“Enough, Amelia,” her brother said. “You’re being dramatic.”
She ignored her brother and grabbed Tristan by the shoulder.
“Are you going to lose? Think about it. Are you going to let her marry another man? She’s supposed to be thinking about it. Right now. Will you let that happen?”
His heart pounded as he held Lady Amelia’s challenging stare. “No.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.”
Two hours later Tristan thought he had a good understanding of Piquet.
Alston reshuffled the deck, his jacket now thrown over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up.
“Piquet is an intellectual game built on information. If you can identify your own discards and draws, then you can deduce the cards that are available to your opponent. When playing, you must think of your own suits and score and simultaneously predict theirs. This is where memory and observation come into play.”
“Now what?” Tristan said as he rubbed his brow. He was seeing suits of cards every time he closed his eyes.
“Commerce, which I suspect is the game she will choose. With more players, there is more at stake, and she loves high stakes. The other players will be strategic.”
“For whose benefit?”
“Always hers,” Alston warned. “Now, for Commerce, each player contributes to the pot. Depending on the players, this sum can be astronomical, or literal buttons. Your goal is to finish with the best hand.”
“What if I have nothing to put in the pot?”
Alston stroked his chin. “That is a concern. With Hugstead, it shouldn’t be an absurd sum. He wouldn’t play otherwise. She’ll have a set sum she knows you can pay or owe her.”
Tristan cursed.
“What if the game is Speculation?” Lady Amelia said.
Her brother grimaced. “Anything is possible. But it is similar enough to Commerce that he can figure it out.”
Tristan rubbed his eyes and blew out a breath. He hoped so.
Four hours later, he’d lost yet another round to Lady Amelia. Blakewood, her husband, now joined their game sitting in as an unknown player while Alston pretended to be Hugstead.
“You’re not thinking hard enough,” Lady Amelia said. “Read my face. I thought you were good at that?”
“That isn’t how I operate.”
“Then explain it.”
Tristan dropped his cards and folded his arms. “Remember the day we met at the park? You were alone, and I made polite conversation with you.”
“Yes?”
“You were nervous. You said too much because I was flirtatious and friendly, unassuming—and yet you didn’t trust me. You were thrown off balance and revealed more than you wanted to. As a lady, you are habitually polite. Therefore, you fill any lull in a conversation.”
She frowned at him.
“What do you do for men?”
“I taunt them. Nothing roots out the truth faster than a man’s insulted ego. What a person doesn’t say is just as telling as what a person does.”
Blakewood huffed a laugh. “You won’t get four men talking around a card table.”
“He can,” Lady Amelia said. “Remember how I devastated SirDaniel?”
