“You’re a gambler?”
“On occasion.”
Lydia gasped softly.
Nathan frowned. “What’s wrong? Do you have something against gamblers?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, not at all. I…you…that is...” She did not want to call attention to the fact that his fingers were pressing painfully hard into her waist, or that the hand holding hers was grinding her knuckles together. His concentration was fierce, and unexpectedly Lydia found herself harboring a measure of admiration for his grit. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Please, go on.”
“There’s nothing much to add,” he said somewhat stiltedly. “I told you earlier this evening that I was on my way to an engagement. This is it. Your father invited me for the—”
“Poker game.” Lydia finished his sentence as her mother had before her. “Papa isn’t much for dancing.”
“I knew I liked him,” Nathan muttered under his breath.
“Pardon?” she asked politely.
“Your father seems to be a fine man. I’ve enjoyed his company on each occasion we’ve met.”
“I had no idea Papa frequented the Silver Lady.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Miss Chadwick. I only met Sam there once. We’ve seen each other at the Wells Fargo office, the Exchange, and at least one time riding in Golden Gate Park.”
“So you’re going to play cards with my father this evening.”
Nathan nodded, lost his timing, and caused Lydia to stumble as he changed his lead. He grimaced. “Forgive me. That was my fault that time.”
Which, Lydia supposed, was his way of saying all the other missteps had been her responsibility. She bit back the accusing words that came easily to mind. “I suppose Papa told you that all his winnings go to charity.”
“No, he didn’t mention it. I take it I’m expected to lose.”
“Don’t do it on my account, Mr. Hunter.”
Turning Lydia toward the ballroom entrance, Nathan stopped on the threshold. His hand was still tight on Lydia’s waist, but he dropped her hand. Without visible effort he pulled her closer so that she was forced to tilt her face toward him or bury it in his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Chadwick,” he said coldly, hardened against the flash of pain in Lydia’s wide and wounded eyes. “I doubt I could be moved to do anything on your account again. If I lose money tonight it will be for the children.”
Lydia couldn’t think of anything to say. By the time she did, Nathan was gone.
James Early didn’t give Lydia time to think about her odd encounter with Nathan Hunter. With an eye toward the main chance, James swept Lydia back onto the dance floor and kept her thoughts occupied with light, inconsequential banter until Henry Bell stole her away. The evening progressed in such a manner, with Lydia pleading her cause for the orphanage and her suitors making their case for her hand.
Occasionally her mother would catch her eye and indicate approval or disapproval of a particular partner. Lydia ignored Madeline’s directives, and to demonstrate that romance had no part in what she had planned for the evening, Lydia spent most of her time on Father Patrick’s arm, mingling with the guests who were longtime family friends and could make significant contributions to St. Andrew’s.
When Mr. Hardy announced dinner Madeline led the way to the dining room. Lydia extricated herself from Henry Bell’s elbow with the excuse that she had to get her father and his guests away from the poker table. It was only a short reprieve, she thought, remembering her wager with her father: Henry on her left and James on her right. Given Madeline’s signals in the ballroom, Lydia was certain her mother would have arranged it.
There were five men huddled around the card table. Lydia had expected her father and Nathan Hunter, and it wasn’t too surprising to find Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Davis since their wives had remarked on their absence several times during the dancing, but Brigham Moore’s presence caught Lydia off guard. He was the first to look up when she entered the library, and his welcoming smile struck at Lydia’s young, vulnerable heart. She looked away quickly, embarrassed by the sudden wealth of feeling, certain everyone in the room would see it, understand, and know the cause.
One man did. When Lydia looked up, she caught Nathan Hunter watching her closely, studying her features with his remote, impenetrable gray eyes. She stared back a shade defiantly, and held his attention until his eyelids lowered, shuttering his glance. The insolent smirk on his mouth, however, was still very much in evidence.
Lydia went quickly to her father’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Papa, dinner’s been announced. Mama and our guests are on their way to the dining room now.”
Samuel reached over his shoulder and laid his hand over Lydia’s, patting her absently. Still studying his cards, he held them up for Lydia to see. “Brigham here has proposed a rather interesting wager,” he told her.
“Oh?” She was careful to keep her features composed. Her father had a full house: three sevens and two threes. She also noticed that he had very little in the way of winnings in front of him. Based on where the money lay, the lucky man at the table tonight was Brigham Moore. “And what wager is that?”
“As you can see, darling, my funds are quite low.” Everyone at the table understood that Samuel had access to a great deal more money, but at the beginning of play they had agreed on a limit. “If I want to see Brigham’s cards he’s suggesting I offer you up as part of my stake.”
“Papa!” Lydia blushed deeply, her composure shaken. “What can you be thinking? That’s barbaric!” But she wasn’t offended, she realized. She felt warm inside, and tingly.
Brigham laid his cards facedown on the table. “Your father hasn’t explained it very well, I’m afraid. My intentions are completely honorable. If I win this hand, then you’ll accompany me to the Cliff House tomorrow evening for dinner.”
