Page 101 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

“I agree to your terms,” Dutch said quickly. “Armitage, sit.”

Harry didn’t sit. He caught my arm and pulled me away. The crowd parted and closed behind us, obscuring the table from sight.

I jerked free and planted my feet on the floor. “Harry,” I hissed. “You can do this. You can beat him. I know you can.” I winked.

He stared at me, his mouth ajar. Then he dragged a hand down his face. When it came away, he was ashen. “I am not cheating,” he whispered back.

I drew closer and lowered my voice. I didn’t want anyone hearing this conversation. “It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend to be the upstanding gentleman with an iron-clad code of honor with me.”

“I’m not pretending.”

Oh God. I felt sick. “Then…how?”

“Mathematics, mostly, and a good memory for what’s already been played. Also, my face is hard to read.”

I groaned. “Probability.”

He gripped my arms. “Will you please leave now before this gets out of hand?”

I glanced at the large guard blocking the door. Behind me, the crowd parted again to reveal Dutch seated at the table, smiling that slick smile of his. One word from him and both guards would make sure we didn’t leave.

“I’ll create a distraction,” Harry whispered. “You get ready to run.”

I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves and my voice. “Dutch, do I have your word that you’ll wipe Floyd’s debt if Mr. Armitage wins?”

“You do.”

“Cleo,” Harry whispered. “What are you doing?”

“And if he loses, that an evening will suffice?” I went on.

Dutch smiled. “I am a gentleman, Miss Fox. My word is as good as a written contract. An evening with you is all that is at stake.”

I turned to Harry. “There, see? If you don’t win, I’ll simply be obliged to spend some time with him. We’ll attend the opera or theater. I’ll be home by midnight.”

“I didn’t think you were that naïve,” he growled.

He was right and I knew it. Dutch would insist on more than a theater show, and it wouldn’t be in public place.

Chapter19

Istood behind Dutch as some of the other women did with their favorite player. He politely asked me to move away then firmly suggested Floyd and Jonathon do so too. He didn’t want us signaling his hand to Harry, now seated opposite.

It was just the two of them, for this game. They both placed ten tokens in front of them while the dealer dealt.

“The first player to run out of tokens is the loser,” Jonathon explained. “After each round, the cards played are removed from the deck and out of play for the following rounds.”

That was something in Harry’s favor, at least. If he kept track of which cards had been played, he had a better chance of winning. He had a formidable memory and a quick mind. With his fondness for mathematics, he shouldn’t have any difficulty determining which cards were still in play and his probability of winning.

Then it struck me that Dutch was using the same method. He wasn’t cheating either, but using probability and a good memory to out-smart his opponent. Against different players, these two men would be near impossible to beat. Against one another, their equal skill canceled the other out. It was a fair contest.

I stayed well back, out of Harry’s line of sight so as not to distract him. The game required his full concentration.

He won the first round, but lost the next five. His stack of tokens shrank to just two. On at least two occasions, his hand was weak but still better than Dutch’s, yet he’d given in. He couldn’t read Dutch’s face and so couldn’t guess what he held. He could remember every card played and calculate the probability, but without a clue from Dutch, he still needed to guess in these early rounds.

“Christ,” Floyd muttered with a hand to his stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”

He wasn’t the only one.