“As if I don’t know you almost broke Trent’s arm the other night.”
“He deserved it.”
“Obviously. But you’ve been warned. One of the guests for your game is here, and I’m certain you’d like to run him through at the first opportunity.”
Tristan went cold. “She wouldn’t.”
“Yes, she would.”
Tristan cursed. “He can’t be good at cards. What’s the point? To rattle me?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Rattled? No. Murderous? Absolutely.”
Titan’s lips twitched with a smile. “I’d help.”
“I know. That’s why you’re my favorite wolf pup.”
Tristan patted his shoulder as he passed, and Titan growled at him. Tristan wasn’t in the mood to play nice tonight. He was going to win, by any means necessary. His blood pumped with the fervor of a man who was capable of anything.
If Mrs. Dove-Lyon thought inviting Chadwick Revere to the game would be entertaining, she was going to be disappointed. That was three players thus far. Who would be the fourth, he wondered.
Tristan headed in the direction of the main gaming floor. The thick padded carpet kept his steps silent as he approached, none turning his way. The dealer, Peter, was already there at the table. Lord Hugstead sat in the middle chair, with Mr. Revere on his left. Revere was an affluent merchant who had purchased a small estate near Winter’s Well. He was a bastard of Sir Wallace Eastman and an unlikable leechwhom no one would miss if he happened to disappear, according to the information his contacts had gathered. His business was floundering at best, and the purchase of his estate came from his investors who did not yet know they wouldn’t be seeing a return.
The chair beside Hugstead was empty, presumably for him. So, it would be a three-person game? All the players vying for Flick’s hand. That bloody woman was diabolical.
Hugstead spared him a glance, and Revere paid him little mind. He must not remember Tristan from the day before last, which gave Tristan an advantage. Tristan glanced around the room. Chairs lined the wall, Lord Alston and Blakewood occupying two of them. This would be an exhibition game, the players set, but anyone could watch the spectacle, as if there weren’t enough pressure on him already. Thankfully, Flick wouldn’t be here. He couldn’t bear for her to be watching.Notthat he was going to lose. He wouldn’t. But she’d be distracting. The more money he won, the more he had to offer her. He knew she would agree to marry him. She said she loved him, and she was not a woman to say that lightly, just as he had never said such powerful words to any other woman. But it was his own pride that demanded he give her the life she deserved, or he wasn’t worthy of her.
He took his seat. Peter acknowledged him and began to shuffle the deck of cards. His stomach knotted as he watched. Lord Alston was to his left, just out of his periphery. More people shuffled out from the smoking room, their quiet murmurs growing as they took note of him and Hugstead. Tristan kept his focus on the felt before him, ignoring the sounds of the club around him, the steady ticking of his heartbeat in his ears alerting him to the fact that he was nowhere near the calm state Alston said he needed to be in to better thwart his opponents. But had Alston ever gambled with this much to lose?
Peter reiterated the rules of Commerce, Revere making some rude comment that Peter ignored. It would take a cannon blast to shakePeter’s focus. Hugstead nodded appreciatively as he got his cards and Tristan did the same. The time had come to put his stake in the pot. He reached into his pocket for the marked tokens Alston had loaned him, on top of the meager savings he’d been hiding in a loose floorboard for emergencies. He was putting it all on the line for Flick. For their future.
Hugstead raised a brow as Tristan added his bet and Tristan winked at him. “I’ve been offering myself as a stallion at night.”
Hugstead flushed and shook his head. Peter snorted.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction to you, sir.” Revere spoke over Hugstead.
“That’s true,” Tristan replied coolly.
Revere sneered. “Your name, sir?”
Tristan squinted. “Tristan Chase Cameron, Clan Cameron.”
“I’m—”
“I don’t care who you are,” Tristan cut him off.
Revere blustered, leaning forward in his chair to glare at Tristan.
Hugstead sighed. “You justhadto insult him.”
“If you knew what he was, you would too.”
“And what is that?” Hugstead asked.
“The fiancé.”
