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“What—what sort of punishment?”

“I think you will approve, my dear, and you will get to witness it without them realizing you are even there.” A note of satisfaction in her voice conveyed the distinct impression that Mrs. Dove-Lyon liked this idea very much.

“And—and the other gentleman?”

“Oh, he will be there.”

“I see,” said Cecey, not seeing at all.

The door opened just then to admit Uncle Seb, and they took their leave shortly after with Mrs. Dove-Lyon explaining that Cecey was to be returned to her tomorrow night and that everything would be settled before the night was over. Uncle Seb seemed a bit disturbed by the lack of details, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon said a little sharply, “Do you want the girl respectably married, or not?” and he hastened to say that he did.

Chapter 4

Rick entered the hallowed portals of the Lyon’s Den for a third night in a week, not precisely willingly. He had sworn he wouldn’t darken its doorway again after the debacle of his last visit, but the letter burning a hole in his pocket from its proprietress, received while he was imbibing his coffee at midday, had been too much to resist.

Dear Lord Kenrick,

Fortune smiles upon you. Due to an interesting development, you are given the opportunity to erase the considerable debt you have incurred against this house tonight. One game could see you free of debt and a happy man.

Please present yourself at five minutes to midnight tonight to claim your place in Aphrodite’s Wheel, where you may, with the grace of the Goddess on your side, rid yourself of your debt.

Failure to do so will force me to foreclose on the debt of six thousand five hundred pounds that you owe me and insist it be paid in full, immediately. I am sure you are aware that I can enforce this order forthwith. Furthermore, I have no doubt you would rather this not come to the ears of your brother the Duke of Troubridge. Your attendance will keep it that way.

We look forward to your company tonight. Do not fail.

Yours in good faith,

B. Dove-Lyon

There was no doubt a nasty catch buried in that pile of threat and innuendo, but Rick couldn’t see that he had a choice, short of throwing himself on his brother’s mercy, and that was the last thing he was going do. He was in enough trouble with Robert as it was without adding this pile of dung to the heap.

In a mini rebellion, he arrived at three minutes to midnight and was given a plain black satin half mask to put on—more games?—and shown immediately into a private room on the second floor. The room itself was a perfect circle, with a round table in the center with a cut-out circle in the middle of it. Like King Arthur’s round table, he thought whimsically. Hidden musicians played softly, and the room was dimly lit by wall sconces, giving it an intimate atmosphere.

His stomach was uneasy as he looked around the room at the assembled gentlemen, all of whom were also masked. With himself, there were a dozen present. Did all these men owe Mrs. Dove-Lyon money? If that were true, and their debts were similar to his, then every one of them would be strongly motivated to win. This “game” was an interesting way for her to recoup her debts. Forcing each man who lost to cough up at the end of the night.

And only one seat was left vacant. His, presumably.

He strolled over to the table and took his seat. At each man’s elbow was a pile of jettons. He checked his and found they were of different denominations which added up exactly to the amount of his debt. Interesting.

A diaphanously garbed nymph in a white-and-silver mask approached him with a tray of drinks, and he took a glass of amber liquid. One thing about Mrs. Dove-Lyon, she didn’t stint her patrons with poor quality alcohol. This was, he knew from experience, the finest whisky. One sip of the mellow nectar made him smile, and he relaxed a fraction. His usual optimism surfaced, and he cracked his fingers in anticipation. This could be fun.

Lounging back in his seat, he awaited events.

At precisely one minute after midnight, a masked female figure appeared in the center of the table, rising up through the floor. She wore a Greek chiton in fine blue silk, which clung to her shapely form and hung low on her bosom, showing a generous amount of décolletage.

“Welcome to Aphrodite’s Wheel, gentlemen. The game tonight is Brag. I trust you are all familiar with the rules?” There was a general murmur of assent around the table. “Good, we are playing with two wild cards, the jack of clubs and the nine of diamonds. Aces are high, and ace of diamonds is highest. I remind you that a prial is three threes of any suit. Stakes are a minimum of ten pounds apiece to a maximum of fifty pounds per round.”

The game was simple enough. The dealer would deal each man three cards, which he would then bet on to beat every other man’s hand, either folding or raising the stake of the last bet.

“You are playing with your debt gentlemen, represented by the counters at your place. If you win, the amount staked and won is removed from your debt.” She nodded to a shrouded figure at the back of the room. “The Abacus Woman will keep score. If you lose, your debt increases by half the amount of your losing bet. For the first five games. After that, the rules change. Any questions?”

“What do the rules change to?” asked a beefy looking fellow opposite Rick.

“I’ll tell you when we get there.” A smile curved the lady’s generous lips beneath her mask.

I’ll bet our losses increase more the longer we play, thought Rick. If you don’t win consistently, you go out backward mighty fast. Very clever!

He let out a breath slowly and deliberately relaxed his body. If I ever needed lady luck’s blessing, it is tonight.