Page 30 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 30

L ord Isaac Cecil was another high-ranking member of the Ton’s Devils, having close ties with Tristan and owning a fierce record on the battlefield.

Though he had long since been retired, there wasn’t a man in London who would dare step out of line under Isaac’s single-eyed gaze; Gabriel even included himself among that number.

And that level of respect hardly stopped at the duke himself, as his sister was just as well-known, and well-feared. Though, while Isaac’s harsh exterior helped to get his point across, Gabriel considered Sybella far more terrifying, reminiscent of a flytrap. Harmless at first glance, until you let your guard down around her.

It was she who greeted both Gabriel and Christian when they arrived at Arkley Hall at last, dressed in a rubescent gown to show her support for the Devils. Her rich, umber hair had been cropped short just past her chin, with a decorative tiara acting as a headband to keep the more stubborn wisps away from the sharp angles of her face.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she purred, her voice surprisingly deep and smooth for one as feminine as she appeared.

“Good evening, Lady Cecil.” Gabriel grasped her extended hand, careful not to kiss her wedding band. “Or, should we refer to you by Fitzroy?”

“I would appreciate the latter, if you please.”

Gabriel nodded, offering a nod of respect. “Thank you again for hosting our little clubs in your home this evening.”

“‘Little’ is not the word I would use for them,” Sybella chuckled. “I daresay you gentlemen will eat clean through our food stocks by the end of the hour.”

“Apologies for your poor food stocks,” Christian grinned. “Ensure that your groceries are billed to the Orions.”

“I may take you up on that offer,” Sybella crooned. “Though, you may not want to make such lofty promises just yet. From what I’ve been hearing, your men have been on quite the losing streak.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t even the scales,” Christian said, offering a slight bow. “Until we meet again, my Lady.”

“Do let Louise know that I’ll be writing her back soon,” Sybella called after the gentlemen. “I simply must catch her for tea before the little one’s arrival.”

Once the pair were certain they were out of earshot, each exchanged a look of relief. “God, but she’s still absolutely terrifying,” Christian groaned. “I’m not entirely sure how the late marquess lasted as long as he did.”

“Fitzroy was simply a man of commitment and focus,” Gabriel said.

The winding halls of the estate eventually led both gentlemen to the dining hall, its once massive table exchanged for smaller round tops in order to accommodate as many players as possible.

A makeshift staging area had been set farther back, accompanied by a few booths where chips could be exchanged or cashed out. These had a number of burly-looking men posted, though there wasn’t a man within these walls that would dare try and steal within Arkley’s manor. Well… hardly a man.

Gabriel quietly passed through the room and towards the refreshments table, eyes glancing at the back of a particular little marquess’ head. Giles Tilbury looked right at home among the multicolored stacks of betting chips and emptied glasses of whiskey.

He held his cards close to his chest, laughing among Devils and Orions alike, having an infuriatingly large pile of chips at his side. It was incredulous, how such a worm of a man could seemingly command the entirety of a table’s attention.

“Suppose putting pressure on him didn’t work out,” Christian whispered under his breath.

Gabriel ignored the twang of panic in his chest. Robin had failed, which meant he no longer knew where Robin resided. Thalia was absolutely going to kill him when she found out… unless she refused to speak to him ever again. And just when he’d finally opened up to the idea of genuine courtship…

“Ah, Your Grace! I was hoping to see that ugly mug of yours tonight!” An arm clapped against Christian’s shoulder as the devil himself inserted himself between both gentlemen. Tristan Lovell looked positively tickled, his own glass in hand while he offered another toward Christian. “I’ve been saving you a seat at my table. Tonight’s the night I win that brooch off you!”

Christian offered a smirk of his own, accepting the glass and downing it with one swig. “From what Sybella tells me, your newer recruits are pulling in quite the haul.”

Tristan beamed with pride, as if his very own children had been given the compliment. He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper while glancing toward Giles’ table.

“Honestly, I’m shocked Lord Tilbury is as good as he is. You’d think with how quickly he’s going through the late marquess’ inheritance, some of it had to have been lost via gambling.”

Curious indeed. “You think he’s playing fair?” Gabriel asked.

“Looking for any reason to gain the lead, Your Grace?” Tristan chuckled lightly, but it was clear the thought had occurred to him as well. “I haven’t had to break up any fistfights yet, so if he is cheating, he’s doing a terrific job of it.” He winced slightly at a victorious outcry, followed soon after by groans of discouragement; Giles cackled madly as he pulled a massive pile of his chips to his side of the table.

“Not exactly the picture of subtlety,” Christian quipped.

“Can’t blame him too entirely. I’d be equally thrilled winning so much; let’s see if he knows how to hold onto it.” Tristan finished his glass off as well, handing it off to a passing waiter while his arm wrapped around Christian’s shoulders. “Come on now, no more delays! The brooch, man, the brooch!”

Christian rolled his eyes, giving Gabriel an apologetic nod. “Excuse me, but someone is eager to lose the entirety of his estate.” As he allowed himself to be pulled away, he offered a reassuring nod to his friend; a reminder that there was nothing a Harding couldn’t accomplish, obstacles be damned. And he was right, of course, as Gabriel hardly planned to quit just yet.

Robin had only meant to make things easier, and the Duke of Stonewell had never grown accustomed to simplified tasks. And, thanks to Christian, he had an inkling as to how he could accomplish his task.

He quietly took a seat at the table opposite Giles, ensuring he faced away as to not arouse suspicion. The men seemed an even split between Orions and Devils, with many a brow rising to see Gabriel Harding himself join their little game.

Their dealer quietly continued his task, passing two cards to each gentleman until everyone had a pair. Vint-un, then , Gabriel thought. A seemingly simple game that could bankrupt a man in seconds, if he allowed himself distraction.

The rounds went by quickly, chips taken off the table just as quickly as they were pushed off. One by one, the dealer would draw his card, waiting for the adjacent player to accept it, or stand.

More often than not, a gentleman would only take two or three extra cards before running the odds in their mind. It all added up quicker than expected, after all, and twenty-one only seemed a far-off number at first.

“Ah. Looks like I went over again.” Gabriel sighed, leaning back in his chair as he watched the chips be divided amongst those who managed to stay under twenty-one.

“This game truly despises you, Your Grace,” a Devil smirked.

“Oh, he’s just getting warmed up,” an Orion spoke in his defense.

Gabriel shrugged in reply, ears twitching at the sound of a chair pushing out behind him. “Maybe the stakes simply aren’t interesting enough for me to be fully engaged.”

“I wondered when you’d up the ante, Your Grace.” A swish of red fabric passed the corner of Gabriel’s eye, and the servant dealing for the game bowed his head before stepping aside, allowing Sybella herself to take his place. “You don’t mind if I have a hand in this, do you? I’d love to personally observe your losing streak myself.”

“Not at all, Lady Fitzroy,” Gabriel said. “Though you wound me with your words; one’s luck is bound to change eventually.” He hunched his shoulders and purposefully leaned across the table, counting down in eager anticipation. Three, two, one—the chair beside him scraped its legs across the floor, and a man hastily sat to join in. Gabriel hardly needed a glance to know who it was; the little marquess had taken the bait.

“Do you mind if I join in?” Giles asked a touch too eagerly.

Gabriel shrugged, offering nothing more in reply.

The game began once more in earnest, now with jewelry pieces and priceless cigars being added to the betting pile. Sybella quietly watched with an unspoken grace, fingers working the cards as if she’d been born with a deck in hand.

She twirled the joker absentmindedly as she waited for the player’s choice, and when it came to Gabriel’s turn, she arched her brow his way. He, in turn, drew a card, letting out a sigh in defeat.

“A shame, Your Grace,” Sybella said. “This really isn’t your night.”

The table jumped as Giles let out a shout of laughter. “Gracious, but I hadn’t realized your luck was so finite, Your Grace!” He eagerly watched as Sybella divided the winnings, adding to his overall pile significantly.

The remaining Orions shot daggers across the table, and even a few Devil members furrowed their brows. But Gabriel remained even-keeled, leaning back in his chair as he sipped brandy from his glass. “Yes; it seems I can only take so much from you, Lord Tilbury.”

The man’s expression faltered, and he gathered his winnings up into his arms. “Yes, well, at least I know how far my luck can take me. I’ll be seeing you, gentlemen; there’s quite a bit I need to cash out.”

“That’s a shame,” Gabriel commented lightly. “Things were just about to get interesting.”

And there it was. The brief second of hesitation, the waning confidence of his steps as he hovered over the table in mid-decision. Gabriel imparted an aura of casual disinterest, the idle chatter of the room fading to the background as the little marquess’ breathing hitched in his chest.

“Then you’re finally going to make things interesting, Your Grace?” Something in Sybella’s voice rang with familiarity, and it sent the other players completely on-edge. Gabriel recognized the sharp edge of her tone, the anticipation as she leaned ever so slightly across the table; Sybella was fully aware that she was about to witness the end of a long, tumultuous hunt.

Gabriel slipped his napkin out from under his glass, reaching for a pen within his jacket before scribbling something down. He then placed it gently toward the center, watching as Sybella’s smile drew a thin slit across her lips.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to offer my collection of summer estates as collateral for this next round.”

Immediately, members from both Orion and Devil rose from the table, making as graceful an exit as they could without offending Gabriel. Mutterings of needing a drink, feeling peckish, desiring some fresh air—their excuses ranged in variety, and soon, only Giles Tilbury remained.

“Oh, gracious me.” Sybella sighed lightly, a hand resting against her cheek. “You scared everyone off, Your Grace.”

“Hardly,” Giles snapped, his face flushed with anger. “I’m still sitting here, aren’t I?” He pushed half of his winnings into the center of the table, glaring Gabriel’s way. “You’re pushing your luck quite far, Your Grace.”

“And you’re not putting enough on the line.” Gabriel commented lightly. He turned to Sybella, her cool exterior occasionally betrayed by a flicker of mirth across her lips. “Lady Fitzroy, will you be accepting Lord Tilbury’s wager as equal collateral to mine?”

“Oh, heavens no,” she exclaimed. “Your estates are worth at least four of the piles he possesses. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to lower your stake, Your Grace.”

Somehow, Giles’ face turned an even brighter shade of red. There was no feeling worse, being belittled and spoken about as if you weren’t present. And by a lady, no less; the little marquess might feel confident bullying his untitled cousin, but even Giles knew not to cross Sybella Fitzroy.

By now, a significant crowd had gathered around their table, overhearing their hostess’ outcry and lured in by their own, morbid curiosity. The pressure visibly built in the air, aided by whispers and an impatient tapping of Sybella’s fingers.

“Th-then… I’ll offer some of my own estates.”

And like that, the trap had snapped shut. Gabriel watched as Giles scribbled furiously on his own napkin, then slapped it in the table’s center.

“For being such a good sport,” Gabriel began. “I’ll allow you the choice of going first, or second.”

The crowd went deathly quiet, the tension absolutely suffocating. Giles visibly trembled, but puffed out his chest with false bravado and turned attentively towards Sybella. She nodded and passed a pair of cards to both men, then fixated on Giles.

The seconds stretched on for what felt like hours, every member of both clubs watching intently as the cards passed between hands. Eventually, Giles let out a gasp of air, leaning back in his seat before setting his hand against the table.

“I stand.”

Every eye turned to Gabriel next.

“Suppose it’s my turn, then.” Gabriel gave a casual glance at his cards, then nodded Sybella’s way. She slipped a card between her fingers and offered it his way, and he added it wordlessly to his hand. Again, without barely a glance at his collection, Gabriel gave his hostess a nod.

Once more, she passed him a card. Each exchange seemed to build the pressure in the room, Giles’ eyes flickering wildly between the pair as he began to visibly sweat.

A glance.

A flick of the deck.

Another addition to his hand.

Sybella paused, card set firmly between her fingers. She arched her brow Gabriel’s way, and as he moved to grasp the card, a chair clattered beside him.

“Cheaters! The two of you are cheating!”