“A little poker and a lot of faro ever since I convinced him it’s an easy win.”
Jack mirrored his friend’s grin. They’d both become skilled at faro during their time in the American West.
“I got him started on a winning streak—advising him what cards to bet on and all. He did the predictable, got excited, an’ started playing reckless. I’m guessing a law clerk don’t get paid much, even if it is your pa’s firm. All I had to do was leave him in charge of his own destruction.”
“Works every time.” Jack chuckled. “And you purchased his debt from the club?”
“I did.” Brandt pulled two slips of paper from his pocket and handed them to Jack. One contained a bill of sale from the club, and the other an IOU made out to Owen Brandt and signed by Percival Jebkin along with two witnesses from the club’s management.
Jack kissed the paper. “We got him.”
“We sure did. He was grateful, too. Thinks I’m his best pal.”
“When do we make our next move?” Jack asked.
“Tonight, at seven. He’ll be at the club trying to win back his losses.” Brandt raised his whiskey glass.
“Tonight, at seven!” Jack lifted his glass and clinked it against Brandt’s. He took a long, satisfying sip of whiskey.
Brandt leaned back in his chair and eyed his friend. “So, what was the favor?”
“What favor?” Jack asked, momentarily forgetting what he’d told Brandt earlier about Miss Hamilton.
“Hudsyn’s cousin. You said she wanted a favor from you.”
“She never said. You interrupted the conversation, and she never got round to asking.”
“I reckon that means she’ll be back,” Brandt said.
“I expect it does.” Jack leaned back in his chair and attempted to ignore the pleasurable warmth that flooded through him.
Chapter Five
You write so of the poets, and notlaugh?
Those virtuous liars, dreamers afterdark,
Exaggerators of the sun andmoon,
And soothsayers in ateacup?
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning,“Aurora Leigh”
“Ido hopewe’re in time for tea.” Ottilie climbed the stairs to her cousin’s elegant townhome. “I’m absolutely starving.”
“You are always starving,” Henry said with a laugh.
“Good afternoon, my lord, Miss Hamilton,” Benson greeted them upon opening the door.
“Afternoon, Benson.” Henry took off his hat and gloves and handed them to the butler.
Ottilie’s stomach rumbled as she slipped off her shawl. She glanced at the butler and giggled. “Sorry, Benson, but my stomach demands its tea.”
Benson kept his face expressionless and bowed in acknowledgment of Ottilie’s request.
“Arrange for tea to be sent to the dining room before Miss Hamilton faints. Thank you, Benson.” Henry said as he strode toward the dining room.
“Yes, my lord—” Benson looked as though he wanted to say more, but Henry wandered out of earshot.
