Chapter 3

“ I must say, Your Grace, it is refreshing to see that you are still here. Most gentlemen would have folded by now.” Lord William Radcliffe, a man known for his arrogance and deep pockets, leaned back in his chair, eyeing Felix with a smug grin.

The dim glow of candles and the thick haze of cigar smoke created a heavy atmosphere inside the gaming hell. Laughter, murmurs, and the clinking of glasses filled the room, but at one particular table, the crowd was silent and focused. All eyes were on the high-stakes card game between Felix and Lord Radcliffe.

Felix sat with his usual calm demeanor, his sharp eyes never leaving the cards or his opponent. A small stack of chips lay neatly in front of him while Radcliffe’s pile had grown considerably. The stakes were high and the tension was profound.

Felix met his gaze without flinching, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Patience is a virtue, Radcliffe. But then again, I do not expect you to know much about virtue.”

A murmur rippled through the onlookers. Felix’s cool, measured tone contrasted with Radcliffe’s brash arrogance and seemed to be getting under the nobleman’s skin.

Radcliffe chuckled though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “It is a shame that you will be learning a lesson the hard way tonight. I have seen better men walk away from this table with nothing.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, casually tossing a few more chips onto the growing pile. “Perhaps you should concern yourself with the cards in your hand, rather than reminiscing about other men’s failures.”

Radcliffe’s mistress, a lonely but beautiful widow, ran a finger along his shoulder then leaned down to whisper in his ear, her red lips bright against Radcliffe’s pale flesh.

Felix could not hear what she had said, but he was sure she was offering him some words of encouragement. Radcliffe smirked, glanced up at her once, then turned back to the game.

The crowd was riveted, eyes darting between the two players as Radcliffe’s smirk faltered. The game had become a battle of wit and nerve as much as it was one of cards. Radcliffe, for all his wealth, was not used to being challenged this way.

The next round began, and Felix carefully studied Radcliffe. His opponent’s arrogance was his weakness. Radcliffe had a habit of overplaying his hands, believing his wealth could buy him out of any dire situation.

Felix was counting on that.

Radcliffe tossed a significant amount of gold sovereigns onto the table, the clattering sound echoing like thunder in the quiet room. “Care to match that, Your Grace? Or have you finished pretending?”

Felix’s fingers hovered over his chips, his face unreadable. The crowd held its collective breath. His mind raced, calculating every card that had been played. Radcliffe, sensing an advantage, leaned back in his chair with an air of superiority.

Felix’s friend, Percy Covington, the Viscount of Stentford, had been sitting quietly behind Felix.

Percy whispered urgently into Felix’s ear, “You have come this far. No shame in stepping away now. A loss like this is not worth it, old boy.”

Felix ignored his advice, his gaze still fixed on Radcliffe, his lips curling into a slight smile.

“I never lose,” he said with quiet confidence, his words carrying more weight than the idle banter being thrown about the room.

The final round began. Radcliffe placed his bet, eyes gleaming with a sense of inevitable victory. Felix remained cool and collected, letting Radcliffe believe he had the upper hand.

Radcliffe placed his cards on the table with snap. “Take a look at that,” he sneered.

His mistress, still lingering, giggled into his ear. “I told you that you could do it,” she sang. “You are always the winner.”

The smug nobleman began to reach for the pile of gold sovereigns, but Felix held his cards in the air, ready to reveal them.

“Not so fast, Radcliffe,” he said as he laid his superior hand down on the table.

The stunned silence lasted for only for a heartbeat before the room erupted in a chorus of cheers and gasps. Radcliffe’s face fell, his overconfidence shattered.

“But… No!” Radcliffe cried, staring wide-eyed at the cards. “It cannot be! How could… How… No, I say!”

“Let us just say that the better man won, yes?”

Felix leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment as the crowd buzzed with excitement, voices rising in disbelief and admiration. Even though he took no pleasure in seeing a man so defeated, he could not deny he enjoyed the thrill of the win.

Percy slapped Felix on the shoulder with an incredulous laugh. “You madman,” he breathed, shaking his head. Felix shrugged as a satisfied grin spread across his face.

“I told you,” Felix said smoothly. He leaned forward to collect his newly won coins. “I never lose.”

Lord Radcliffe didn’t move. He remained perfectly still, staring down at his loss with such intensity that Felix almost felt sorry for him. But the man had kept on betting even when he had known he shouldn’t. He should have folded while he was in the lead.

“Not all is lost, Radcliffe,” Felix said with a chuckle. “I am sure you shall have plenty of opportunities to win it back in the future. If I let you, of course.”

As the cheers subsided and the crowd began to disperse, Lord Radcliffe’s face twisted with barely concealed fury. He stood abruptly, shoving his chair back with a sharp screech.

“This is not over,” he spat, glaring down at Felix.

Felix methodically collected his winnings, ignoring the bitterness in Radcliffe’s tone.

“Of course, it is. Do not be an idiot.”

The nobleman stormed off, his pride deeply wounded, but not before his mistress, draped in her fine silks, cast a lingering gaze in Felix’s direction. Her lips curled into a faint smile, eyes glinting with interest as she watched him rise from the table.

He noted that she did not leave with Radcliffe, and he was about to say something to her when Percy clapped him heartily on the back, still chuckling from the spectacle.

“You never cease to amaze me, Felix. Just when I think you have pushed your luck too far, you pull off something like that.” He shook his head in admiration and disbelief.

Felix pocketed a few coins and shrugged with a half-smile. “What can I say? I strive to please,” he replied casually, a glimmer of satisfaction dancing in his eyes.

As they moved away from the table, Percy leaned in conspiratorially. “Any word from our friend Danridge? How has his overseas trip treated him?”

Felix’s playful demeanor faltered for a moment, his expression darkening slightly. “None, I am afraid.”

Percy sighed. “I do hope it all goes well. I understand his family has its share of issues… Hopefully his luck will turn in his favor.”

Felix paused, his thoughts briefly returning to his own life. “We all have our burdens, do we not?”

“That we do, old boy.” Percy grinned as he downed his drink then gestured at Felix that they ought to have their glasses refilled.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere became even thicker with smoke and chatter. Felix stood by the bar, a glass of fine brandy in hand, surveying the room with a sharp, calculating gaze. His earlier victory over Lord Radcliffe had only heightened his confidence, and the subtle buzz of admiration from onlookers did not go unnoticed.

“The way you took him down, Your Grace,” one man said, gravitating toward him as many had throughout that evening. Alcohol had made his voice loud and his laugh boisterous, and he looked at Felix with something akin to awe.

“Indeed,” Felix replied, not meeting the man’s gaze. Though he feigned disinterest, he rather liked the sycophancy.

“It is no wonder that God chose you to be a duke,” another inebriated fellow uttered. “A nerve like that—it is nearly unheard of.”

Felix deigned to throw him a weak smile. “One either has it or does not. I would wager that you do not.”

“But that final hand!”

He continued to listen with waning interest, allowing each of the various men their moment as they relived the final hand of his game, each one exaggerating the stakes. He sipped his drink slowly, his mind already a step ahead. Felix always planned two moves in advance.

Winning the game had been satisfying, but he could not help the feeling that something was missing. He needed more. A bigger thrill.

When Percy returned to his side and leaned against the bar, his face was flushed with brandy and laughter. “It seems Radcliffe still has not recovered from the thrashing you gave him,” he remarked, nodding toward the far corner where Lord Radcliffe sulked, his wounded pride on full display. He knocked back another drink and immediately demanded a refill.

Felix’s eyes briefly flicked over to Radcliffe before returning to his drink. “Men like Radcliffe do not take defeat well,” he said coolly. “But they forget that arrogance blinds them. He never stood a chance.”

Percy chuckled. “You make it sound so easy.”

Felix turned to face him, the intensity of his gaze as sharp as a blade. “It is. People are rather predictable, my friend. You study them long enough, and they all show their hand. Radcliffe plays as he lives—reckless, overconfident. He thinks wealth and a title give him power, but it only makes him a bigger fool. It is almost enough to pity him.”

“Almost,” Percy teased.

“Indeed. He chooses to put himself into these situations. Therefore, he must deal with the consequences.”

Percy gave a low whistle, shaking his head in admiration. “That makes me wonder if you see through everyone like that.”

Felix’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the glint of mischief evident in his eyes. “Everyone who matters,” he replied smoothly.

His gaze roamed the room again, briefly landing on the widow who continued to watch him from across the hall.

The silk of her gown clung in all the right places—Felix could easily picture her naked, and he did so now as he looked her up and down.

“Most people are too self-absorbed to realize how much they give away,” he added.

Percy followed his gaze, spotting the widow. “Seems you have attracted some attention.”

Felix grinned. “It would seem so, but is that not always the case when one wins a substantial sum?” He emptied his glass in one thirsty gulp then slammed it on the bar. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have some business to which I must attend.”

Felix woke up late that morning, much later than he usually did. As he stirred from his deep slumber, his mind was already rattling with plans for the day ahead. He slowly turned to see Radcliffe’s mistress, whose name he only vaguely remembered, still fast asleep in his bed.

Lydia? Claudia? Amelia? It could be any of those. Not that it mattered. Felix chuckled. He’d taken more than just the man’s money.

With practiced ease, he extricated himself from the bed and dressed in a set of simple but well-tailored clothes. He pulled on his shirt and trousers then added a waistcoat and a cravat, his movements efficient and silent. He wanted to avoid waking his guest, a delicate process he had perfected over the years.

Felix slipped silently out of the room and down the corridor to where his butler awaited him. The house was still in the early stages of the morning, and the servants moved about with quiet efficiency.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” the butler greeted him with a nod of respect.

“Morning, Hargrave,” Felix replied, glancing back at the closed bedchamber door. “Make sure that my guest is given a proper breakfast before she departs.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Hargrave assured him, as always, his expression one of practiced discretion.

The man had seen this routine many times and knew exactly how to oversee such matters.

“Also, arrange a bath for me.” Felix rubbed a hand over his face. “And have the papers brought to my study.”

Hargrave lowered his head. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall see to it immediately.”

As Felix turned to head toward the staircase, Hargrave called after him respectfully. “Your Grace, I must remind you of Lady Brimsleigh’s soirée this evening. It is an event to which you confirmed your attendance and had asked me to remind you of it.”

Felix’s brow furrowed. He had indeed promised to attend his godmother’s dinner party although he had nearly forgotten about it amidst the busyness of the week. He wondered idly if there was any way he could get out of it.

The soirée would indeed be the highlight of the evening, a necessary social engagement that would require his presence and, as always, his charming demeanor.

He only hoped he could find a toy or two to play with while there—at least a tryst in the gardens would keep things interesting.