“Bollocks,” Tristan cursed.
“Likewise,” Hugstead said.
Peter inspected their cards. “Mr. Cameron wins with the higher sequence,” he said.
Tristan wasn’t sure he heard correctly, but Peter pushed the pile of counters toward him. He’d never seen so much money in his life. Not actually money, of course, but what the tokens represented.
Tristan set his hands over the top of his winnings, swiftly counting. He had two hundred pounds 40 shillings in front of him. He looked up at Peter who shuffled the deck. The temptation to put it all in the pot, to risk it for the chance to double his winnings burned down his spine. Logically, he knew it was stupid. He could lose it all, but if he didn’t—if he won again—he could come away with a small fortune. The seconds ticked by as he considered what he should do. Flick loomed large in his mind. The things he could give her with five hundred pounds. The repairs, a new horse for Gwen, the possibilities that money could provide stretched before him.
He had enough right now. He could pay back the Den and take his forty shillings and go.
Behind the dealer, across from him, Alston paced. He caught Tristan’s eye and shook his head.
Tristan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Alston glanced up to the ladies’ gallery. Tristan turned and looked.
There she stood, in bright blue, smiling down at him. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes radiant. She blew him a kiss. Tristan nodded to acknowledge her then turned back to the table.
He pushed the stacks of tokens toward Peter. Speculative chatter filled the room. Alston rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned away as if he couldn’t bear to watch, but Tristan smiled. Lady Luck had blessed him. He couldn’t lose now. Hugstead and Revere placed their bets. Revere sneered as he added another hundred pounds to the pot.
“You’re a fool, Cameron. No one is that lucky.”
“Luck favors me tonight, Revere.”
“I should have seen it,” Hugstead murmured.
Tristan studied him. “For what it’s worth, you’re the better man.”
Hugstead snorted softly. “But she’s in love with you.”
“What are you two talking about?” Revere asked in growing agitation.
“Quiet, Revere,” Hugstead said.
Peter dealt the cards. Tristan flipped his cards in his hands. Three aces stared back at him. His stomach dropped. His skin flashed cold and then hot. The room quieted; the sounds muffled as his own pulse raged in his ears.
“Buy or trade, Mr. Cameron,” Peter repeated.
Tristan blinked. The sound of the room rushed back at him as the talk bloomed to a dull roar.
Revere grinned. “Not so lucky after all?”
Tristan knocked on the table and his face fell.
Hugstead threw down his cards. “Good. I’d like to go home.”
Tristan set his cards down carefully. One card at a time while the room grew subdued and suspense thinned the air.
“Ace of hearts, ace of clubs, and the ace of diamonds. Congratulations, Mr. Cameron,” Peter said.
The room erupted with cheers.
Hugstead stood and offered his hand. “Take care, Chase. Of everything.”
Tristan shook his hand, but was still not quite sure this moment was real and not a fever dream.
Hugstead took his tokens and disappeared into the crowd that gathered around the table.
“Impossible,” Revere shouted over the din.
