I waited for the guffaws to die down before retorting, “I do not know whether to be more offended that you think me a doxy or that you suppose you could afford me if I were. Regardless, in a few moments, you’re going to be in such low water that your great-grandchildren won’t be able to afford a three-penny upright.”
The men I hadn’t insulted burst into jovial laughter. Kit and the blond one to my side remained silent. I’d annoyed that one. Good, angry men were reckless men.
The maid brought the whiskey over and glanced between me and the men with wide eyes. I offered her a subtle nod that not a one of the others caught or would have understood if they had.
“You have the coin to back up that mouth?”
No sooner had I pulled the drawstring of my reticule than Kit squeezed my shoulder. He dropped a five-pound note on the table beside me. While I understood the wisdom of not allowing these men to know I was carrying coin, I was annoyed at missing the opportunity to humiliate the man by pulling out one of the notes from my bag.
“I don’t suppose you gentlemen would like to join us?” I asked, offering the other men an enticing smile. The greasy one agreed easily, while the portly one patted his pocket a moment before nodding. “And you generous soles, you wouldn’t mind if I was the caster first, would you?”
The instigator grumbled but handed over the dice. The same ones I conveniently dropped to the floor. I scoffed as the greasy one leaned to grab them. “Allow me,” I insisted.
A five and three faced up. I nudged them with my foot and watched as my suspicion was confirmed. Five and three again. I scooped them up before sneakily switching them for Gabriel’s old pair in the bottom of my reticule.
“We haven’t been properly introduced, gentlemen. I’m Davina, and you are?”
The handsome-enough one was Ambrose, the greasy one was called Wickens, and the ruddy-cheeked, friendlier one was Oliver.
“Well then, now that we’re all friends, shall we begin?” Confidently, I rolled for the main, with a close eye on Ambrose. I was certain when the dice landed on a four and a three and his eyes widened slightly. No one else reacted in any way that I caught.
Even a weighted die didn’talwaysland the way they were expected, or it would be too easy to find them out. One roll wouldn’t confirm his fear.
The next one did though. Two fours. Only Gabriel’s rigorous teaching kept the smirk from my face as Ambrose reached for his glass and took a heavy swig.
He couldn’t very well complain that I had switched the dice without admitting the originals were weighted. It was with clear reluctance that he put his stake down. The other two were quicker, already prepared with the possibility that they mightbe parted from it. Though, they certainly considered it a more remote possibility by my presence.
With a carefully crafted expression of innocence, I rolled again and hit two twos. The other men groaned. They hadn’t lost, but neither had I. Wickens put another one pound on the table. Kit matched it from behind me without question. I was a little surprised he was familiar enough with the rules to go forward without clarification. Though, I supposed solicitors, often second and third sons, frequented gaming hells just like titled gentlemen.
Ambrose’s complexion reddened.
Another roll, this time a five and six. I generously refrained from performing a little dance in my chair as both of my innocent victims groaned, fished out the necessary match for my stakes, and handed over theirs. Ambrose’s skin darkened further, turning an unflattering aubergine shade. That couldn’t possibly be healthful.
“Another round? Or have you had enough?” I directed my gaze to Ambrose over the edge of my glass as I sipped the buttery, smooth whiskey pointedly.
Finally, he could take it no more and the words I knew were coming burst from his chest. “You cheated! She’s a cheat!”
Kit’s hand grasped my shoulder as he moved to haul me out of the chair. I caught it with mine, trapping it there, willing him to wait for a moment. The tension in his grip didn’t lesson, but I wasn’t yanked from my seat either.
“Did I? Or did I perhaps uncover your weighted dice and switch them for my own, unweighted ones?”
“What?” Wickens cried.
He drowned out Oliver’s, “Blaggard!”
Ambrose shot to his feet. “How dare you? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”
Wordlessly, I pulled his dice out from the folds of my skirts and shook them in my palm above the table. “Eight, a five and a three.” When I dropped them from nearly a foot above the table, they landed exactly as predicted. “Well, look at that.” He grabbed for the dice but I snatched them before he got his hands on them and rolled again to the same result.
“You bastard! You owe me nearly twenty pounds,” Wickens shouted, righteous sweat pouring off his brow in rivulets to land on the table.
“I think we’ll leave you gentlemen to sort this out.” I tipped my whiskey glass toward Ambrose, swallowed the last of it, and grabbed Gabriel’s dice before they were lost to the ensuing scuffle. I allowed Kit to pull my chair out from the table and help me up just as the unwitting victims overturned it. “Oh, and, Ambrose, do not worry about covering our meal, I think you’ll need the rest of your coin.”
Kit’s hand found my lower back as he grumbled at my side. “Bloody brilliant, beautiful menace.”
Thirty
CRIMSON LILY, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE—APRIL 13, 1817
