Dangerous Deceptions (31 page)

“Why, Miss Fitzroy,” said Sophy. “What on earth is the matter?”

“Nothing,” I replied, making sure my voice trembled. “Nothing at all.”

I sat back down. I stared at the table. I heard Olivia clear her throat. She was right. I did not want to be seen as laying it on too thick. Mr. Sandford had very sharp eyes.

I lifted my gaze and made myself smile weakly.

There was an additional flutter from the gathered courtiers as a fresh pack of cards was found and laid in the center of the table. This was accompanied by the rustle of additional notes of all sorts being exchanged.

Mr. Sandford pulled a fat purse from his pocket. Of course there would be money involved. How else would we know when one of us had beaten the other, except by breaking him? With deliberate patience, he stacked its golden guineas on the table. Not pounds, guineas. In the end there were fifty coins making a small fortress in front of Mr. Sandford—my entire year’s salary, and a little bit more.

Sebastian said his family was out of money, and yet he gave me expensive gifts, and now his brother brought out fifty guineas to stake to one game of cards. He looked me in the eye, waiting to see me blanch. I did not. I let my brows arch.

“And that’s what I’m worth?”

“Oh, no, Miss Fitzroy,” Mr. Sandford replied. “I believe you to be priceless. This is simply what I have with me.”

This remark raised a chorus of “ooohs!” and a few sharp laughs from our audience. I smiled and dipped my eyes, as if flattered.

“Miss Pierpont, if you please?” I murmured.

Olivia stepped forward. She’d been holding my purse and gave it over now. Every coin I possessed—the whole of my salary, all my savings, and the money from the jewels I had thus far sold—I stacked it all in front of me. If I was mistaken about how this game would turn, if I had been wrong about Mr. Sandford’s motives or means, I would lose every single penny I possessed in one grand stroke.

“Will you deal, Mr. Sandford?” I asked.

“As you wish.” Mr. Sandford rubbed his hands together, the only nervous gesture I had so far seen him make. I could not help but notice that when he finished, his ring with its polished black stone had been turned toward his palm.

I felt myself relax, just a little.

Mr. Sandford cut the cards, stacking them neatly with his long, spidery fingers. I did nothing about it. I already knew he intended to cheat. His ring gave him away. A polished ring can be used to show the reflection of the cards as they are dealt. This, in combination with such techniques as stacking the deck or dealing from the bottom, can be most effective for controlling the flow of a game. But the mark of a true card sharper, as Monsieur Janvier had informed me, is how carefully the player uses the knowledge he gleans.

I believe I can state without fear of contradiction or exaggeration that in all the games I had participated in since I came to court, I had never sat across from a player so coldly and deliberately calculating as Julius Sandford.

Mr. Sandford cheated carefully, shrewdly, deliberately, and only as much as necessary. He never let himself win too much or too many hands in a row. Sometimes he’d arrange a strong run of luck for himself, taking me down to my last two coins, before reversing the play and letting me win, and then he’d double my winnings.

I had been prepared for someone like Lady Bristol—one of those prisoners of the tables who gambled obsessively. Such prisoners became careless during the course of a game. They got wrapped up in the play and forgot to pay attention to the details. Mr. Sandford showed no sign of doing any such thing. Quite the opposite, in fact. With each hand we played, his concentration sharpened.

For my part, I became nervous. I took up my kerchief and dabbed my brow. I constantly rearranged my cards and tapped my fingers on the table edge. I scooted my chair forward. I scooted it backwards. I pressed my knuckle to my lips. I pressed my hand to my stomacher, and rearranged my cards again. Of course, I should have been nervous. I’d been denied my very-probably marked cards, hadn’t I? I had to let Mr. Sandford see I was losing my nerve, so he wouldn’t look for anything else. He did watch me, as closely and carefully as I watched him. That was all right. In fact, everything hinged on my keeping his attention fixed.

My head was aching, and my eyes were tired, but I kept up my fidgeting. The crowd pressed close around us. The smell of warm humanity, wine vapors, and perfume was dizzying. I heard the whispers and sometimes the guffaws. That was heartening. It meant I was putting on a pretty show, and I needed that. But I could not let it distract me, just as I could not let Mr. Sandford’s orchestrated swings of fortune truly unnerve me. How much I won or lost did not matter yet. What mattered was the timing. Timing and keeping count of the cards. That was vital. If I lost count, if I blinked at the wrong moment, if I missed one deal from the bottom of the pack or mistook the results of one careful shuffle, I was done.

Did Mr. Sandford suspect the game I truly played? I couldn’t tell. I had been trained by masters to read the faces and motivations of those I played against, but I had never seen a more perfectly inscrutable human being. Genuine worry crept into me. Mr. Sandford was giving himself a winning streak again, and I was down to three guineas. I met Julius’s blue eyes, and for once, I could read them. His tiny smile told me he meant to play all night. He was in perfect control of himself and the cards. What he was doing now, with his runs and his stacked deck and his reflecting ring, was toy with me.

And that meant only one thing. I had him.

Time to finish this.

My skin prickled, hard and unpleasantly, as if I had just plunged my hand into icy water. Mr. Sandford did not bother to look at the pack he held. He watched me as his long hands shuffled, and shuffled again, and dealt the final hand. I watched each card carefully. I did not have to force the color to my cheeks now. I was too hot. I was exhausted. My head was throbbing, and I felt a runnel of sweat trickle down my temple.

I picked up my cards and fanned them out and looked at them. I ignored the crowd, ignored the whispers, ignored Julius Sandford’s cool gaze. Was I right? Had I missed any pass? Had I counted correctly? I had. I must have.

I pushed all my coins into the center and smiled.

Julius Sandford looked at the coins. The corner of his mouth twitched. Then he matched my bet.

I patted my forehead with my kerchief again. “You’ll take all I have,” I whispered to Mr. Sandford.

“So I will,” he answered, looking me right in the eye. “And keep all you are. How lucky for me.”

There was a rustle about us as more notes changed hands. Matthew pushed himself to the edge of the crowd, making sure he stood right where I and all the Sandfords could see him plainly.

“Peggy,” murmured Olivia, “be sure.”

Sophy Howe smiled and stepped one inch closer to Sebastian. Sebastian was not smiling. He looked as openly frightened as I’d ever seen him.

“You will have no mercy?” I lifted my handkerchief to dab the corner of my eye, well aware that I was imitating Aunt Pierpont.

“Do you deserve mercy?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Julius, finish it,” muttered Sebastian.

The older brother lifted his eyes to the younger. “Is there some hurry, Sebastian?”

Sebastian made no answer, and I wondered at that. I also wondered at the air of complacency emanating from Lord Lynnfield. He was quite content with this display from both his sons. I noticed a bulge in his coat pocket that had not been there before. The old snake had been collecting bets as the game went along.

I pursed my lips; I glanced over the edge of my cards with lowered lids and dabbed again at the corner of my eye with my kerchief. I rearranged my hand. I frowned at it. I pressed my hand against my bosom, and against my stomacher, and rearranged my cards again.

Dear God, please, I must have counted right.

Julius laid his cards down. Two queens stared up at us, accompanied by two jacks, and the ace of spades. “This hand is mine, I believe.”

“But . . .” I stammered. “But . . .”

I laid down my hand. Two queens stared up at us, accompanied by two jacks, and the ten of spades.

The whole of the crowd gasped. There was applause. There was laughter. Mr. Sandford pushed his chair back. “And there it is, Miss Fitzroy. You’re mine.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Sebastian cursed. Sophy laughed. Even over the rest of the exclamations, applause, shouts, and curses, that laugh was unmistakable. I did not move. I could not move. Nor could I take my eyes from Mr. Sandford.

“Oh! But wait a moment!” cried Olivia.

The din faded. Julius straightened up in his seat at the exact moment Olivia bent down and reached under the table.

“Mr. Sandford, you seem to have dropped one of your cards,” she said, quite clearly despite the awkwardness of her position. “It’s under your shoe, here.”

My cousin stood up again and laid the two of clubs down on the tabletop, right next to Mr. Sandford’s discarded hand.

“You must have dealt yourself an extra card by mistake,” Olivia said with an air of perfect innocence. “Perhaps it was that ace?”

I met Julius Sandford’s gaze. I dared him with my own.
Deny it, please deny it. Make the whole court suspect you had to cheat in order not to lose to a woman.

A man might cheat at cards, but he could never be seen to do so. It was all about appearances. Sophy, I noted, had stopped laughing. Myself, I seemed to have stopped breathing.

Julius Sandford’s cool gaze traveled from me, to Olivia, to his brother and father, and across the crowd of courtiers and royalty.

“She’s right.” He pushed his chair back. “It was my mistake. The game is yours, Miss Fitzroy.”

Had the room been loud before? It was nothing compared to the roar that shook the walls now. People cried out, or laughed, or shouted, or began to challenge one another. I did the only thing I could think of. I rose from my seat and turned to face the direction of Their Royal Highnesses. In the manner of the leading lady in a drama, I gave them my grandest, most sweeping curtsy.

That was the last moment I had to myself for a very long time. The court descended from all sides, all of them talking at once and vying to praise, flatter, and congratulate me. I would have been hard-pressed to draw breath if Matthew and Olivia hadn’t remained staunchly at my side, helping deflect at least some of the crush. I did catch a glimpse of Molly Lepell between the shoulders of the assorted grandees. My friend saluted me with her fan, and I saw she stood not just with Mary Bellenden, but Mrs. Howard.

I did not see Sophy or Sebastian in the crowd, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter, not now. I was giddy with relief. I’d done it. I’d actually done it! So great was my sense of triumph that I didn’t bat an eye when I turned to take another hand and found it belonged to Julius Sandford.

“May I congratulate you on a game well played, Miss Fitzroy?” Mr. Sandford bowed. “That final hand was . . . inspired.”

I nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment.

“I don’t have your contract with me, of course,” he went on. “I’ll see that it’s sent around tomorrow.”

“I would have thought that would be your father’s chore.” The crowd had at last begun to thin. As I quickly scanned the shifting knots of people, I saw that Lord Lynnfield was nowhere in evidence. Neither was Sebastian.

Disquiet tapped lightly against my thoughts.

Julius shrugged. “I can’t see that it would matter to you. You’ve gotten what you want.”

He gave me no time to reply, neither did he bow. He simply turned and shouldered his way through the silken crowd, heading for the door. Disquiet tapped again, demanding attention. But Olivia’s presence was more forceful than my internal feeling.

“You were magnificent!” My cousin seized my hands and crowed, “Simply magnificent! Wasn’t she, Matthew?”

“She always is,” he answered. “But I’m glad it’s over.”

I wished I could lean against him and bury my face against his shoulder and in general fall to pieces from relief. As it was, I had to settle for the smallest of smiles and the lightest of whispers. “Oh, so am I.”

“You wish it were over,” muttered Olivia. “But the Sandfords are still what they are, and that Sophy Howe is still after you.”

I waved her assessment away. “Mr. Walpole can deal with the Sandfords as he sees fit,” I said. Mr. Walpole had been the recipient of several of my recent letters. “What’s important now is that the contract is broken, no matter where the paper is.”

Despite this, I knew Olivia was right. She only mistook which players still had to be met.
Your father will be coming for you soon, cousin,
I thought,
and I’m going to have to blackmail him to save you all. And Mr. Tinderflint will be back any day now, and I must deal with him, and bid any hope of finding my own wayward father farewell in the process.

A wave of weariness tumbled over me, washing away my triumphs and threatening the last of my strength. But I called on my training and kept smiling.

Gradually, the bids for my notice faded away. Her Royal Highness declared she was tired, and we were all permitted to depart. I knew from the glances that Molly and Mary gave me that I would be called upon to give a full account of exactly what I’d done to secure so public and thrilling a victory. I wondered what I would tell them.

But that, like the rest of my worries, was a matter for later. For the present, I would walk Olivia and Matthew to the gate. Afterward, I would take myself to bed as soon as humanly possible.

We three crossed the Color Court, with Olivia on Matthew’s left arm and me on his right. The night was chill and smelled heavily of frost and more rain. We had the place nearly to ourselves. The rest of the court had packed themselves up almost an hour ago. That suited me well enough. I was done with being witty. The night had left me drained and empty. I wanted to see my friends on their way and find my bed. I would sleep for a week, waiting or no waiting.