Chapter Thirty-Two

The only experience Ellie had of disreputable gaming hells was from their raucous depictions in the satirical prints displayed in shop windows.

Unlike the elite "gentlemen's" gaming clubs like White's and Brooks's, which catered only to the aristocracy, hells like The Golden Ball in Covent Garden were open to all levels of society.

Ellie couldn't quite believe she'd agreed to accompany Harry, and she tried not to stare as they ducked into a crowded taproom filled with tables and wooden booths.

The smell of the place was almost overwhelming. The odors of stale beer, hot beef pies, and strong coffee assaulted her nose, along with the dizzying mix of hot, sweaty bodies and unwashed skin unsuccessfully masked by a hundred different perfumes and pomades. It was an assault on the senses, and yet there was a thrilling vibrancy about the place that made her blood sing with excitement.

Or perhaps it was Harry's presence that had that effect.

The bare wooden floorboards were sticky beneath the soles of her shoes, and a cacophony of conversation, shouts, and laughter from the men and women crammed into the room made her head spin.

It was nothing like the elegant ballrooms of Mayfair. Boisterous aristocrats who'd tumbled out of the nearby theaters rubbed shoulders with artists and merchants, shopkeepers and pickpockets. The women seemed to be a mixture of tarts and bawdy tradeswomen.

Ellie was glad that the place was so poorly lit. She'd reprised Carlotta's red curls and gaudy makeup with Daisy's help, and had opted for a dress in deep purple satin that was only slightly less revealing than the one she'd worn to Willingham's. Daisy had borrowed it from the costume room at Drury Lane Theatre, and Ellie could quite believe that it was worn by an actress playing a woman of easy virtue.

Harry, for his part, was dressed just as informally. His custom-fitted coats had been replaced by a jacket that had once been expensive but was now showing subtle signs of wear, and his diamond cravat pin had been swapped for a simple gold bar. He looked exactly as he wished to appear: as a member of the gentry or lower aristocracy keen to fritter the night away.

He seemed completely unaffected by the lively chaos, but Ellie's pulse leapt as he causally draped his arm around her waist and tugged her closer to his side as they pushed through the crowd.

"Beer?" he murmured, then laughed at her expression of disgust. "Maybe not. But I'm not ordering you a bottle of blue ruin. As much as I'd love to see you drunk and disorderly on gin, Miss Law, we need to keep our wits about us tonight."

She elbowed him in the side and chose to discount the time she, Tess, and Daisy had become utterly inebriated on stolen brandy when they were younger. "I've never been drunk and disorderly in my life."

"That's a great pity. I feel sure you're one of those people who become insatiably amorous when they're in their cups."

Ellie snorted. "You think I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you? That I'd lose all restraint and ravish you in an alleyway?"

His eyes flared with mischief as he glanced down at her. "A man can dream."

Her stomach clenched at the mental image, but she shook her head and looked away.

He ordered a tankard of beer for himself at the bar, then steered them toward the back of the property.

The gaming rooms were only slightly less crowded than the taproom. In one, men sat around a number of wooden tables playing dice and other games of chance. The second room was given over to cards, and men and women crowded round the various games in progress, giving drunken cheers and loud groans of commiseration in reaction to the players' throws.

Ellie gave a start of surprise and put her lips to Harry's ear so she could whisper. "Do you see that portly man over there, the one with the voluptuous brunette on his lap?"

Harry nodded.

"That's Lord Sowerby. He's a judge, and a friend of my father's."

"I'm guessing that charming lady isn't his wife," Harry drawled with a grin.

"Definitely not. And that gentleman playing cards in the straw hat is the Earl of Glamorgan."

At that moment a pretty girl with golden ringlets who was carrying a tray full of pewter tankards stopped at Ellie's elbow and leaned in. "Are you the lady sent by Mr. King?" she murmured.

Ellie nodded, but kept her face turned toward the card tables. "I am. And you must be Kitty. Tess said you'd be able to point out our friend Mr. Blake."

The barmaid tilted her chin subtly in the direction of a card table set in the far corner. It had drawn the largest crowd, but without her glasses Ellie couldn't see the players at all.

"He's over there, wearing a bottle-green coat and brown boots," Kitty said. "He's been here for an hour or so, and won most hands. He's been drinking, but he's not drunk."

"Has he wagered the jewel you saw the other night?" Harry asked.

Kitty's eyes widened in admiration as she glanced up at Harry, and her cheeks dimpled prettily. "He hasn't, but that's probably only because he hasn't needed to. The stakes haven't been high enough."

"Then it's high time someone gave him a proper game." Harry smiled, and Ellie rolled her eyes at the way Kitty giggled in response.

Honestly, did the man have to flirt with every woman in a skirt?

"Thank you, Kitty," she said. "If your information proves to be right, you'll get the five pounds we agreed."

Kitty nodded and bustled off, and they moved closer to the corner table.

Christopher Blake sat easily in his chair, and played with a speed and assurance that even to Ellie's untrained eye seemed extremely confident. His face was thin and clever-looking, but there was a cynical curl to his lips and an air of impatience about him that made her oddly uncomfortable.

The game was vingt-et-un, and Harry pressed close to her back in the crowd as they watched the next couple of rounds. His fingers still rested on her hip, and her mouth grew dry at the feel of his strong body pressing up against hers every time someone in the crowd jostled them. It was slow, delicious torture, and she thought with a silent laugh that she didn't need to be drunk to feel "insatiably amorous" toward him. He was horribly addictive.

She forced herself to stay still as he stroked aside her curls to expose her neck, then dropped his head so his chin touched her shoulder and his lips brushed her ear.

It's a game. I'm the harlot he's paid to accompany him tonight .

But her body couldn't seem to tell the difference. Her blood pulsed thickly in her veins, and for the first time in her life she envied girls like Kitty, who could take their pleasure with any man they fancied, without fear of social ostracism.

"I've seen enough," Harry murmured.

Ellie turned her head, just a fraction. Her lips were so close to his that his warm breath shivered across them.

"Is he cheating?" she breathed. "Or just very good?"

"Oh, he's cheating, all right. And he's extremely good at it too."

"Is he working with an accomplice?"

Harry's hand slid to her lower back, and she suppressed a shudder of desire.

"No. But he's dealing the best cards to himself, bringing the ones he wants to the top of the pack, then shuffling the deck in such a way that he has the advantage."

"What about when another player shuffles?"

"I suspect he's also marked some of the cards, by nicking the edges with his thumbnail, or something similar, so he knows where certain cards are, even face down."

"Impressive."

"I'm better."

He chuckled as she deliberately nudged her shoulder into him to punish him for his arrogance.

"Pride comes before a fall," she chided softly.

His lips ghosted the shell of her ear. "It's not arrogance if it's true. Now let me get to work and stop distracting me."

A moment later, Blake's last remaining opponent let out a groan and dropped his cards face down on the table in defeat. Blake gave a knowing grin and scooped the pile of coins in the center of the table toward him. He took a deep swig of ale from the tankard at his side, then glanced around with an air of challenge.

"Anyone else want to try their hand? Who knows, I've had the Devil's own luck tonight. It has to end sometime." He smirked, as if not truly believing it.

"I'll play a few rounds with you, sir."