Page 17 of A Suitable Countess (To All the Earls I’ve Loved Before #3)

In Which Our Hero Woos his Countess and Our Heroine Takes on a Cheat.

“Victor, join us.” Amid the noise and bustle of the card room at Elverson’s, George maintained the jovial expression his fellow players expected, but he was pleased by how well Viola hid her real feelings behind what appeared to be natural surprise at finding both him and Philip at the table.

After receiving word from Lady Marie that Viola was heading out tonight, and only after many stern words to his godson about the vital importance of not giving away Viola’s identity, George relented, acceding to Philip’s plea to accompany him to the gambling den.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”

George’s greeting had left Viola with little choice but to join them at their table.

Over the last hour, George had worked diligently to allow Philip to win while keeping the fourth chair vacant until Viola arrived.

A tip and a quiet word with Edward, the young footman who now appeared at his elbow each time George visited the club, had ensured they were seated with Reginald Dawson.

Edward also diverted everyone but Victor from joining them.

Suspecting Dawson of being a card sharp, George hadn’t yet managed to catch him at his tricks, but Viola might. Trusting her innate skill at both cards and reading other players, he believed she would see through the cheat and take him down.

This would show her that he respected her ability and was able to sit back and let her deal with a problem. At least that was the theory.

Confident in Viola’s ability and hopeful of his plan, George collected the pot he’d just won, and gathered the cards into a neat pile and began shuffling them while Viola took a seat.

She set a small pile of notes and coins in front of her. “I had not looked to see either of you here this evening.” Her tone was polite to the point of blandness, but George noted sparks when their gazes met.

He knew what she would say if they were alone: Don’t think showing up like this will change my mind, George-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer.

“What can I say, Victor? Philip took it into his head to try to recover some of what he lost a few nights ago.”

Viola turned a slightly less cool gaze on his godson. “Is that right, Philip? Well, far be it from me to wish you ill. May the best man win.”

She gave the subtlest emphasis to ‘man’ and there was a definite sparkle in her eye.

Viola Winspear would play hard tonight, but George wasn’t going to back down from this battle.

He was playing to win the highest stakes of all—

Her.

***

The surge of anger Viola felt upon seeing George at the table dissipated as she fell into the rhythm of the game.

Turn of the card.

Bet—raise—increasing pot.

Her first thought when George called out to her had been that he was trying to change her mind about marrying him, but there was no way he could have known she would be here tonight.

It was an unfortunate coincidence and nothing more.

She would deal with it, and him, and take home enough money to make rehiring staff possible.

It would be good to ease Cook’s burden, and their butler wasn’t getting any younger.

“Mine.” Philip’s tone was gleeful as he scooped the small pot towards him.

Viola blinked and sat back, surprised to see the round had ended. She couldn’t remember what cards she had played.

Distraction was her enemy in this game. She was here to win, and that wasn’t going to happen if she didn’t keep her attention on the table.

Dwelling on her family’s finances, or George’s presence, letting her imagination wander to remember his lips on hers and the fire he’d lit in her—allowing these thoughts to take over would see her small stake dwindle to nothing.

Then there would be no new staff, and the roast joint she planned to buy tomorrow would be no more than a distant memory.

With a conscious effort of will, she fixed her focus back on the game.

She knew Philip’s style and suspected George’s opening bids held the key to his. But the other fellow, Dawson, was still a mystery, and would remain so until she paid attention.

A number of rounds went by before she noticed what was amiss.

Dawson’s tell remained unchanged until each time he summoned one particular footman to pour fresh drinks around their table. The young man seemed to hover nearby until Dawson raised one eyebrow.

As the footman poured, an almost imperceptible smirk flitted across Dawson’s mouth, his bets became more aggressive, and he won a larger pot.

Unless her hand was unbeatable.

At those times, his eyes narrowed, and he dismissed the footman with a flick of his wrist.

Dawson was cheating and finally, Vi worked out how.

He had bribed the footman to signal, via the way he poured each player’s drink: left hand, player has a losing hand; right hand, you can’t win; twist of the bottle at the end of the pour, bid high.

Simple but effective.

Wondering if George had worked it out, she decided she didn’t care.

She knew, and now she could stop Dawson from taking Philip’s money and beat him at his own game.

George could look after himself while she built her own stake. Each win meant a staff member rehired or another week of security for her family.

The next time the footman approached to refill their glasses, Viola set her cards face down, picked up her half-full glass and, timing her move carefully, stretched her arms, splashing the contents over the servant.

She rose, swaying slightly as she looked at the footman. “My apologies. I do believe I’ve imbibed a little too freely.”

Brandy dripped from the young servant’s nose and fringe, and his mouth had dropped open.

“My fault, sir.” Collecting himself and wiping a gloved hand over his face, he backed away before turning and hurrying from the room.

“Dash it, now how did that happen?” Viola blinked lazily and slid back into her seat. Through half-closed eyes, she noted Dawson’s frustration with glee, and George’s hand rising to cover a discreet cough she suspected was a laugh.

Did he know what she’d done and why?

Having removed the collaborator, Viola now focused all her attention on the cheat.

Without his associate, Dawson was on his own, but he still had means of cheating.

Frequent glances at the mirror behind Philip told Viola he was using it to see his opponent’s hand.

As for George, she realised he held his fan of cards rather more curved than was usual.

It was likely the angle kept Dawson from reading them in the mirror.

She kept her cards close to her chest and her attention on Dawson.

Over the ensuing hands, his bets became more erratic until finally, he lost the biggest pot of the evening. Throwing his cards down, he pushed to his feet and pointed at her.

“You, sir, are a cheat. I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’re cheating.” His face had turned puce, and sweat dripped down his nose.

Viola rose, leaning on the table towards her accuser. Hating the attention suddenly turned on her, she dug into the role she had taken on. With her chin thrust forward, she stared Dawson down. “Coming from you, sir, that is a ridiculous accusation.”

Beside her, she was aware of George pushing his chair back from the table, but she didn’t dare turn her head. In one part of her mind, she was grateful for his presence, while at the same time, the need to prove herself lay deep in her belly.

Don’t step in. Let me do this .

He said nothing.

Murmurs rose from players at tables further away, and from the corner of her eye, she noted more heads turning as the drama rippled through the room. Cheating was one of the worst sins a gentleman could commit.

“Gentlemen, what’s going on here?” Kingston, the manager—a burly, pugilistic bruiser—pushed past two tables and came to a stop between Viola and Dawson.

Dawson raised his arm, stabbing the air towards her. “Him. He’s a cheat. He’s won hands he shouldn’t have and—”

“I have won hands, it is true, but not by cheating, unlike Mr Dawson.” Her voice stayed steady despite the rippling sensation in her stomach.

“Liar! Cheat!” Dawson lunged at Viola, but George was suddenly between her and him while Kingston stepped in behind and grabbed the cheat in a hold that incapacitated his arms and held his head forward. “Enough, Mr Dawson. Gentlemen, come with me. We’ll take this to my office.”

A babble of voices rose in a trail of indignation behind them until they passed through a door leading to Kingston’s office.

Out of hearing and sight of the establishment’s other patrons, the manager dropped Dawson onto a chair and stood in front of him.

“Now, Mr Dawson, sit there while we hear what his lordship has to say on the matter. Lord Amhurst?”

George shook his head and turned towards Viola. “I knew Dawson was cheating, but I couldn’t figure out how until Mr Watling had his accident with his drink. He is the one you have to thank for catching this cheat.”

The manager turned his attention to Viola. “Sir?”

Surprised that George had handed over the unmasking to her, Viola cleared her throat. Dawson wasn’t the only one in the room duping others, but he was the only one cheating others of money, and she needed to keep her head and not give herself away.

Deepening her voice, she inclined her head. “I noticed a change in Dawson’s behaviour and betting pattern every time one particular footman refreshed our drinks. I also noticed how often he glanced at the mirror behind Lord Philip.”

Philip’s voice rose in indignation. “You were looking at my cards! No wonder I so rarely won. Why, you—”

George took a grip on Philip’s arm, holding him back from the now cowering figure in the chair. Dawson’s bluster had disappeared, and his anxious gaze jumped from the pugilistic manager to the menace of George’s quiet fury.

Viola continued her accusation. “Between bribing or blackmailing a footman, and using the mirror to see Lord Philip’s hands, Dawson had a good chance of driving up pots when he had even a half-decent hand.

Once he lost his associate, his skill with the cards became notably less, and his anger grew out of control. ” Viola shrugged. “And that’s it.”

“My thanks,” said Kingston. “Other players had hinted at their suspicions over his extraordinary luck at the tables, and now we know how he did it.” The manager went to the door and summoned a couple of heavyset men, and pointed at Dawson.

“Get rid of this piece of rubbish, and you—” He thrust his face close to Dawson’s.

The cheat cringed back in his seat, unable to escape.

“Don’t ever attempt to return to this establishment, or my men will drag you down to the Thames and throw you in.”

Dawson was escorted from the room, thick hands firmly gripping both his arms and drawing a low moan from him.

The manager turned back to Viola. “Thank you, Mr Watling. You, sir, are welcome any time. Your drinks will be on the house.” He ushered their little group from his office.

In the hallway, they stopped, and George looked at Viola. “Well done, Vi. You did it. You took him down all by yourself.”

She held herself erect, wishing they were alone and anywhere but here. “You let me do it. Why?”

“Why not? You’re quite capable of looking after yourself. Besides, you saw through him; how he was doing it. I knew something was off, but I missed the connection between him and the footman.”

Viola nodded, not knowing what to say.

Philip stepped forward and gestured towards the entry, away from the gaming rooms. “I suppose after that unmasking, it would be prudent to leave.”

George agreed and met Viola’s gaze. “Indeed. Will you allow me to see you home?” He turned to Philip. “You can make your own way, can’t you?”

“Yes, Godfather. I am perfectly capable of getting myself home. Night, Victor . You chose your name well.”