“The baron is known for seeking out vulnerable prey—men with more title than sense, men in their cups, desperate enough to bet what they couldn’t afford to lose,” Tarquin hissed. “It looks like he has your father in his sights.”
“How much has he lost?” Lucien asked quietly.
Tarquin’s expression darkened. “Difficult to say, but given the stack of vowels beside Lockwood, I’d wager it’s significant.”
Lucien started forward, but Tarquin caught his arm. “Careful. Lockwood’s dangerous when crossed. He has a habit of calling out men who interfere with his…entertainment.”
“I don’t care if he calls me out,” Lucien growled. “I won’t let him bleed my family dry.”
He approached the table, noting how his father’s hands trembled as he reached for his cards. Baron Lockwood looked up, his pale eyes assessing Lucien with predatory interest.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the prodigal son, risen from the dead.” Lockwood’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Come to join our little game?”
“I’ve come to collect my father.” Lucien kept his voice level, though rage burned in his chest. “This evening’s entertainment is over.”
The earl looked up, his bloodshot eyes widening. “Lucien? But you’re in Ireland… Aren’t you in Ireland?”
“No, Father. I’m here now.” Lucien placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, feeling the slight tremor beneath the fine wool coat. “It’s time to go home.”
“Can’t leave yet,” the earl slurred. “Got to win it back… Got to fix what I’ve done…”
Baron Lockwood’s smile widened. “Your father’s already five-hundred pounds in my debt tonight. But I’m feeling generous. One more hand—double or nothing. What do you say, Danvers?”
Five-hundred pounds. The sum hit Lucien like a physical blow. Even if they sold every remaining painting, they couldn’t cover such a loss.
“The game is over,” Lucien said firmly. “My father is in no condition to continue.”
“The game ends when I say it ends.” Lockwood’s voice held a dangerous edge. “Unless you’d care to take his place? I’m told you were quite the card player before your…unfortunate demise.”
He couldn’t remember if he’d been good in his past but he’d been a very good card player in Dublin. Lucien felt Tarquin tense beside him, ready to intervene if needed. But something in Lockwood’s smug expression made his blood boil. This man had been systematically destroying his family while Lucien worked his small farm in Ireland, believing himself a simple widower.
“Very well.” Lucien shrugged off Tarquin’s protest and took his father’s seat. “But we play by my rules.”
“And those would be?”
“If I win, you tear up every vowel my father signed tonight. If you win, I’ll honor his debt—and add another five-hundred pounds of my own.”
Tarquin bent and whispered in his ear, “He’s known to cheat. I urge caution.”
Lockwood’s eyes gleamed. “Bold of you, considering you’ve spent the last five years mucking out stables or whatever it is you’ve been doing in Ireland.”
“Do we have a deal?” Lucien kept his voice ice-cold.
“Oh, most definitely.” Lockwood gathered the cards, his movements deliberate. “The table is playing Faro. Is that to your taste?” When Lucien nodded, Lockwood merely added, “Faro, then. Your father always favors it. I have no idea why. He has no luck at it.”
“Mine will be better.” Lucien accepted the cards Lockwood dealt, aware of the crowd gathering to watch. His father had been led to a chair nearby, where Tarquin kept a steadying hand on his shoulder.
As Lucien studied his cards, instinct took over. He had played a lot in Ireland, against men who cheated more than this man. His hands knew how to handle the cards, how to arrange his suits, how to track what had been played. It felt like speaking a language he’d forgotten he knew.
The first few tricks went to Lockwood, who grew more confident with each winning card. But Lucien watched, waited, counting cards with a precision that surprised even him. When he finally played his carefully preserved ace of hearts, Lockwood’s smile faltered.
“Perhaps your time in Ireland hasn’t entirely dulled your skills,” the baron said, his tone less certain.
“Perhaps not.” Lucien won the next trick, then the next. “Though I did learn something valuable there—how to recognize when someone is taking advantage of another’s weakness.”
Lockwood’s face darkened. “Careful, Furoe. You’re dancing close to an insult.”
“No dance at all.” Lucien laid down another winning card. “I’m stating plainly that men like you, who prey on others’ desperation, disgust me. You’re no better than a common thief.”
