Sharples dumped them out of the cup and produced a large, bright red handkerchief, shining them up exaggeratedly.
Her heart kicked up, gripped by fear.
“Surely you wouldn’t expect a lady to use the same dice as your usual patrons, no?”
“And what,my lady, do you suggest?” Sharples glared at her.
“Well… I’ve this darling set, so prettily done,” she said, keeping her voice bright, her grin vapid.
“Your own dice?” Sharples scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t—”
“Please, just a moment… I’m sure you’ll find it far too charming to refuse, it’s such a sweet little trinket.”
Never before had she’d been so afraid of failing. She did her best to disguise her shaking hand as she withdrew the gold box from her pocket.
“See? And with the droll little goldfish engraved on the top?” She held the box out and snapped it open. “Why, when I saw it in my jeweler’s shop I knew I must possess it, simply for the delight.”
Sharples stared at the dice within, gleaming gold with diamond pips.
“It wasn’t too expensive,” she said. “Just a silly little ornament.”
She tilted the box, tipping the dice into her hand. She knew Matthew was standing behind her; she dared not look, lest she falter at the sight of him.
She prayed that Sharples’ greed outweighed his good sense. She prayed she’d been correct in her estimation of his character: never content with whatever he held, always wanting more, and willing to do anything to get it.
And, perhaps most importantly, especially vulnerable to the machinations of a beautiful woman.
After what seemed the longest moment of her life, Sharples finally spoke.
“Fine.”
She closed her hand around the dice. Better make this quick, before he reconsidered. Cressida shook them in her hand, appreciating their weight, the coolness of the gold against her palm. And then she called out her main.
“Seven,” she said, more calmly than she felt.
She cast the dice onto the table.
The world seemed to slow as they tumbled. Cressida had spent the better part of the morning practicing with her gaffed dice, but nothing was guaranteed.
A five. And a six.
The room was hushed. Cressida did her best to maintain her naïve, humble façade.
But she was electrified with joy, and she could not help it. She smiled, and smugly raised a brow.
“I believe, Mr. Sharples, I’ve nicked it at eleven. Have I not?”
The room erupted into cheers. All losses for the night were erased. Charles Sharples’ entire head had turned an unhealthy shade of purple, from his bald crown down to his jowls.
Cressida turned around just in time, for Matthew had rushed at her, gathering her up in his arms.
“You did it!” he cried. “How is it possible?”
“Simple,” she said happily. Then she stood up on her toes and whispered in his ear, “I cheated.”
Matthew’s eyes widened.
Mr. Rickard seemed to understand what had passed between them, for he stepped forward and promptly collected the gold dice from the table. He then strode over to Sharples like a man on a mission, and spoke to the swindler in the most menacingly calm voice Cressida had ever heard.
