waiting for the clues that he had made mistakes. He wasn’t fool enough to think he was behaving the way most husbands did—whatever that was. But she gave him precious little guidance, and he was left to walk blindly along a steep and unfamiliar path.

Frequently Derek felt a deep sense of unease, as if some invisible, monumental debt were being accumulated in his name. There was also the occasional bite of resentment when he realized she had become the source of all pleasure to him, all comfort and peace. She was the first human being he had ever needed. He had lost his freedom in a way he had never imagined possible, bound more securely by her love than by a mile’s length of iron chains.

Missing Derek’s presence in bed, Sara crept downstairs in the early hours of the morning and found him alone in the central gaming room. It was eerily quiet and cavernous without the usual crowd of patrons and employees. Derek was at Worthy’s corner desk with several decks of cards aligned carefully across the polished surface. Sensing her presence, he glanced over his shoulder with a noncommittal grunt.

“What are you doing?” Sara asked with a yawn, curling into a nearby chair.

“Worthy suspects one of my dealers is cheating. I wanted to look at the cards he was using tonight, just to be certain.” Derek’s mouth twisted with displeasure as he indicated one of the shallow stacks. “That’s a marked deck if I’ve ever seen one.”

Sara was perplexed. She had seen all the elaborate rituals at the tables, the ceremonious openings of fresh boxes of cards. “How could any of the dealers mark the cards? There’s no time or opportunity…is there?”

Derek picked up a new deck, shuffling so expertly that the cards were nothing but a blur. He dealt a hand to her, facedown. “Tell me which is the queen.”

Sara squinted at the backs of the cards. “I can’t. They’re all the same.”

“No, they’re not. I just marked the queen.” Derek picked up the card and showed her the tiny, nearly indistinguishable notch he had made with his thumbnail on the edge of the card. “There are other ways of marking. I could use ink on the tip of my finger to leave smudges. I could bend them just a little. Or keep a bit of glass-work up my sleeve.”

“A mirror?” she asked.

He nodded, continuing to toy with the cards. “If a deck has been professionally marked, you can tell by riffling the deck and watching the backs. Any line work or blockouts will jump out.” The cards seemed to come to life in his hands as he shuffled once more. “Here’s how to stack the deck…but the motion has to be smooth. It takes practice in front of a mirror.” The cards were a flowing stream in his hands. He held them tenderly, his long fingers manipulating and flexing until the deck formed a bridge, a waterfall, a snapping fan.

Sara watched in awe. As agile as the dealers in the club were, she had never seen any of them handle cards with such ease. That, coupled with his extraordinary mind for numbers, would make him an invincible opponent. “Why don’t you ever play?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you in a casual game with Lord Raiford or your other friends. Is it because you know you would always win?”