game.
Harley's humour turned greedy. His mind was again on the pot...and securing it as soon as maybe. 'Shall we continue, Meredith? I've better sport than this awaiting me this evening. And she's far easier on the eye...and wallet than you are when drunk...' He managed a weak grin, for he was fretting to get play again underway before Meredith passed out or upset the table. Either way he might lose out if the game were called void. Quickly he matched Edgar's last bet and, dithering over whether to stick, or up the ante, allowed avarice to overrule his need to bring the game to a speedy conclusion. He raised the stake by scribbling a promissory note for one thousand pounds. His eyebrows elevated meaningfully at Edgar; he then included the other men still playing in the challenging look.
Edgar fished in a pocket, then delved deep in theother. He tried his breast pocket. The gentlemen sitting around the table watched anxiously.
T didn't sayj wouldn't play cards with you,' came mildly, yet audibly, from behind him.
Edgar continued digging for gold. A handkerchief was tossed idly on to the table, a silver snuff-box followed in a clatter, then spectacles skidded away to wink candlelight. 'You didn't shay anything at all to me, ash I ric'ricall.
Avoided me like I shtank, ash I ric'ricall. If you're not too grand and fash...
fashdidious, si...sit down, then.' Edgar wobbled his head at Nathaniel's seat and hiccoughed again. Annoyed with the sudden spate of spasms rocking his chest, he ceased talking and gulped in a lungful of air. Steadily he began swelling about the neck and elevating in his chair.
'Aye, take my place...please,' Nathaniel said. He scraped his chair back from the table, shaking his head at Edgar. 'I'll not make excuses to Gloria for you, y'know. You'll not cry off apologising for this lunacy yourself...' Noticing his brother-in-law was becoming horribly florid and pop-eyed, he thumped him on the back.
Edgar exploded, shrunk into his seat then hiccoughed and swore. He waved a disgruntled hand at his brother-in-law, scattering a stack of sovereigns in the process. 'Fine' me something to scribble with,' he directed him rudely.
'An' mine' your own business...' He turned to Alexander Pemberton. 'Did I ask him to make m'excuses? Alibi for me only the once...only once ever has he done that...'
'Have you got something to say?' Connor quietly drawled at Lord Harley. He stuck a cheroot in his mouth and lit it. Having settled himself in Nathaniel's chair, he lay back in it, long legs stretching out lazily to the central pedestal.
Blue eyes raised, gazing at the furious-faced man through a haze of slate smoke, whilst Edgar, beside him, continued to mumble and hiccough and pull out his pocket linings in search of some cash.
'It ain't in the rules. You want to play, Devane, wait till this game's done.'
'Anybody got any objections to me buying Chamberlain out and playing now?' Connor asked the few men seated about the table who were still in the game.
'None at all,' Toby Forster declared with a grin. 'Too deep for me in any case,' he explained. Having folded his hand, he lay back in his chair with an air of someone relishing future proceedings. His friend, Frank Vernon, looked at him lounging at ease, looked at his cards, then, with a hopeless groan, pitched them in too.
'Just the three of us, then,' Connor told Benjamin Harley and, withdrawing the cigar from between his teeth, he placed it carefully on the pewter ashtray.
Lord Harley's face turned a dull red, then the blood drained from his complexion as slowly the full implications of this subtle manoeuvre sunk in.
His frustration erupted in a muttered imprecation forced through his set teeth.
Connor smiled, amused. His eyes remained cold. 'Come, don't fret, Benjamin,' he drawled silkily, while watching Edgar scratching script in black ink on to the white parchment that his brother-in-law had brought him.
With a flourish the pledge was signed, the quill was
Harley's humour turned greedy. His mind was again on the pot...and securing it as soon as maybe. 'Shall we continue, Meredith? I've better sport than this awaiting me this evening. And she's far easier on the eye...and wallet than you are when drunk...' He managed a weak grin, for he was fretting to get play again underway before Meredith passed out or upset the table. Either way he might lose out if the game were called void. Quickly he matched Edgar's last bet and, dithering over whether to stick, or up the ante, allowed avarice to overrule his need to bring the game to a speedy conclusion. He raised the stake by scribbling a promissory note for one thousand pounds. His eyebrows elevated meaningfully at Edgar; he then included the other men still playing in the challenging look.
Edgar fished in a pocket, then delved deep in theother. He tried his breast pocket. The gentlemen sitting around the table watched anxiously.
T didn't sayj wouldn't play cards with you,' came mildly, yet audibly, from behind him.
Edgar continued digging for gold. A handkerchief was tossed idly on to the table, a silver snuff-box followed in a clatter, then spectacles skidded away to wink candlelight. 'You didn't shay anything at all to me, ash I ric'ricall.
Avoided me like I shtank, ash I ric'ricall. If you're not too grand and fash...
fashdidious, si...sit down, then.' Edgar wobbled his head at Nathaniel's seat and hiccoughed again. Annoyed with the sudden spate of spasms rocking his chest, he ceased talking and gulped in a lungful of air. Steadily he began swelling about the neck and elevating in his chair.
'Aye, take my place...please,' Nathaniel said. He scraped his chair back from the table, shaking his head at Edgar. 'I'll not make excuses to Gloria for you, y'know. You'll not cry off apologising for this lunacy yourself...' Noticing his brother-in-law was becoming horribly florid and pop-eyed, he thumped him on the back.
Edgar exploded, shrunk into his seat then hiccoughed and swore. He waved a disgruntled hand at his brother-in-law, scattering a stack of sovereigns in the process. 'Fine' me something to scribble with,' he directed him rudely.
'An' mine' your own business...' He turned to Alexander Pemberton. 'Did I ask him to make m'excuses? Alibi for me only the once...only once ever has he done that...'
'Have you got something to say?' Connor quietly drawled at Lord Harley. He stuck a cheroot in his mouth and lit it. Having settled himself in Nathaniel's chair, he lay back in it, long legs stretching out lazily to the central pedestal.
Blue eyes raised, gazing at the furious-faced man through a haze of slate smoke, whilst Edgar, beside him, continued to mumble and hiccough and pull out his pocket linings in search of some cash.
'It ain't in the rules. You want to play, Devane, wait till this game's done.'
'Anybody got any objections to me buying Chamberlain out and playing now?' Connor asked the few men seated about the table who were still in the game.
'None at all,' Toby Forster declared with a grin. 'Too deep for me in any case,' he explained. Having folded his hand, he lay back in his chair with an air of someone relishing future proceedings. His friend, Frank Vernon, looked at him lounging at ease, looked at his cards, then, with a hopeless groan, pitched them in too.
'Just the three of us, then,' Connor told Benjamin Harley and, withdrawing the cigar from between his teeth, he placed it carefully on the pewter ashtray.
Lord Harley's face turned a dull red, then the blood drained from his complexion as slowly the full implications of this subtle manoeuvre sunk in.
His frustration erupted in a muttered imprecation forced through his set teeth.
Connor smiled, amused. His eyes remained cold. 'Come, don't fret, Benjamin,' he drawled silkily, while watching Edgar scratching script in black ink on to the white parchment that his brother-in-law had brought him.
With a flourish the pledge was signed, the quill was
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