“It is a shame when the accounts run dry, Mr. Poulter, and a pity likewise that we must be at odds tonight,” Sebastian returned.He wheezed a long cough before adding, “I mean to win tonight, too.”
The others laughed in low, throaty tones and tossed their own spare coins onto the table.
Sebastian’s gaze flicked to Lord Birchwood who had yet to make a move. “And yourself? Are you playing the game tonight?”
Lord Birchwood eyed him suspiciously. “Do I know you?” He flatly ignored Sebastian’s own question.
“Perhaps,” Sebastian answered, knowing full well he had interacted with the Marquess before. For heavens’ sake, he had sat down to supper with Birchwood on more than one occasion and had even gone to the man’s house. It was appalling that Birchwood could be so blind. But then, Sebastian cooled his fiery temper by reminding himself that this was a good thing.
He did not want to be recognized. “Did you come by my boxing club once? Maybe a handful of times?” He nodded at Mr. Poulter. “We’re all friends here. Nobody will think any less of you for betting too much and losing a packet on a match.”
Andthere—he had him.
Lord Birchwood stiffened, and Sebastian smiled pleasantly, hiding the wickedness beneath. Birchwood had indeed lost a great deal of money, but as far as he knew, most people did not know his secret.
His name might be jotted on a list somewhere and he likely had a debt collector breathing down his throat, but the men in the Rolled Dice didn’t suspect as much. How could they?
Sebastian wanted to laugh.
It’s good to know other people’s secrets.
“I am sure you miss your club tremendously,” Lord Birchwood muttered as he withdrew his own coin purse and dropped it onto the corner of the table. “Deal the cards, Worthington.”
Sebastian had barely glanced at one of the other men, a pale-skinned man who looked as though he had not slept in a week, until Birchwood gave the directive. His hair hung lankly around his gaunt face as he bent to look down at the full deck of cards, shuffling them expertly. Sebastian had to admire the skill, really. Still, he was a better dealer. These men just did not have to know that.
Worthington dealt seven cards to each of them, and Sebastian noted how greedily the men scooped up their hands. He followed suit, pretending. His fingers clasped the cards, his eyes widening as if he was scrutinizing what was there and trying to make the best of a bad situation. He raised the hand higher up to his eye level so that he could hide most of his face.
To the untrained eye, it might seem as though he ought to be wearing a pair of spectacles because his vision was weak. But really, Sebastion was using the cover as a way to eye the thick bulge in Lord Birchwood’s tailcoat pocket.
He knew from his sources that Lord Birchwood often carried important things on his person because he was paranoid that his staff might snoop through his belongings while he was out of the house. If they found out he was flat broke and could not pay their wages, there was a possibility the household could turn on him.
The man’s paranoia only served Sebastian further.
“Place your first cards,” Worthington instructed, and Sebastian idly tossed down the first three cards in his hand. He didn’t care if he lost, he just needed a way to get closer to Birchwood. He wanted to look through that pocket and retrieve those documents.
The last man at the table, the one who had not bothered to introduce himself, lay down three cards that were utterly worthless. His curly brown hair formed a wonky u-shape around the balding spot on his head, and as he cursed violently, he scratched in an agitated fashion at the open patch of flesh.
Apparently, the man could not calm his rattled nerves because the next move he made was to throw down his entire hand. Without saying another word, even to take his leave, the man shoved away from the table and stomped toward the other side of the room.
“Well,” Sebastian chuckled wryly, “I believe that is one less man to beat.”
“You were only one above him,” Poulter pointed out.
“Yes, but I am not a sore loser,” Sebastian countered. “Even if I lose the round, I will remain at the table to congratulate the winner. All is in good faith here, I believe?”
He let them give him disbelieving looks. This genial show would only add to his character. Sebastian let a faux nervous laugh slip from him as he gently laid what remained of his cards down on the table and patted down the sides of his wig.
If they imagined he was an old fool, they would think of him as an easy target and would keep him at the table. Besides, he had been the one to offer the biggest reward.
The next round saw the other man out, leaving only Poulter, Birchwood, Worthington, and Sebastian.
“You never gave us your name,” Sebastian noted as he leaned closer to Lord Birchwood. “You are doing rather well. You must be an efficient gambler, even if you lack the manners to properly introduce yourself.”
Lord Birchwood snorted. He fiddled with the shiny buttons on his waistcoat, then rocked back in his chair displaying an extraordinary amount of confidence. “One could say that. I have earned my wealth in many ways.”
How does he manage to lie through his teeth so well?
Sebastian tilted his head to the side and surveyed Birchwood’s posture. The signet ring on his little finger glinted merrily, and itwas evident that the black cravat encircling Birchwood’s throat was made of the finest quality fabric.
