Free Secrets of a Wedding Night by Valerie Bowman Page B

pockets empty of late. Seems yer luck has run out. Can ye match it or not?”
    Devon smiled, a completely humorless smile. A smile intended to project confidence, a smile intended to scare that bastard Winfrey into shutting the hell up for a moment. Devon reached into his pocket and withdrew his own voucher.
    One thousand pounds.
    A fortune. Five times as much as Winfrey had bet.
    Devon tossed the voucher on the table. “Not only match it. I’ll raise it.”
    A sharp gasp and a murmur rippled through the motley crowd.
    Devon kept his eyes trained on Winfrey. The man was dangerous. When confronted like this, he might make a scene to avoid the bet, he might accuse Devon of cheating, might even pull a knife. All of these things and worse had happened before in this place. Devon’s booted leg bobbed up and down on the grimy floor. He waited. Carefully, watching.
    Winfrey’s soulless eyes narrowed on him. He sniffed repeatedly and wiped a hand devoid of a handkerchief across his bulbous nose. “I’ll match ye,” he ground out, nodding once.
    A little, round man stood next to him. Winfrey grabbed the man by the coat and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. The little man wore filthy clothing including a dark gray cravat Devon could only guess had once been white. The smaller man’s grin revealed a hodgepodge of black, rotting teeth. Devon fought his shudder. The man scampered away with an odd, helter-skelter limp.
    “Me man is off ta fetch me voucher,” Winfrey announced with a sour look on his face.
    “My pleasure to wait,” Devon replied, relaxing a bit. “Though you could forfeit and end this whole thing now.” He eyed Winfrey’s left hand where the man wore a large gold and garnet ring.
    Devon’s father’s signet ring.
    Winfrey’s sharp crack of laughter bounced off the dirty, wooden walls. “Oh, ye’d like that very much, wouldn’t ye, Colton?”
    Devon narrowed his eyes. Yes, gentlemen only came to this part of town with a purpose. And Devon’s purpose had always been to win. But he was biding his time. He normally played against cutthroats and gamers. The type of men who gambled with money they’d got from begging, stealing, or worse. And he always won. But Winfrey was different. Winfrey was the man who’d stolen his father’s fortune. Winfrey was worse than a thief or a ringer. The man was truly dangerous, and Devon wasn’t about to show his hand to Winfrey. Not yet.
    Devon wasn’t here for himself. Or even his blasted dead father who’d left all the Colton estates barren and the coffers completely empty, tarnishing the family name. No, he wasn’t here for either of them. He was here for one reason and one reason only. Justin. He would do anything for Justin. Even this.
    The small man soon returned with a voucher and Devon nodded once as Winfrey tossed it onto the table.
    *   *   *
    Two hours later, Devon snapped orders to his coachman to get him the deuce out of the Rookery. He relaxed back into his seat. Yes, that fool Winfrey was an inveterate scoundrel. And only too willing to tout his luck and skill at a game of chance.
    Devon shook his head. He’d lost one thousand pounds today, but that was part of his plan. He was that much closer to being done with the entire detestable business. Almost. But not quite. There was one more game he had to play. One in which the stakes were much higher. It would be a game involving every thief and rook in town. Every cheat and sharp would crawl from his hole for this particular game, and Devon would be there with them. The prize was five thousand pounds. A fortune to those scoundrels. The money meant little to Devon. He wanted only one thing.
    The Colton signet ring.
    And Devon would be at a disadvantage. He wasn’t a cheat or a liar. He wouldn’t kill a man for winning his money, or for looking at him the wrong way. But he did have one thing in his favor. The numbers. They flowed through his brain and translated into decision-making in card games