Beau Brummell might be able to hide in France the rest of his life, but Anthony had friends and family in England. Friends and family who would welcome him back with open arms once his vowels were paid.
Tonight was the night. He could feel it. Fate had been on his side from the moment Leviston had suggested a game of Speculation. Anthony could not possibly have resisted.
He had always preferred games of chance over strategy. His strength was not in counting cards or doing figures, but in being incredibly lucky. Any gambler experienced periods of soaring highs and devastating lows but, in Anthony’s case, fortune favored him so often that his winnings at the gaming tables had been his family’s sole income for years.
True, he had recently suffered agonizing losses but, as any gambler knew, a windfall was always a mere turn of the cards away.
All he needed was one big win.
Whitfield shook his head. “Demme, I should never have believed the rumors of your luck running out. You’re unsinkable! Think you’ll ever retire from the gaming tables and leave a few pence for us mortals?”
Anthony twisted his face into a comical expression of horror. “Never!”
Chuckling, Whitfield gathered the remaining cards and began to shuffle.
Anthony sent a quick smile toward his shadowy Lady Fortune. She was his charm, his muse. He had won that last round simply because she’d gazed upon him.
“I see our would-be adversary has caught your eye,” said Whitfield.
“She wagers?” Anthony asked in surprise.
“She’d like to,” Leviston answered dryly, “but Bost wouldn’t let her join us.”
Bost drained his brandy and waved his empty glass at a barmaid. “What do women know about cards? Her husband should pay more attention to the purse strings.”
Whitfield’s eyes glittered. “And if she hasn’t got one, she should just say the word and I’ll be happy to step in for the night.”
Anthony’s lips flattened in distaste. “Leave her alone.”
“Why?” Bost crossed his arms. “You have claims on the lady?”
“You never know, do you?” Anthony countered icily. It was a nonsense rejoinder, but at least his tone served to silence the blackguards.
Good. He needed to keep winning. A brawl over Lady Fortune’s honor would have ruined everything.
“Your wine, my lords.” The harried barmaid refilled the other gentlemen’s glasses, then turned toward Anthony. “Anything for you, sir?”
“Not for me.” Anthony placed a gold sovereign he’d set aside onto her tray. “For you. Everyone deserves some good luck once in a while.”
Her eyes glistened. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
Anthony inclined his head. Inn staff would not know him this far north, but he always shared a small token from his winnings. He couldn’t imagine a worse fate than having to be employed to scrape out a living—not only because gentlemen of his class did not work. Anthony had never cleaved to anyone else’s schedule or demands in his life. Gaming hells were much more suited to his style of living.
In fact, he won the next three rounds. A thrill shot through him. Lady Fortune’s presence had made him unconquerable indeed.
“I’m out.” Bost pushed his chair back and stood with a disgusted expression. “If I risk any more, I shan’t be able to afford to break my fast in the morning.”
“Make that two of us.” Whitfield glanced at Anthony as he rose to his feet. “I suppose the gossips also lied when they said all the gaming hells in London had closed their doors to you.”
“London?” Anthony leaned back in his throne with a careless grin. “Try England. Why do you think I came all the way to Scotland to deprive you of your last ha’penny?”
“Scoundrel.” Whitfield shook his head with a chuckle. “Good night, all.”
Bost adjusted his hat. “Next time I see you, Fairfax, I’m winning back my blunt.”
“You can try,” Anthony agreed with good cheer before handing the cards to Leviston. “One last round?”
“I’ll no doubt regret this,” Leviston grumbled as he shuffled the cards.
A movement caught Anthony’s eye. He straightened his spine as Lady Fortune rose from her shadowy corner and made her way toward their table.
“Now is there room for a lady?” she asked in a rich, sultry voice.
“Without question.” Anthony leaped up while she took her seat. She had no chance of winning, but he saw no reason not to welcome her to the table.
“Your funeral,” Leviston said to her under his breath. “Fairfax here is unbeatable.”
Anthony was in full agreement. Leviston could bid his last farthing adieu. Now that Lady Fortune was seated at their table, Anthony’s luck would be boundless. He was on the longest winning streak of his life.
“Fairfax, meet Miss Devon.” Leviston began to deal the cards. “Starting wager is twenty pounds, pet.”
She placed her bet on the table without changing expression.
Anthony couldn’t stop staring at her from the corner of his eye. He was normally quite gifted at sizing someone up in the briefest of moments—it was the key to reading tables, and knowing when to pass or when to triple his wager—but he couldn’t quite get a fix on Miss Devon.
It wasn’t just the high-necked modesty of her thick fichu being paired with extravagant rubies, or her concealed golden tendrils and pristine white gloves. Now that she was close enough for him to read her features, he still couldn’t do so. Her clear blue eyes were as calm as a winter lake and her pretty, unlined face betrayed nothing.
He was fascinated. Tempted to give up on cards altogether in favor of unraveling the far more intriguing mystery beneath the oversized bonnet.
But winning big was his only chance of repaying his debts.
Anthony took the next round, and the round after that. Leviston took the third, only for Anthony to win it back double the following hand with an ace on his first deal.
By the fifth round, Leviston’s grip on his cards was white-knuckled and he trembled with obvious anxiety.
Miss Devon murmured, “Breathe in through your nose…and out through your mouth. It is but one hand of cards amongst many. A moment in time. Feel your fingers relaxing. If you wish to stop, you may do so. It is only a game.”
To Anthony’s amazement, Leviston visibly relaxed as he listened to her soft, coaxing words. His knuckles returned to their normal color and his hands ceased trembling.
“You’re right,” Leviston said with a rueful smile. “How easily we forget that the turn of a card is meaningless overall.”
Meaningless? Anthony would have laughed if so much wasn’t riding on his continued lucky streak. For him, the turn of the cards meant the difference between eating or not. Between having a roof to sleep under or not. Between being able to look his loved ones in the eyes or consigning them to poverty.
Thank God, up ’til now, Lady Fortune had only worked her calming magic on Anthony, or he would not have won a penny. The sight of white knuckles and trembling fingers was his cue to wager big.
Then again, Fate alone dealt the hands. All the subtle cues in the world were useless without the capacity to win.
He glanced down at his final card. Indescribable joy spread through him. He should never have doubted Lady Fortune. Miss Devon could calm Leviston with as many reassuring words as she wished, because Anthony’s hand was unstoppable. A rush of excitement surged through him. These were truly the best cards he’d ever been dealt in his life. The best cards anyone had ever been dealt. All three of his cards had been the three highest trumps.
Leviston was about to go home in tears.
“All in.” Anthony dropped the entire contents of his purse next to his twenty pounds. “Forty per player if you stay in.”
“Curse you, Fairfax.” Color drained from Leviston’s face, but he kept a stiff upper lip and ponied up his blunt. “This is my last hand.”