* * *
Oscar smirked as he looked around the smoky gentleman’s club near Charing Cross. The place was fine, but Oscar’s club was finer. He took some small pleasure in that as he took in all the details, from the livery of the servants to the placement of the chairs and tables throughout the hall.
But celebrating the comparative quality of his business to this one wasn’t why he’d come here, so he pushed those thoughts aside and drew a deep breath as he looked around.
This was a gaming area of the club, but in the afternoon it was mostly quiet. Two tables with two pairs of men playing. He moved farther into the room, noting when the gentlemen’s eyes came up. Some seemed to recognize him and registered surprise that he would be here.
He ignored it as he moved toward the table all the way in the furthest corner of the chamber. He didn’t recognize the man facing him, but the one with his back to Oscar raised his interest. After all, his quarry was supposedly in this room, and since he saw him nowhere else, this had to be him.
He stepped up and cleared his throat. The gentleman turned his face upward, and Oscar’s entire body stiffened, as much as he tried to maintain calm on his face.
Roddenbury.
“Good afternoon,” he said as coolly as he could manage. “I see you’re playing vingt-et-un. Do you have space for another?”
The man who had been playing against the earl seemed to sag with defeat and he looked at Roddenbury with pleading. “You can’t bring in another. You need to give me the chance to win back what I’ve lose.”
Roddenbury sneered in plain disgust. “You couldn’t win against a child. Go home, Evans. If you didn’t want to lost what you gambled, you wouldn’t have played with what mattered.”
Oscar straightened, for this wager seemed to involve far more than the pile of blunt in front of Roddenbury. The man, Evans, bent his head and got up. He looked at Oscar and his expression was so hangdog and pitiful that Oscar turned away.
“Better luck to you, sir,” Evans said as he trudged off.
Roddenbury snickered as he gathered up the cards and motioned to the seat across from him. “I hope you have the blunt to truly wager.”
Oscar sat and reached into his jacket pocket to withdraw the blunt he’d brought for just this purpose. A large amount of it. A thousand pounds in notes. He couldn’t help but think of Imogen and her teasing him about winning just this amount as he placed it on the table. Perhaps he’d picked the sum on purpose. For her. All of this was for her.
“Excellent, a real game with high stakes,” Roddenbury said, his eyes shining with greed as he sized Oscar up.
Oscar refrained from pointing out the stakes were higher than Roddenbury realized, and held out a hand for the cards. Roddenbury handed them over, and Oscar began to shuffle as he looked over the earl. He was a young man, perhaps a handful of years younger than Oscar, himself. He had dark hair and brown eyes that held a hint of the cruelty this man was capable of.
Oscar supposed some might call him handsome. He was certain many a lady had cooed over Roddenbury, hoping to gain his favor…only to realize she had made a terrible mistake the moment they were alone. This was the man who had chased Imogen, who threatened her life and their…herfuture. What Oscar wanted to do was come across the table and strangle the life out of him.
Roddenbury arched a brow. “Deal or leave, sir. I don’t have all day.”
Oscar dealt out the first hand and they settled into the game, each trying to get the titular vignt-et-un or as close to it as possible. The skill was knowing when to take a card or when to wait. Oscar had to fight his careful nature to risk the blunt he’d brought and maintain Roddenbury’s interest.
They’d played for a quarter of an hour before the earl tilted his head and snagged Oscar’s gaze. “I know you.”
“And I know you, my lord,” Oscar retorted. “I suppose we are both infamous men.”
Roddenbury chuckled. “For very different reasons, I think. My title gives me some of my notoriety.”
“And how you use it,” Oscar offered.
Roddenbury’s eyebrows lifted. “That too. As for you, I suppose you have two things that make you someone Society talks about,Mr. Fitzhugh.”
Oscar inclined his head to acknowledge the recognition. “And what are those?”
Roddenbury dealt the next hand before he answered, “Your club. And the fact that you are one of the Roseford Bastards.”
Oscar flexed his hands against the table before he flipped the cards in front of him. “Most don’t have the audacity to bring up that subject with me.”
“Well, I suppose I do so because I admire your late father,” Roddenbury said, and tapped his fingers on the wood to indicate he would draw another to try to make his quinze closer to a vignt-et-un.
“Of course you did,” Oscar said, and saw the opportunity this man’s poisoned words created. He leaned closer and smiled as Roddenbury went over the limit. He pushed his money forward with disgust and glared as Oscar said, “I’ve heard rumor you might have some of the same interests as the late duke.”
“Women, you mean,” Roddenbury chuckled. “Don’t we all?”
