Prologue

“I do not think you should do this, Dartmoor.”

Samuel shrugged off his friend’s restraining arm. “Do not think to hold me back from this. I shall do as I please.”

“But at what cost?” His friend gestured to the table behind him, to where Samuel was soon to return to finish his game of cards. “You can see that the fellow is quite drunk.”

A sly grin slipped across Samuel’s lips. “Precisely,” he muttered, picking up his glass and making to take a small sip. That is exactly what I am hoping for.

Gambling was not something that Samuel often engaged in. His father’s foolishness shortly before he had passed away meant that Samuel now had a good deal less wealth to his name than he might otherwise have had and thus, he had sworn he would never be pulled into such a game without great consideration and not without all of his wits about him either. Thus, he now imbibed only a little, a glass of brandy in his hand but it was the first one he had brought to his lips all evening. Many of the other gentleman present had been indulging in liquor for a long time now and that, Samuel considered, was not only foolish but irresponsible. However, at the very same time, it did put him into a stronger position than some of the other fellows present. When the time came for them to take their places again, Samuel was quite certain that he could win and win well.

“I do not think it is fair to play against some of these fellows.”

“Will you desist?” Samuel rounded on the Earl of Crawley, a gentleman who had long been acquainted with him. He gritted his teeth for a moment before speaking again, his brows deeply furrowed. “I do not require your guidance, Lord Crawley, nor do I wish for you to dictate what I ought to be doing or what I should step back from! I am no child. I am a gentleman, fully aware of the present circumstances and the duties that fall to me. It is not my fault that these gentlemen have indulged in excess this evening. Had they any sense, they would be sitting at the card table with nothing but water to drink.” He shrugged dismissively, casting a glance around the room, his lip curling. “As it is, most of them are already quite in their cups, though I shall not pretend that this concerns me in the slightest. They are responsible for their own actions, as I am for mine.”

“But you have a choice.” Lord Crawley gestured to a young man who, at this present moment, seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open despite the fact the game was not yet over. “Take Lord Haddington, for instance. You have already won a considerable sum from him. You can see how poor a state he is in and yes while I will grant that he has brought this upon himself, can you not find it within you to feel some sympathy for him?”

“Sympathy” Samuel scoffed. “Why ever should I offer him such a thing?”

Lord Crawley rolled his eyes. “Because he is young, recently bereft of his father, and, by all accounts, overwhelmed by the many responsibilities that have suddenly fallen upon him. I believe you can understand that.”

A scowl tightened at Samuel’s features. Indeed, he did understand that feeling, yet he refused to allow any softness to creep into his resolve. What he sought was to rise, and this was precisely how he intended to do so. If he had to relieve Lord Haddington of every coin he possessed, so be it. Mayhap it would serve as a lesson to the young man, while advancing Samuel’s own future according to the plan he had set in motion.

“You do not care.” A dull tone had crept into Lord Crawley’s voice and Samuel, still irritated by his friend’s whining and encouragements to turn away from what he had planned, scowled all the harder.

“Finally, it seems as though you understand me,” he said, crisply. “Yes, Lord Crawley, I do not care in the least bit what state these gentlemen are in. All I care about is sitting at that card table and playing cards, ensuring that I am going to be successful.”

“At the detriment of others?”

Samuel threw up his hands. “I am not forcing them to sit at the table, am I?” he hissed, his chest tight now though he ignored the slight prick of his conscience as Lord Crawley shook his head, clearly displeased with all Samuel’s remarks. “If other gentlemen wish to sit down at the table when their minds are clouded by brandy, then what care I?”

Lord Crawley drew himself up. “A gentleman of excellence would not seek to take advantage,” he said, his words pronounced, darts aimed squarely at Samuel’s heart. “A gentleman of quality would, at the very least, attempt to understand another gentleman’s struggles, without the desire to profit from them.”

Samuel’s lip curled all the more. “You mistake one thing there, Crawley,” he hissed, his finger jabbing at Lord Crawley’s chest. He paused, watching his friend scowl, the question clear in his gaze but as yet unspoken. Moments passed in silence until, at last, Lord Crawley relented.

“And what mistake have I made, my friend?”

Samuel smiled darkly, his hand falling back to his side. “I am not a gentleman of excellence and nor do I care to be,” he replied, his chin tilting upwards. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a card game to return to and more coin to win.”

The dark smile on Samuel’s lips widened as he observed Lord Haddington, now staggering back toward the table. This night, he was certain, would bring great advantage—though such advantage would be his alone. Lord Haddington and several others might lose their fortunes and find themselves sorely disappointed, but in Samuel’s heart, he could not bring himself to care.