She flipped the trump card—three of diamonds.
The blonde took the first trick.
Sir Felix had gone a subtle shade of green, his skin looking as though a sheen of sweat had slicked a thin layer across his body.
Rhys knew the signs, for the same thing was happening to him.
What in the blazes was going on?
For the second trick, a seven of spades was played. Rhys had no choice but to follow with the eight. Sir Felix played the jack. The blonde didn’t follow suit and instead played the jack of diamonds.
The breath seemed to have been sucked out of this corner of the room.
Word of a high-stakes game tended to get around.
The trump card flipped…
Two of diamonds.
The blonde won—again.
Though Rhys felt this night slipping away, he understood he still had a chance to win Papa’s ring.
Everything—his entire life, it felt in this moment—hung on the next trick.
If he managed to take it, he would use all the skills and charm in his armory to convince the blonde to take everything in the pool, including his £100 vowel, but leave him the ring.
Besides, he’d saved his best card for last.
Further, he felt the wind of good fortune blowing his way when the trick opened with the jack of hearts.
The blood roaring through his veins, sweat coating his palms, on the brink of redemption—at last—he played the king of hearts.
Face utterly impassive, Sir Felix flipped the ace of clubs. As he couldn’t play the suit, he would be praying for the trump card to be clubs.
At last, it was the blonde’s turn.
She flipped her card.
Staring up from green baize for all to see was none other than the ace of hearts.
Time stopped, and suddenly it was as if Rhys had wool in his ears.
He blinked, the plain facts of the situation refusing to register.
He hadn’t won—and neither had Sir Felix.
Meanwhile, the blonde was going around the table and exchanging markers for guineas. She was cashing out.
Then it was her laughter filling the air and floating in her wake as she exited the room, her step light and devastatingly joyful.
Flabbergasted, Rhys met Sir Felix’s smirk. “Thought tonight was your night, eh?” And the rotter laughed, making it clear he’d never cared about the ring. But he’d sure had fun needling Rhys with it, hadn’t he?
Rhys shot to his feet. With the blonde gone, he was at risk of losing the ring forever.
No, no, no.
He could not let that happen.
