Page 14 of The Gambler Wagers Her Baron

“Come now”—she paused to glance around the table—“we have the eyes of everyone on us. I certainly cannot cheat with so much attention.”

Damon should put an end to their scuffle and ask the duke to depart.

She reached across the table, gathering all the cards, and held them out to Catherton.

“You may shuffle and deal, Your Grace.” When the duke didn’t make a move to return to his seat, she leaned farther across the table, her glove slipping down her arm. “We do not wish to disappoint our waiting audience…unless you are a coward.”

Catherton’s face flooded crimson at the woman’s prodding and, had his opponent been a gentleman, there was no doubt the duke would have challenged him to a dawn meeting in Hyde Park for the remark.

A hush fell across the room, even quieting the musicians as no one made any movements. The seconds ticked slowly on as the woman stared up at Catherton, her head tilted ever so slightly to the left.

Damon reached forward, determined to put an end to the debacle by taking the cards and announcing that their evening had come to its conclusion; however, something on her exposed arm drew his scrutiny. The cards were forgotten as Damon recognized what stained the woman’s upper arm. Blue dye.

Miss Samuels? His children’s governess?

“One hand, but I will have more than what you have wagered on the table.” Catherton’s voice was a low hiss as he collected his chair and sat. “My ten pounds, your three pounds and four shillings, plus an additional twenty pounds.”

The crowd erupted in applause.

Did they not realize the threat and consequences of Catherton’s declaration?

Miss Samuels did not possess twenty pounds. The woman had fretted over her ruined gown that very morning, demanding it be replaced if his housekeeper could not remove the blue dye from the fabric.

Damon should be utterly stunned beyond words and command her to his study; however, he also wanted her to best Catherton and send the man scurrying home…without his precious coin.

After a lengthy pause, Miss Samuels nodded. “An additional twenty pounds it is, Your Grace.”

“Piquet?” Catherton asked, not waiting for Miss Samuels to agree before shuffling the cards. “When partie is reached and six deals complete, the player with the most points wins the prize of thirty-three pounds, plus the shillings, forgoing the usual payout for scoring.”

The game was one of memory, skill, and strategy. His governess could not seem to muster the skill and strategy to handle two small children; certainly, there was little hope she’d best the duke at piquet. However, her history in his very card room spoke to the contrary. He’d witnessed her, week after week, besting some of London’s acclaimed gamesmen.

“I shall keep the scores,” Damon said.

The first hand was dealt in short order, and Miss Samuels laid down five cards and exchanged them for five from the talon pile. The duke scanned his cards, holding them close to his chest before similarly trading three of his cards from the remaining talon stack.

Damon listened closely as the players declared their cards, back and forth, paying special attention to the points, sequences, and sets.

After five deals, it was Miss Samuels who was ahead with ninety-eight points, while the duke wasn’t far behind with eighty-seven.

One last hand, and the match would be over. Both parties had agreed to adhere to the outcome, accept their fate, and continue the evening without another mention of cheating.

It was his governess’s turn to shuffle and distribute the cards—twelve each with eight in the talon stack. The crowd inhaled sharply when the duke exchanged five cards, leaving three for Miss Samuels. However, she didn’t exchange a single card for a new one. It was rarely done, holding the originally dealt hand.

What was the woman thinking?

She’d played a strategic partie so far, expertly knowing when to hold certain cards and when to play them to their best advantage. Her lead was not so great that she could risk allowing those cards to go unseen.

However, when her chin notched up an inch, she declared, “Carte blanche.”

Miss Samuels flashed her cards briefly to verify, and Damon noted her added ten points.

“Five,” Catherton declared, his smug grin giving off the impression he’d already determined himself the victor.

“Good,” she replied.

“Forty-eight,” the duke said, declaring his score.

Thankfully, the set was far from over, as the last declaration gave the duke a clear advantage.