Besides, he’d been searching for a woman like her, one who could help him exact vengeance.
Unfortunately, first he must help her.
Beck stood back, waiting for his opportunity.
***
The faro played at this table was faster than what Gwendolyn had ever enjoyed at home with her father.
The banker was quicker. There was no pausing to count out coins, or, as in her childhood games,twigs. He claimed money and handed it out with hardly a blink, and then the game was on again.
At first, Gwendolyn had believed she was keeping up. She won several hands. But that had apparently been luck, because after rapidly gaining, she was even more rapidly losing. At one point, she’d taken her thirty-four pounds up to at least a hundred. Now she was down to fifteen pounds and in danger of losing it all.
Perhaps her nerves had gotten the better of her. Her mind, which had always been quick to remember the cards, was failing her.
Worse, she was failing her sisters. They waited in an inn some distance away for her return. They had wanted to come with her, but she wouldn’t let them. She preferred knowing they were safe with Herald, the family butler, who had decided to join them on their adventure. He had promised Gwendolyn to watch over them and Tweedie.
Besides, she’d reasoned, in even the worst areas of Ireland, a woman dressed in widow’s weeds was safe.
Well, except for the Devil’s Hand.
Gwendolyn rubbed the coin between her gloved fingers. She was sweating beneath her heavy mourning garb. The disguise had been another of Dara’s ideas. Gwendolyn was deeply thankful no one could recognize her. Yes, Father had claimed that genteel ladies gambled, but did they in Dublin?
The men were practically eating her with their eyes. Did her disguise make her more alluring? Or were they like birds of prey, always waiting, always hungry—
“Are you in this round, Mrs. Bunsaway?” the dealer prodded. He spoke politely, and yet she had the sense there was a private jest going on among the men, one in which she was the source of amusement.
She also wished she’d picked a different name than Mrs. Bunsaway.
In truth, she hadn’t thought of using a fake name. The need for it hadn’t struck her until she’d first walked into the Devil’s Hand. The faro dealer, a man they called Darby, had rushed up to her, pulling her in and demanding her name.
Gwendolyn had known better than to say Lanscarr, but she wished she and her sisters hadn’t overlooked this detail. She had pulled the name Bunsaway out of the air, and a silly one it was. It had been her first mistake, among others.
“Mrs. Bunsaway?” Darby prodded. “We are waiting.”
Gwendolyn lowered her hands to her lap, almost afraid to touch the few coins in front of her. She was treacherously close to losing it all. Her sisters trusted her to be wise. They still needed to pay for their room at the inn.
She cleared her throat. It was hard to speakaround the heaviness of failure growing in her chest. “I will sit this round out.”
Actually, she would leave. That is what she wanted to do. She’d run, and perhaps once she was outside where she could take a decent breath, she could get her courage back... or not. She’d ruined them, and their only hope was for her to return to Wiltham House and marry Mr. Davies.
Dear God, Elise was right—Gwendolyn did not want to see him naked.
Other players had sat rounds out and Darby had gone on with his business. He didn’t this time. He gave her a feral smile. “Come, Mrs. Bunsaway, your luck will change. Trust us to see you through.”
As if on command, the men around her seemed to press forward, leaning toward her.
Abruptly, she stood. “I can’t... play.” Dear Lord, she felt as if she might swoon. Lanscarr women never had feminine vapors. They were a robust lot.
But then, no one had ever failed her family the way Gwendolyn had.
She turned, ready to shove her way through the men fawning around her when Darby caught her gloved wrist, his fingers long, white, and meaty. “Don’t run. Terms can be worked out. And you will like me. I can make a woman like you happy.Veryhappy.”
Gwendolyn wasn’t quite certain what he meant, until the guffaws rose around her, then she understood exactly what he was saying.
She attempted to pull her hand away. Darby tried to tighten his hold. She slid her hand out of the glove. Too late, he realized what she was doing and found himself holding the empty glove. Gwendolyn gave a sharp elbow to the man closest to her and grabbed what was left of her money off the table. The man jumped back with a yelp. Holding her veil close to her face, she pushed her way free, not caring if her sturdy walking shoes stomped on toes. In fact, she hoped they did.
And then she was away from the close cluster around the table. She wanted to run from this place, but then stopped.
