Balancing with a cane in one hand, the basket in the other, he maneuvered in his boots to stand near her.
Powdered wig, face slathered in paint, she lowered her head to Lionel kicking at his blanket. She shook her head. “Repington?”
“Yes, LaCroy. I believe we’ve met.”
“Yes.”
He set the basket down and leaned over and adjusted her cravat. “Nice tailor, but your waistcoat, is getting damp. Perhaps you should leave and get some fresh air.”
“We should go.”
“Not me. I’m here to gamble.” He picked Lionel’s basket up again. “Nice seeing you again, LaCroy.”
That look—wide eyes, quivering cleft in her chin—touched his heart, softening the well-deserved ire built up every mile to London. It was a long trip with the countess and a babe who wouldn’t drink his pap milk.
But Patience needed a lesson.
He stepped around her and went to the hazard table. The jade-colored baize table was crowded. Dice rolled down the length to jeers and cheers.
“You ready to roll, sir. The man just threw out with deuce aces.”
The operator dropped the two white cubes into Busick’s palm. He cast them down the table with just enough pressure to make the long distance.
It took two rolls, two adjustments to the force of his throw before the dice stopped on a nick of five. Gambling wasn’t something he did, but he admired the strategy of the game and beating the odds.
He hit his streak, winning his shots, casting the dice and nailing his nicks—fives, sixes, and an occasional twelve.
Luck was on his side, and Lionel had fallen back to sleep, the gentle blue blanket shifting only a little.
The shadow of thinner legs fell on the basket and that sweet soapy smell came from behind.
“Your Grace, don’t you think you’ve proven your point?”
He shook the die in his palms. “No points can be proven unless someone admits that flouting authority is wrong. Does one recognize the governance of a superior officer? His wisdom?”
“Duke,” the operator said. “It’s your roll. You’re still winning.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. LaCroy, why don’t you go try another game? You like games.”
Her penitent look turned petulant. “As you wish, Commander. But take care of the bread, Markham is here.”
No sooner had she said those words than the devil appeared on his right.
Markham hissed and chuckled. “See? I knew you’d want to go on and enjoy living.”
“Back away from my roll,” Busick said, “I don’t want your luck.”
Patience slipped away, retreating to a safe distance beneath the chandelier.
He saw fear on her face. That wasn’t the lesson he wanted for her.
Busick shook the dice. “You’re still here, Markham. Do they know you’re bankrupt?”
The man’s pinched faced caved in better than what Busick’s fist would do.
“Nothing is over, Duke. You haven’t won. In fact, I hear you have one foot in the grave, or was it that you left one there?”
Busick tossed the dice and hit his mark. “I’m still in a better position than you. Take your broke pockets, your bluster, and leave.”
