Page 2 of The Earl’s Wrangler (Cowboy Nobility #3)

“I’ll take it easy on you. I don’t want Madeline angry with me,” Alan replied with that huge smile of his, while others sat down, filling the spaces at the table.

The card stewards made their rounds so everyone could buy in.

This was a gentleman’s club, so no money actually changed hands at the tables.

All money was handled through the club in a discreet manner.

Alan, since he was a guest, must have made prior arrangements, because the stewards simply gave him what he requested.

They cut the cards to see who would deal first, and Randall gathered the cards and dealt the first hand.

Everyone seemed to be feeling each other out, so there were no large moves at first, but after a few hands, things became more spirited.

Randall won two small pots, enough to put him slightly ahead, which was good, but games of cards lasted for hours, and more than anything, he wanted to wipe the smile off that damned cowboy’s face.

“I’M FINISHED for today,” the marquess said as he tossed in his hand. “I’ve lost enough to you,” he told Alan, who had the largest stack of chips at the table. “Madeline will be upset if I continue.” He patted Alan on the shoulder.

“You tell that lovely wife of yours that I said hello and that the next time you visit I should have that old carriage you found at your place ready for the two of you to take a ride.”

“She is going to love that,” the marquess said before nodding to the others at the table and leaving the room, using his cane for support.

Throughout the evening, the number of tables had diminished and the players had condensed down to fewer tables until only their table was left. “I think this is my last hand,” Alan said as he turned to George.

“You need to give us a chance to get even,” Randall said, looking down at his comparatively meager stack of chips.

“What I need to do is stop before you lose any more,” Alan said gently, but Randall’s temper rose, and he had to remind himself to stay calm and not give anything away.

“George, it’s your deal,” Alan said as he tossed in his initial chips.

Randall did the same as the others at the table slid their chairs back.

“I’m out.”

“So am I,” the other players said.

“It looks like it’s just us.” No one else to get in the way. Randall had been studying Alan all evening, and he was pretty sure he’d gotten a sense of when Alan was bluffing. George dealt the cards and let the two of them play.

Randall was dealt a possible outside straight with a paired eight. Alan bet, and Randall raised him two hundred pounds, which drew the attention of the others still observing. “You’re going to have to pay to play.”

“Call,” Alan said coolly, and they each took one card, which Randall thought interesting. He’d broken his pair of eights, and lo and behold, he hit the straight. When Alan bet, Randall raised once more, this time five hundred pounds.

Alan sat calmly and raised as well, this time a thousand pounds. “I don’t have enough here to cover that,” Randall said, knowing the club rules were always table stakes. It helped head off any number of issues between the members, especially where money was concerned.

Alan set his cards facedown. “Care for a little side wager? If you win, I’ll pay out as if you called.”

“And if you win?” Randall asked.

Alan glanced at George. “Then you work off the debt.”

“At George’s estate? What’s the point?” Randall shrugged.

“No, at my family ranch. George will be returning for a couple of weeks in October, and if I win, then you work off the debt in Wyoming, to my mother’s satisfaction.” There was a sparkle in those damned blue eyes.

“All right. I call you.” There was no need to push his chips in the middle, so he sat back and then showed his cards.

“A straight, nine to the king.” He was fairly sure he had the winning hand.

Alan had blinked more than once when he’d gotten his last card, which, according to his past play, meant he hadn’t gotten the card he’d wanted.

“Looks like you’re going to be mucking out stalls,” Alan said as he showed a full house.

“Jacks full of eights.” He sat back, and Randall gaped for a second before standing and reaching across the table.

This was a gentleman’s game, and win or lose, he had no intention of showing just how angry and upset he was with himself.

He had let Alan bait him, and now in his haste to put Alan in his place, his mouth had written a check that the rest of him would have to cash.

Alan took his hand, and they shook before Randall pulled his hand back and stood.

The game steward approached Alan, presumably regarding payment. “What arrangements would you like made?”

Alan picked up two of the hundred-pound chips and handed them to the steward. “Make sure everyone who served us gets a share. And make sure Harlan is made whole. I don’t want him to get in trouble with his wife. She hates it when he plays cards.” He winked, and damned if the steward didn’t nod.

“Of course.”

“The rest put on George’s account.” Alan drank the last of the whiskey in his glass. “We’ll be in touch to let you know about the trip to Wyoming. Who knows—you might find out you like it.”

“Alan…,” George said. “Randall, you really don’t need to go. He isn’t going to hold you to that. Alan is just teasing you.”

Alan nodded. “You can donate the shortfall to a worthy charity.”

Randall cleared his throat. “No. A wager is a point of honor.” There was no way in hell he was going to owe Alan anything.

Yes, he might be offering to let him off the hook, but Randall knew that if he agreed, then every time Alan told this story, he’d be able to gloat at how Randall had taken the easy way out.

That was something he could not live with.

Alan and the Duke might be married, but that didn’t mean that Randall was going to be in any way indebted to a hick cowboy from Wyoming.

He had many faults, but his father had drummed into his head that a man always honored his debts and that not doing so endangered not only his honor, but that of the family as well.

It was one of the few lessons his father had ever bothered to try to teach him.

He and his father did not see eye to eye on much.

Randall was fairly sure that if the old man could have disinherited him for being gay, he would have.

But he was now the oldest and the only boy, so the title and all land and property associated with it went to him because primogeniture was the law of the land, even today.

“Then we’ll send you all the information you need to know just as soon as we make the arrangements,” Alan said.

Randall nodded, meeting his gaze, because he refused to back down. George then guided Alan out toward the cloak room.

Randall sank into a chair and ordered a double Scotch, neat, from a passing server and downed it as soon as it was brought.

He hated making a fool of himself, and he could certainly grit his teeth and manage living on a ranch for two weeks, all the way out in the middle of nowhere, away from the comforts he’d very much grown accustomed to.

But damn it all, one way or another, he’d figure out a way through this.