Chapter 2

"Isay," Oliver Audley, the Viscount Whitley, drawled as his sister climbed into the carriage. He grinned. "You make quite a fine chap, Cathy. How did you manage it?"

Catherine Audley grinned back at her brother. "Oh, it was not that hard." She laughed a little breathlessly, pushing some stray curls underneath her cap. "Jean, my maid, raided her brother's wardrobe for me."

Oliver clapped a hand on his knee, laughing uproariously.

"You stole some clothes from a navvy?" He laughed again. "How did you persuade your poor maid to do it for you?"

Catherine pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side as she contemplated the question. "It took some effort," she admitted. "Jean was terrified, thinking she was committing a cardinal sin." She grinned again. "But she did it in the end… with the help of a halfpenny to buy her mother a new shawl."

The carriage took off, heading away from their London townhouse. Catherine gazed out the window. The gaslights were in full flare, shooting orange flames in the darkness, but then it was hardly surprising. It was just past ten o'clock.

Catherine felt a thrill of danger and excitement. She never left the house this late at night. The only time she had been out this late was when she was returning to the house from a ball.

And now, here she was, dressed like a boy… on the way to a gambling hell.

She gazed down at her unfamiliar attire. Cheap, patched trousers, a thin white shirt, a patched jacket. The rough fabric chafed her skin. She was used to the finest silk and muslin gowns—the attire of a high-born lady.

She felt another thrill course through her. Oliver had said she looked like a fine chap. Was it really possible that she might pass for a man? Was it really possible that she could pull this off?

"I am sorry, Cathy," Oliver said suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. "I should never have put you in this position." He visibly blanched. "Perhaps we should forget about it. I will tell the driver to turn the carriage around and take us home…"

"You will do no such thing," Catherine insisted, gazing at him steadily. "I am doing this of my own free will, Oliver. I am the one who suggested it." She sighed, tapping the window. "It is the only way to make the money we need to cover your gambling debt. You know I am better at whist than most gentlemen. I will win tonight."

Oliver looked shamefaced. "It started out as a lark, but now… now, I am not so sure." He looked frightened. "Gambling hells are godforsaken places, Cathy. The types of people who frequent such dens of iniquity are undesirable to say the least."

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean? You frequent such places, and you are a viscount. That is how we have gotten into this mess, Brother!"

Oliver flushed hard. "Yes, but… it is usually full of the lower classes. Cutthroats. The innocent can be mercilessly fleeced, especially if you encounter a Captain Sharp."

Catherine burst into laughter. "Who is Captain Sharp?"

"It is a term used for a cheating bully," Oliver replied, reddening further. "Someone who targets a likely rube, urging him to place higher bets with the intention of robbing him blind."

"What colorful language you have picked up since you have frequented such places," Catherine remarked tartly. "Our dear departed parents would be shocked, to say the least."

Oliver looked so ashamed and guilty that Catherine bit her lip. She was only teasing her older brother, but she should have known it was a touchy subject. The Viscount Whitley had amassed such a debt in these low-class gambling hells that even his sizeable fortune couldn't pay it off.

We are ruined. Our fortune is gone, and there is still debt to pay. My dowry is gone. If I do not win enough to cover the rest, then we will be forced to sell the London townhouse… and perhaps our ancestral home as well.

Catherine's mouth went dry at the very thought. Quickly, she pushed it aside. She was going to win tonight. She had no choice. Their future depended on it.

"We really should go back home," Oliver barked, his eyes widening as fear beset him. "What if someone discovers this ruse? What if you are discovered in a low-class gambling hell, dressed like a boy?"

"We are not going home," Catherine insisted, her face set in a stubborn expression. "This is the only way we might pay off the remainder of your debt. We talked about this for many nights, Oliver. Do not lose courage now!"

Oliver blanched. "If only I had not been tempted into those hells," he moaned, placing a hand on his forehead. "It was as if a madness had beset me, Cathy. And winning always seemed so close at hand…"

"Oliver, you are hopeless," Catherine huffed, frowning. "Inheriting the title and all that came with it went to your head faster than elderberry wine, Brother." She sighed heavily, leaning over and touching his knee lightly. "I will make this better. You must believe me."

They gazed at each other. Catherine's heart flipped. Oliver was hopeless, terrible with money, and had buckled underneath the weight of responsibility. But he was still her older brother, and she loved him more than anyone in this world. There was only the two of them now. In some ways, it had always been just the two of them.

The carriage was slowing down. Catherine gazed out the window. She didn't recognize this street. It was dark and dank, with an unbearable smell. Figures darted through the darkness like furtive rats. Somewhere, she heard the howl of a distressed cat. It was so different from the wide, fashionable streets of London that she knew that she might as well have landed in another world entirely.

She turned to her brother. Her heart was pounding hard now.

"Do you believe me?" she whispered.

Oliver looked pained. "I believe you," he whispered back. "If anyone can do it, it's you, Cathy. I have never met anyone more fearless." He hesitated. "Good luck, Sister. I will be waiting for you."

Catherine took a deep breath, making sure her hair was secure beneath the boy's cap, before the carriage door opened, and she slipped out into the night.

Catherine eyed the dealer. "Again."

The tall, burly man shrugged, grinning as he dealt the cards. She took them, glorying in the hand, but made sure that she kept her expression neutral. It wouldn't do to show her fellow gamblers that she had another winning hand. They might throw down their cards in disgust, and that would not do at all.

Her heart pounded hard as she eyed the notes and piles of coins in the middle of the table. It was hers—she had won all of it, fair and square. It was so much that it would pay off most of what her brother owed.

Walk away now. Do not risk it again. You may lose all of it.

Catherine frowned, trying to push away the small, insistent voice in the back of her head. She was doing so well. She felt as if she were a bird soaring through the sky. She felt invincible.

Just one more time. And then I shall take it and leave…

"Deal me in," said a deep voice at her shoulder.

Catherine spun around. A man was taking a seat next to her. A tall, muscular man with dark hair wearing a black cloak of the finest quality. He looked at her quickly. She felt a shiver run down her spine as their eyes locked and held. His eyes were blue… or were they green? A perfect combination of both colors. Like the sea on a cloudy day.

What are you doing, contemplating the color of his eyes? Focus on the game!

Hastily, Catherine looked away, feeling her cheeks turn pink. She was in a gambling hell, not a fashionable ballroom. And she was dressed like a boy, a disguise which amazingly seemed to have worked. At least, the drunken louts she was playing cards with hadn't glanced twice at her.

What would they think if they knew the Honorable Miss Catherine Audley, sister of the Viscount Whitley, is the one fleecing them instead of the navvy they believe she is?

Catherine suppressed a chuckle.

"Something amusing?" the dark-haired man asked, glancing at her again. "Are you chortling over the fortune you have amassed? Do you want to play me for the same amount that is on the table?"

Catherine's jaw dropped. "You are wagering that amount again?"

The man grinned. "I am. Are you interested?"

Catherine hesitated. If she lost, then she would lose it all. But if she won… then the debt would be almost paid.

Her heart thudded. Her blood pounded.

Walk away… or stay?

"Absolutely!" she cried, belatedly remembering to lower her voice so she sounded like a boy. She cleared her throat dramatically. "My apologies. I have a cold."

The man laughed. A deep, sonorous laugh. Catherine felt another shiver run down her spine. He was simply the most handsome man she had ever encountered. Why, oh why, couldn't she have met him at a ball, rather than a gambling hell where she was dressed like a boy?

The game was quick and chancy. Catherine was so focused that she forgot how handsome he was. And when she thought that she was going to win… well, the jubilation was so intense that she felt as if nothing could touch her.

Just one more play then I walk away with the lot.

But suddenly, the game turned. She realized, too late, that the tall, dark-haired, handsome stranger had played her. He'd withheld his best cards until the final moment when he laid them triumphantly on the table.

"I am afraid that you lose." He grinned, gathering the small pile of coins and notes towards him. "Bad luck, chap."

Catherine's heart hit the ground. She felt tears spring to her eyes. How could she have been so foolish? She had gotten too cocky.

"Please," she murmured, in a low voice. "Can we talk about it? I need that money. I won it fair and square…"

"My apologies," he said, in a firm voice. "But I have won it fair and square now. That is just the nature of the game."

Catherine's face hardened. How could she get him to see that she needed that money more than he did?

Suddenly, she felt a lock of hair fall over her face. Hastily, she pulled it back, tucking it under her cap. Her face turned crimson.

The man gaped at her. He looked truly astounded, his eyes raking over her face.

"Are you a woman?" he hissed, his eyes looking more blue than green at the moment.

Catherine blanched. "Please…"

He blinked once. Twice. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, simply staring at her face, the shadow of realization darkening his eyes.

Catherine was done for. She knew he would call one of the employees, and they would drag her outside—penniless and completely ruined. Worst of all, she had ruined all hope for her family.

"Take it," the man finally growled, indicating the pile of money. "Before I change my mind."

Catherine gasped. She didn't need to be told twice. Hastily, she gathered the money, stuffed it into her bag, and ran away from the table.

She had barely managed to exit the gambling hell and round the corner when she felt a hand spinning her around. It was the handsome, dark-haired man.

And to her dismay, the motion dislodged her cap, causing more hair to tumble down her shoulders.

His jaw dropped as he stared at her. "Who are you?"