Oliver was a risk-taker like her. He loved rough, dangerous sports, and had wanted to join the army. Denied that by his mother’s distress, he’d turned to gaming and lost his money and perhaps their home. If he didn’t raise five thousand guineas within weeks, Overstead Manor would be lost forever.
Bryght Malloren was another of the same type, it would appear, and he was not a young misguided fool like Oliver. He was a mature man, steeped in the vice. Why that should so distress her, she did not know.
Portia looked sharply at her brother. Had Oliver played against Lord Bryght? Had the man not only invaded her home and assaulted her, but filched away her life and home on the roll of a die?
She found the strength to lift the coffeepot and thumped it down on the wooden table. “Do you know Lord Arcenbryght well?” she asked, meaning,have you gambled against him?
Oliver gaped at her. “A Malloren? Far above my touch, my dear. I didn’t even recognize him in that light. But everyone knows about them.”
“What does everyone know?”
“That they’re rich, powerful, and let nobody cross them.”
Portia sat down opposite. “If they’re so rich, why would one be a gamester?”
He sighed with exasperation. “I’ve tried to explain to you, Portia.Everyoneplays. The king plays, the queen plays, the ministers of the Crown play. Even the bishops play. And every man who wants to call himself a man, plays.”
“Butwhy? ”
Ever since Oliver had returned to Overstead with the shocking news that he had lost the estate at play, Portia had been asking that question. Why would any reasonable human being risk everything on the turn of a card or the roll of a die?
Oliver poured himself some coffee. “What can I say? A man has to play or be thought a demmed strange fellow. It’s a sign of courage for a start, of nerve. Not to play is to brand oneself a timid, worthless creature.”
“If not to play would be unfashionable and unpopular, then that would take courage, wouldn’t it?”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s a man’s thing, I suppose, though many women play.”
“I’d think their husbands would put a stop to it.”
“Why, when they play, too?”
“Butwhy? ”Portia asked again.
“It’s exciting,” he said simply.
“Exciting? How can it possibly be exciting to lose money?”
“It’s exciting to win,” he pointed out. “Come on, Portia. It’s not like you to be so stuffy. Remember the time you climbed out of your window at night to meet Fort so you could try to catch the Bollard brothers poaching? It was stupid, but I’ll go odds it was exciting.”
Portia didn’t like having her youthful follies thrown up at her. “It was hardly the same sort of thing.”
“But it is!” He leaned forward, eyes brightening. “The thrill of that adventure was the risk. The risk of breaking your neck. The risk of a whipping. The risk that the Bollard brothers would catch sight of you and kill the witnesses. It’s like that at the gaming tables. It’s exciting toriskand to survive. The greater the risk, the greater the thrill. It tests a man’s mettle. It makes him come alive….” But then he realized what he was saying and sagged back in his chair. “But I am done with it. Give you my word, my dear.”
Portia’s hands shook slightly as she poured herself coffee.
Oliver kept promising never to play again, but sometimes she doubted him. He spoke of gaming almost like a man in love, in love with the tainted thrill of chance.
“There are surely other ways of testing your mettle.”
“I suppose so.” He flicked her a look. “The army, for example.”
“Oliver, you know it would break mama’s heart.”
“Damnation, Portia, it’s not surprising I took to the tables. The only thing you and mother do is let me do is put my clothes on and ride around the countryside.”
“You could manage the estate.”
“Dull stuff, and you’re better at it than I. But I suppose life will be exciting enough now.” He gave her a wry smile. “For a start, I’ll have to challenge Bryght Malloren.”
