We sit down at one of the green-felt tables. This room is paneled in dark wood and covered from end to end in plush maroon carpet.
There are a dozen or so tables, all surrounded by men in crispcravats and impeccably tailored coats. I recognize a few of my father’s old chums and business associates.
Bram greets the other men at our table warmly. “Ah, Perkins!” He looks to the man next to us, then waves over a waiter. He knows everyone’s drinks, goes around the table ordering them, then gets to me. “Champagne, right?”
The waiter hurries off, but Bram snaps his finger, and dark red port magically appears in Perkins’s water glass.
Perkins takes a sip, then grimaces. “Why is it sour?” he asks. Everyone dissolves into uproarious laughter.
Bram shrugs good-naturedly. “I’m afraid my gifts are limited, Perkins!”
From somewhere in the far corner a cry goes out. Someone shouts.
“What’s that?” I gesture in the direction of the game that seems to be going wrong.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bram says tightly.
The dealer flicks us our cards.
There’s a flash of movement. The man who was shouting at the other table throws himself at Bram’s feet. His hands are clasped in prayer, his head on Bram’s lap. “Please, please, Your Highness. Speak to your mother for me. I’ll do anything!”
Bram stands up. “This is neither the time nor the place. My mother’s business is her own.”
A guard wraps his arms around the man and pulls him away from Bram. “Please!” he yells as he’s dragged out of the room. “I made the bargain on the twenty-third of July, 1826. It’s ruined me! I’ve already lost my family. My estate is all I have left. She tricked me! Ask her for mercy!”
The activity in the gambling hall starts right back up, as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Bram says grimly.
I place my hands on the smooth edge of the table to keep them from shaking. “Does that happen often?”
There’s a sadness in his eyes. “I don’t agree with all the things my mother does, but they make the bargains of their own accord. I cannot help them.”
“Are you ready, milords?” the dealer asks. “And... milady,” he adds awkwardly.
“Please, continue,” Bram replies smoothly.
I place my hand on Bram’s knee under the table, more desperate than ever to win his affection. I can hardly stand to think about Emmett right now, but if he’s right and I’m the only hope of putting an end to this, I cannot fail.
“Which one is this?” asks Lord something-or-other as the cards are redealt.
“Lord Hambleton, may I present Lady Ivy Benton,” Bram answers curtly.
I nod my head, but Lord Hambleton goes back to his cards. “I thought the other one was prettier. Trummer’s daughter, isn’t it? Or your brother’s ballerina?”
Bram glares. “That’s not any way to speak in front of a lady.”
“Well, she’s not supposed to be here, is she?” the lord grumbles.
My chest burns hot with embarrassment, but I keep on smiling sweetly. The dealer flips over the first card. “Remind me what a full house is,” I whisper to Bram as an excuse to get close to him.
“Three of a kind and two of another,” Bram whispers back. “We can go if you want.”
I lay a hand on his upper arm. “No, no, I’d like to stay.”
We circle the table, giving bets. My hand is rubbish, but I can bluff. “I call.”
“On whose money?” Lord Hambleton scoffs. “Your father’s line of credit was cut off years ago.”
