“Each of my swans holds an envelope. Inside this envelope is a special license of marriage, hand delivered by his holiness, the archbishop himself. After each game is finished, our swans and their fiancés will retire to the third floor,” she said, her arm outstretched above her. Unmistakable hoots and hollers called out, but Rhys remained still as he continued to watch Bessie’s mouth. “In the morning, each couple will attend a small ceremony at the Grosvenor Chapel and then—” She brought her hands together, wiped them twice and held them up. “—my job for procuring the next generation of Britons will be done!”
Laughter rang out around Rhys, but the muffled sound annoyed him, like being pricked by a dozen pins.
“Then let’s get started!” an eager gentleman called out, as the rest joined in.
A nauseating feeling settled in Rhys’s stomach. This wasn’t right. Louisa wasn’t rich and it would be a sad day whenever her prospective husband found out. All these men in search of wives were only concerned with money, and Louisa May Babcock didn’t have any.
Two gentlemen reached up as Bessie gripped both their hands and guided her down to the floor with ease. Rhys was quick to push through the crowd and leaned into her ear.
“You’re not playing fairly, Bessie. This isn’t right.”
She reached up, her narrow fingers moving around his neck as she brought him close to her.
“My darling, I never play fairly.”
She released him when something over his shoulder seemed to suddenly catch her attention. Lifting her hands to address the crowd, she spoke once more. “Ah! My swans have arrived! Gentlemen, may I introduce Emerald, Sapphire, Ruby, and last but certainly not least, Citrine!”
All the guests turned, including Rhys, to see four young women dressed in gowns that aligned with their pseudonyms. Each of them had been styled in ways that accentuated their best features, and each wore a black lace domino face mask that covered the upper half of their faces, except for the eyes. The ends of the masks were tucked away in their intricate updo hairstyles.
Each woman was hesitant, evidently questioning their own judgment for being placed in such a predicament, but Louisa especially. Rhys’s entire focus was on her, and he doubted he was the only one watching her.
Dressed in a canary-yellow silk gown, Louisa wasn’t smiling nervously like the others. She had been fitted into a dress that seemed too tight, though the light from the chandeliers above shone off the fabric of her gown, reminding Rhys of melted butter. She appeared stunned, like a stag upon hearing a twig break. Her auburn hair had been reworked, pinned up in a style not unlike Bessie’s.
Still, she appeared terrified beneath her mask. Her mouth was pursed, and she was chewing on her bottom lip as they were escorted forward, each to different gaming tables. To his eternal damnation, Louisa made eye contact with him as she passed.
This wasn’t right. The girl was wide-eyed and terrified, and she likely had no idea what sort of game she was playing.
Feeling the tendrils of desperation grasp at his heart, Rhys moved forward once more to confront Bessie, who was happily speaking in the middle of a group of anxious gentlemen.
“Now the rules you know, but for any newcomers I’ll reiterate. Each lady is to stand on a gaming table. Emerald will be at the whist table, Ruby at the faro table, and Sapphire at the vingt-et-un table. I believe the seating charts have been drawn up, so if you’re registered for the game, please speak to Snug to see where you belong.”
“What about Citrine?” a voice called out.
“Ah, well, Lord Darby, since I wasn’t made aware of our beautiful Citrine until just a few moments ago, she will be placed on the hazard table.”
“Dice?” Rhys growled loudly. “The others are card games. Dice is a game solely based off chance.”
“All our games are games of chance, Lieutenant Carlyle. But since you appear so eager, I’ll award you first chair.” She turned back to the crowd. “And I will only be taking five more gentlemen for the hazard table! So, if you are interested in the lovely Citrine, please form an orderly line and Snug will have you sorted out immediately. Thank you.”
Rhys had half a mind to strangle Bessie right then, in front of everyone, but he made the mistake of glancing up at Louisa as she was helped up onto the table. She turned around and looked about nervously before settling her eyes on Rhys. Though she didn’t say anything, there was a fear in her half-covered expression, one that turned his stomach. She was terrified. The other ladies, they were people of money and stature. They knew what they meant to do when they came here to participate in a game at the Lyon’s Den, but Louisa had only come to return something. She had no desire to marry or even if she did, she didn’t have the sort of wealth that these impoverished peers sought. They would be furious to find that they married a poor woman with questionable family, considering the stolen brooch.
What was Bessie thinking?
One by one, gentlemen of various backgrounds sat at the hazard table. Three men were known philanderers, and Rhys was certain that at least two of them kept mistresses. The other two were a little more surprising: the Marquess of Carrington and Sir Issac Hardy, a naval officer who was renowned for his actions during the Battle of the Nile. Rhys had never metthe former, but had something of a friendship with Hardy, considering they had both served during the Napoleonic Wars.
Hardy, aware of Rhys’s condition, nodded at him, since the usual chatter had continued again, making it impossible to differentiate who was talking or even what they were saying.
Instead, he focused on Louisa, who was practically shaking with trepidation. Bloody hell, she was likely to faint before the game was done.
“Now that we’re all situated, let the games begin!” Bessie bellowed as the croupier handed Sir Hardy the dice.
Rhys knew the game well. There would be six rounds, so that each player at the table would be the caster. The caster would choose a number between five and nine and role. If they rolled at two or three on their first try, they would be out of the game.
Although he didn’t hear what number Hardy had said, the man smirked when two fours landed on the table. Next, the Marquess of Carrington role. A six and two landed, signaling his exit. The next man, a naturally thin man with short brown hair went next, rolling a six and a five. Players four and five each rolled twos and threes on their first hand and left the table with audible sighs. Now, it was Rhys’s turn.
He took the dice from the croupier. He did not glance up, nor did he acknowledge anyone at the table. Rhys raised his hand and rolled the dice. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he felt compelled to win this game, if only to save Louisa from whatever dastardly plan Bessie had in store for her.
The dice bounced off the side wall of the table and rolled to a one and a five.
