Chapter Seven
The card room was quite large, which was a good thing, since it appeared that every guest was attempting to cram themselves into it. They failed, of course, but there was more than a little fussing and fidgeting as those who did get inside made sure they could relay information to those who didn’t.
At last, Comte Arnaud DuClos raised his hand for silence. He had taken on the responsibility of acting as host for this scandalous incident, and was fully enjoying the entire episode. After all, he whispered to Max in an aside, he—Arnaud—was French, and therefore unshockable.
“Mesdames et messieurs,” he began. “Ladies and gentlemen. You are all aware of ze wager placed between Monsieur Max Seton-Mowbray and Mademoiselle Kitty of Ridlington.”
There were a few muted chuckles at the oddFrenchifiedturn of phrase.
“I shall now shuffle the card deck.”
There were more hushed whispers as Arnaud suited words to action, under the eagle eye of several Lords, a Duke and a Margrave from somewhere in Europe Max couldn’t pronounce. The riffle of the cardboard was quite clear, even though the room was filled to the point of explosion with people trying to see what was happening.
It was, thought Max, quite a moment, and would probably be written up for several generations to come as one ofthenights of the year.
“J’ai fini. Fait accompli.” He held the deck aloft. “You see, yes?”
Many voices agreed withyes’sandindeed’sand other confirmative phrases.
“Et maintenant…er, and now is ze moment.” Arnaud soldiered bravely on in an awkward mix of French and English. “Should Mademoiselle Kitty of Ridlington draw the high card, she is ze winner.Et siMonsieur Max draws ze…um…zecarte la plus élevée…”
“The highest card, Arnaud.” One of his friends loaned a verbal hand.
“Merci,” he laughed. “Yes. If Monsieur Max’s card is higher, then he will win.” He leaned over to his wife. “What do they win,encore?”
La Comtesse Natalia’s smile betrayed icy charm and a lot of teeth. “Mr. Seton-Mowbray,cheri.”
“Vraiment?” Unaware that his wife might cherish an interest in that direction, Arnaud simply lifted his eyebrows.
“Oui. Truly.”
Arnaud shrugged. “Quelle extraordinare, les anglais.”
It might indeed be extraordinary, but Max found himself wishing Arnaud’s grasp of English was better, and that he’d get on with the damn thing. Besides, the Comtesse’s expression was none too friendly, and getting worse by the minute.
There was no indication in Kitty’s expression if she was wishing that too, but he’d bet a hundred guineas she was at least thinking something very close.
“Right.”
Finally. English.
“Mademoiselle. As ze lady involved, it should be you first.La première, oui?”
“Thank you,” smiled Kitty.
Max watched as her hand—betraying not a tremor or a twitch—reached out and took the top card from the deck, concealing it as she did so, not revealing any emotions, nerves or excitement. She might have been selecting a sweetmeat from a pretty box.
He bowed with great elegance, sweeping one arm wide and locking the other behind his back. “After you, Miss Ridlington.”
She nodded, glanced at her card, smiled slightly, and held it high. “The nine of clubs.”
There was a ripple of excitement as word spread through the crowd and out into the ballroom. It was a good card, high, not as high as she probably would have liked, but a decent draw, nonetheless.
Damned if he was going to be outdone. He drew the next card in the same cool and collected way, neither frowning nor smiling, then moved to stand next to Kitty.
Now it was down to one card, the one Max held in his hand. He waited for silence and it fell quickly enough, coming with a noticeable lack of oxygen in the room as Max looked at his own card. He could have sworn the candles dimmed slightly.
He stepped forward and raised his hand. “The King of hearts.”
