Page 8 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Chapter Five

Adam stretched his arms and gave a loud, luxuriously yawn. From the lumpiness of the bed, he knew he lay in his lodgings at Alston House—but how he’d gotten there was a mystery. He’d spent an enjoyable evening at Luckie’s Oyster Cellar, dandling a bonny wench on his knee while bellowing drinking songs at the top of his voice. Fueled by an endless supply of cheap porter and even cheaper whisky, the last thing he recalled was slipping under the table in a delightful stupor.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d stumbled back to his lodgings too drunk to remember a step of the journey back, even though he hadn’t done nearly as much of that of late. A bankrupt estate had a somewhat sobering effect on a man. He sat up slowly and rubbed his chin, noting the scratchiness of his whiskers. It was time for a shave.

“You’re awake earlier than I expected,” a deep voice commented from near the door.

Adam started and glanced over his shoulder to see his friend, Lord Nicholas, his back against the door, arms folded across his chest and his polished boots crossed at the ankles.

“I apologize for my late arrival last night, Adam. You forgot to tell me where to meet you.” Humor gleamed in Nick’s eye. “However, you were easy enough to find. I merely had to walk down Cowgate to hear the singing—how does the song go… a lusty young smith at his vice stood—”

“I know the words,” Adam cut in. He rolled onto his back. “You should’ve joined me for a drink.”

“I did.” Nick laughed. “Have you no recollection of last night, at all?”

“Cheap whisky interferes with such pesky things as memories,” Adam remarked with a dry smile. “I trust you didn’t find drinking it too much of a chore?”

“Nae, lugging you up two flights of stairs, however, was tasking. You are damned heavy. Get dressed. We have important business to discuss at the Poker Club.”

Adam climbed out of bed, stretched his arms over his head, then grabbed his shirt from the foot of the bed. “Poker Club? Have you no burning desire to stay here in my sinfully extravagant lodgings?”

He glanced about the small depressing room, furnished with just the lumpy bed and a table—with no chairs. A broken mirror hung sideways on one wall, and a torn print depicting a cow standing near a stone cottage adorned the other. The single small window with its extensive view of the rooftops below provided the only light. He’d quit buying candles. They only vanished into the pockets of Alston House’s other tenants. Many a time, he’d caught Mrs. Latimer from the room above picking the lock of his door.

“I have news,” Nicholas said, interrupting Adam’s introspection. “Be quick, man. I’m in the mood for Luther’s goose pie.”

“Luther does serve a particularly tasty goose pie.” Adam crossed to the table where sat an empty water basin. “Damnation, I need shaving water.” He fastened the last button on his shirt.

Nicholas reached for the brass bell hanging by the door. “I’ll summon the maid—”

“No, not the bell.” Adam pointed at the ceiling. “Mrs. Latimer is weary of the bell. She claims I ring it far too vigorously and far too often.” He picked up a sheet of paper from the table. “Your obnoxious ringing of the bell disturbs my rest. Only the most ungodly of creatures would ring the bell as you do…so on, and so forth.”

Adam tossed the letter back on the table, reached into the saddlebag resting on the floor, and withdrew his finely crafted pistol. He crossed to the window and threw it wide open. The bright light made him wince as he leaned out, pointed the pistol skyward, and pulled the trigger. The loud crack shattered the morning silence. Something thudded in the room above, followed by loud swearing and the pounding of feet on the floor.

Nick lifted a brow.

Adam shrugged. “Mrs. Latimer complained of bells. She said nothing about pistols.”

Nicholas’s upper lip quivered in the vain attempt to prevent a smile.

Feet pounded on the stairs—from both above and below—and seconds later, someone banged on the door.

“Open the door, will you?” Adam asked as he shoved the pistol back in his saddlebag.

Nicholas unlatched the door. A maid bobbed nervously on the threshold as a bitter shrew of a woman loomed angrily behind her.

“The pistol shot?” the maid asked.

“’Tis naught but a simple signal for shaving water, and I thank you very much,” Adam replied. As she darted away, he locked gazes with his neighbor from above. “Good morning, Mrs. Latimer. I only seek to accommodate your requests of the bell. I presume you find the pistol more palatable?”

“I’ll throttle you in your sleep,” the woman growled. “I will see you tossed out on the streets. We are too fine a folk for the likes of you here.” She turned more quickly than he would have thought a woman of her size could and hurried away.

Nick kicked the door shut.

“Such an unpleasant soul. I fear for the man who finds comfort in her embrace.” Adam grimaced. “Is such a thing possible?”

Nicholas lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Finding comfort in a good woman’s embrace will remove you from this place.”

Adam shot him frown. “What the devil are you talking about?”