Page 26 of Forgotten No More

Harold nodded his agreement, as well. As Brock shuffled the cards and dealt, Harold looked about the room. He’d hoped a few more men would join their game and increase his potential winnings, but the club was quiet for this time of the evening.

Picking up the two cards dealt to him thus far, Harold saw he held a mediocre set of cards, at best. A queen of hearts and an eight of clubs. He looked around the table to judge the first reactions of Drake and Brock before picking up his last three cards. He knew the difficulty of hiding one’s natural responses—whether good or bad—at first. True to form, a smirk crossed Drake’s face before his expression became passive. He most likely held a pair or a set of suited cards.

A round of betting ensued quickly, increasing the pot to more than Harold had in front of him. He picked up his remaining three cards, hoping they rounded out his hand. When he saw another queen and eight amongst the three, he wanted to raise his fist in triumph. Instead he took in the room again, as if his interest lay everywhere but on their game.

A flash of movement outside the front window caught his attention. The evening was late, and the streets of London were not safe for a lone pedestrian, though likely it was naught but a street urchin trying to get a glimpse of the goings-on inside such an exclusive club. Nothing moved outside the window for so long that he thought he’d imagined it.

Harold returned to the game, pushing in only enough to raise the pot without scaring Drake off.

Again, a movement caught his eye. Focusing on the front once more, he finally found what it was. A face was pressed firm to the glass, searching the room. There was very limited area to see into the club from that vantage point, and heavy drapes made it nearly impossible at times. A man leaving the club pushed the door wide, illuminating the dim walk outside the window and, with it, the person intently looking in.

Harold’s cards slid from his grip. He scrambled to right them before his opponents saw his superior hand. He’d know that dark hair and those green eyes anywhere.

Ruby, so preoccupied with her search of the room, didn’t notice Harold staring at her as she focused on each face in the room.

“Bloody hell,” Harold exclaimed.

“Is it that bad?” Brock asked.

“Oh, no, it is just I must go—”

Brock turned to see what had caught Harold’s attention and the room moved in slow motion. The woman was so distracted that she didn’t notice she’d garnered attention from inside the club. If Brock recognized her—which he would—then she’d have much explaining to do. But as much as Harold wanted to know what she was up to, he didn’t want that at the expense of Lady Haversham’s friendship with Ruby.

“Come now,” Drake huffed. “We are in the middle of a hand. Haversham, you vouched for this fellow. I have a mind to have you both expelled from this club.”

At Drake’s threat, Brock turned back to the game and Harold sighed.

“No, I will gladly finish this hand.” Harold pushed all his coin to the center of the table.

Brock threw his cards in, not taking the bait.

Drake, on the other hand, let out a loud chuckle and pushed his own coin in to match Harold’s bet.

He doubted the man had a hand better suited than his own, but Harold didn’t have the time to find out.

When the marquis laid his cards flat upon the table, Harold did the same, pushing his chair back. His hand far surpassed Drake’s, and he wondered if the man only called to see if Harold had the nerve to challenge him.

“Ah, well, I am sad to say I am out of time,” Harold said as he stood. “I do thank you both for the rousing game. I must be going now.”

He addressed the Marquis of Drake. “To be fair, I’m leaving my winnings with Haversham so you do not feel cheated out of the opportunity to win your money back.”

This gave Brock no other option but to remain at the table, freeing Harold to leave without the possibility of his friend tailing him.

He turned to leave, knowing Brock’s stare held too many questions—none he would be able to answer at this moment. He only hoped his retreating frame blocked the view of Ruby in the window.

As he stalked toward the entrance, Ruby’s gaze finally landed on him. Her eyes widened, and in the next instant she was gone. Pushing the door wide, Harold stepped onto the walk and looked to the left, in the direction she’d fled.

She wasn’t on the walk as he’d expected.

A hack moved swiftly down the street.

Ruby sunk to the floor of the filthy hack as soon as she jumped in, quite possibly ruining her dress.

“Back to Haversham townhouse, quickly please.” She breathed deeply when the hack pulled away from the curb. She inched up onto the seat behind her, but kept her head low. It was possible Harold hadn’t seen her escape into this particular carriage. Truly, he might not have recognized her at all in the sparse light.

But the expression on his face as he’d rushed from the club told her otherwise. She had never seen him as anything but calm and reserved, with that usual carefree manner. Tonight, however, she had seen fire in his eyes, fury even—and something else she didn’t recognize.

She dared a look over the seat and behind the carriage. The dust rising in their wake from the carriage wheels made it impossible to see if someone followed.