Sebastian nodded, remembering the part he was supposed to play, and acted impressed.
“Then, are you a lord, I assume? Otherwise, how else did you amass so much wealth?” He let himself sound a little baffled and perhaps even a bit batty while posing as the elderly former club owner.
“Perhaps,” Lord Birchwood answered carefully. “I am… My title is Lord Tithering.”
Liar.
A sneer of derision curled Sebastian’s upper lip and he had to raise his cards once more to hide his facial features.
I ought to be used to liars and thieves and gamblers with higher debts than their own estate rooftops.
“So, you own good land, Lord Tithering,” Sebastian praised. “And you are a Viscount, perhaps?”
He saw how the minute offense flashed across the Marquess’s face before he composed himself, realizing that if he reacted strongly, he ran the risk of giving himself away.
“Y-yes,” he said.
“Impressive,” Sebastian lied.
Of course, not even a Marquess could claim bragging rights in a place like this. No, he had to fit in, too.
“I know.”
The response came through clenched teeth, but before Sebastian could say more, Worthington called for the next round.
Sebastian actually let himself assess his deck this time. He had decent cards and tossed down a set that would get him good points to the next round after being dealt another hand. Poulter cursed under his breath, and Lord Birchwood chuckled as he placed down his own set of three, besting Poulter.
“It is lucky for you and that you and your wife only produced eight daughters, Worthington. If you had a ninth girl, you would have been tempted to lose her dowry too,” Lord Birchwood drawled. His tone was derogatory and dripping with condescension as he took that round’s winnings. Their kitty grew larger throughout each round, with small sums going to each winner, until the ultimate champion could take the full loot.
Poulter cursed more awfully than the first man had and even threw his chair to the floor as he stalked off.
Then, it was only Sebastian and Birchwood left, adjacent to their dealer.
“So,” Sebastian said slowly, “we both know why I’m here. I’d give anything to keep my boxing club open, even my very last farthing.” He gestured to himself. “What do you play for, Lord Tithering?”
“That is none of your business.” Lord Birchwood’s lip curled. “Worthington!”
“I’m already dealing,” he snapped, clearly done with their show of boasting and showmanship.
He slapped three more cards on the table in front of each of them. Sebastian smiled, knowing his cards were terrible, knowing he would lose the final round, most likely.
That was exactly what he wanted.
The round went on for a while before they were called to make their final set.
Sebastian sighed dramatically, releasing his awful deal.
In return, Lord Birchwood chuckled and spread out his winning hand. Within seconds, he gobbled up the kitty with greedy hands and even taken the pouch that held Sebastian’s coins.
Sebastian stared at the pile of money and made some quick calculations.
That isn’t even enough to pay off a tenth of his debts.
“Well, Mr. Dartmouth,” Lord Birchwood laughed, “it seems I have won.”
“You have indeed. And, like I said, I am not a sore loser, so allow me to congratulate you properly. I might not be a lord, but I can congratulate you like one, respecting your title?”
“Of course you should behave in a gentlemanly manner, regardless of your station in life,” Lord Birchwood said. “Congratulate your winner, then.”
