Page 102 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

The dealer dealt again. From where I stood, I could just make out Harry’s hand. It wasn’t very good. I smiled anyway and allowed my eyelids to flutter closed, as if relieved.

When I opened them, Dutch was watching me. He threw down his cards, giving in. As Harry threw down his, I winked at Dutch and licked my lips suggestively. I smiled.

He smiled back then looked down at the table and Harry’s discarded hand.

But the dealer had already scooped the cards up and placed them face down on the pile that were out of play.

Dutch appealed to the dealer but the dealer refused to show them. It was against the rules. Dutch accepted the decision. He couldn’t overrule the dealer in front of everyone. It would be a sign that the fellow was in his pocket, and no one would trust Dutch again. He would lose all his customers.

Harry won the round, and the next and the next. That one missed hand was enough to throw Dutch off course. He grew more frustrated with every loss and that frustration probably made him lose concentration even more. He couldn’t claw his way back into the game.

He lost all of his tokens.

Harry stood amid a scattered round of applause. He held out his hand.

Dutch hesitated. Then he stood and shook it. “Good show, Old Man. You’re a formidable opponent.”

Harry asked one of the footmen for paper and ink. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but it is a large sum.”

Dutch smiled through clenched teeth. “Of course.”

The footman brought writing implements and Dutch wrote a note, signing it with a flourish. Harry handed it to Floyd.

Floyd clasped Harry’s shoulder and blinked fiercely. “I know you didn’t do it for me, but thank you anyway. You saved me.”

Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t even flicker an eyelash in my direction.

Jonathon, however, watched me from beneath lowered lids.

“I need some air,” I said.

I suspected I wasn’t the only one. Harry looked like he could hardly breathe.

I was about to lead the way outside when Dutch suddenly appeared at my side. He caught my hand and pressed it to his lips. “I am devastated, my dear little Fox. I was looking forward to our night together.”

“It was for an evening not a night,” I said, trying to sound amused when I felt cold to my bones. “I had the theater in mind.”

He chuckled. “I do enjoy play acting. Another time, perhaps. I would very much like to spend more time with you. Alone.”

He went to kiss my hand again, but I found myself being pulled away by both my cousin and Jonathon.

Harry stepped into the breach, clenched his hand into a fist and punched Dutch in the stomach before he saw it coming. “You can’t afford her.”

Dutch doubled over, coughing.

The brutish doorman rushed towards us and it took both Jonathon and Floyd to persuade him not to hit Harry. Harry raised his hands in the air and agreed to leave. The doorman slammed the door behind us.

Outside on the pavement, Jonathon signaled to a waiting coachman.

Harry went to walk off, but I caught his hand, stopping him. “He can’t afford me?”

To my surprise, he laughed softly. His simmering anger had disappeared, left behind in the gambling house. Punching Dutch must have been cathartic. Winning probably helped too.

“It’s all I could think of at the time,” he said. “Sorry. It sounds crass now that I hear it again.”

I clasped his forearm and squeezed hard. I wanted to get my point across. I needed to make sure he knew how much I appreciated his actions. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. I’m the one who is sorry. I put you in a predicament tonight, and it wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”