Then again, he’d seen stranger things. Nothing surprised him anymore.
The boy would have to be inordinately clever to count so many cards. Cleverer than anyone Hart had ever encountered at a gaming table. It didn’t seem likely he’d stumbled across a prodigy, especially in such an odd, unprepossessing creature as this, with his shabby, ill-fitting cloak.
But something was happening. The boy was so still, his concentration utterly absolute, his eyes darting back and forth, taking in every movement of the dealer’s hands and noting the turn of every card.
And he kept winning. No one won as often as that unless they were cheating. For God’s sake, this…this child was sitting in his club, as cool as you please, and robbing him blind!
But instead of summoning Duncan or snatching up the boy the collar of his coat, dragging him to the door and tossing him out into the mews, Hart remained where he was, watching.
He couldn’t look away.
The boy was good. The best Hart had ever seen. He could have watched him all night, but he didn’t get the chance.
All at once, it was over. Without any warning the boy rose abruptly from his seat, swept his counters into his coat pocket and made his way to the cashier.
What the devil? He wasn’t leaving was he? Leaving, while he was winning?
Now that was something Hart had never seen before. Gamblers were a superstitious lot, and it was a rare gentleman who abandoned the table in the middle of a lucky streak.
What in God’s name was the boy thinking? It wasn’t as if he’d made away with some immense fortune. He hadn’t stayed long enough for that. At most, he was walking out the door with little more than six or seven pounds in winnings.
It was a meagre showing indeed, for such an earnest effort.
Hart was striding across the salon before he realized he’d risen to his feet, but he was already too late. The boy wasn’t in the outer room, and neither was he lingering in the drive outside the club.
He was gone, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.
He’d return, of course. Sooner or later, they always did.
And next time, Hart would be ready for him.
3
Percy’s breeches had chafed the inside of her thighs.
Lottie rolled over onto her back and threw her arm over her face. The light peeking underneath the draperies of her bedchamber window was growing brighter, and Percy and Jenny were already in the kitchen having breakfast.
It was well past time for her to rise, yet here she was hiding in her bed like a coward, her thighs raw and her head in a muddle.
Seven pounds. That was how much money she’d made at Hart’s Ace last night.
Seven measly pounds.
What had ever possessed her to play at Lottery, of all ridiculous games! No self-respecting thief wasted their time on Lottery, for pity’s sake. Vingt-et-Un was the only game worth the risk, but as soon as she crossed the threshold of Hart’s Ace last night she’d fancied a dozen pairs of suspicious eyes were upon her, and her confidence had abandoned her.
That alone was bad enough, but then she fled the club after only a half hour of play, bolting as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.
Dear God, what a coward she was!
It had been an utterly disgraceful performance. If raw, irritated thighs were her only punishment, she’d consider herself lucky. She’d made a dreadful mess of this thing. If only she’d had the courage to stay and finish the job properly! Another ten pounds would have solved all their problems, but instead she’d scurried out of there like the thief she was.
Seven pounds wasn’t enough. She’d have to go back, and that…well, that was how cheaters got caught. The first rule of thievery? Never return to the scene of a previous crime.
“Miss Lottie?” Her bedchamber door cracked open and Jenny peeked inside. “Mr. Percy is angling for his morning bathe, but we’ll wait for you if you wish to accompany us.”
There was no question of her going to the Old Steine. Not after her risky visit to Hart’s Ace. It wasn’t likely anyone would recognize her as the shabby gentleman playing Lottery last night, but if some sharp-eyed citizen did happen to detect a resemblance, her red hair would give her away at once.
No, it wouldn’t do. It was too dangerous. “Never mind me, Jenny. I have a bit of a headache this morning. You two go ahead.”
