“I surrender.”
One of the gentlemen at the table stood, taking half their wagers, and left the table. The mystery woman leaned in to Pippa, and said, “Well done. The man closest to us lacks skill, and the farthest lacks luck.”
“And in the middle?”
The lady made a show of considering the handsome man at the center of the table. “That’s Duncan West. Owns most of the London papers.”
Pippa’s heart began to race. If she were discovered by the newspaperman, she would be ruined. Olivia as well.
Perhaps that would not be so bad. She ignored the thought. “He’s so young,” she whispered, doing her best not to look at the man in question.
“Young and royal-rich. There’s little he lacks. Except, it seems, a night with a good woman.”
Pippa heard the desire in the lady’s tone. “You, I take it?”
The woman turned to her, eyes glittering. “A woman can hope.”
Pippa watched as the gentlemen at the table added cards to the stacks in front of them, quickly learning the simple rules of the game.
When it came time for her companion to wager, the woman turned her shielded gaze to Pippa, and said, “What say you, my lady? Do I hit or hold?”
Pippa considered the table. “You should take a card.”
The other woman inclined her head to the dealer. “The lady suggests I hit.”
Five.
Lips the color of Bordeaux pursed in a perfect moue. “Well, that’s pretty. I shall stay.”
The cards were revealed. Pippa’s companion won. Collecting her winnings, she turned her smile on the rest of the table. “The luck of the novice, don’t you think?”
Two gentlemen grumbled their congratulations, as Duncan West nodded his appreciation in their direction, his gaze fairly burning as it settled on the other woman. Pippa watched for a moment as one long, porcelain arm reached for her winnings, deliberately brushing against Mr. West’s hand, lingering for a second, maybe less. Long enough for West’s gaze to turn hot. He looked as though he might devour her if they were alone.
The look was familiar.
It was the look Cross gave her when they were alone.
She blushed, looking away, hoping that her new acquaintance would not notice. If she did, it was not obvious when she returned her attention to Pippa. “How did you know I should hit?”
Pippa lifted one shoulder. “A guess.”
“Mere luck?”
Pippa shook her head. “Not lucky, really. The cards on the table were all high. The odds were that you would pull a low one.”
There’s no such thing as luck.
The other woman smiled. “You sound like Cross.”
That the woman gave voice to Pippa’s thoughts did not bother her. That she spoke Cross’s name as though she knew him intimately did. “You have gambled with Cross?” She tried to sound casual. Failed.
The lady turned back to the dealer, indicating that he should deal another round. “Will you play this time, my lady?”
Pippa nodded absently, reaching into her reticule and retrieving a handful of coins. “Please.”
Are you friends with Cross? she wanted to ask. Has he touched you? Kissed you? Have you lain with him? She hated her curiosity. Hated her reticence more.
The cards were dealt. Pippa looked at hers. Ace and three. She and the other woman watched as the dealer attended to the gentlemen at the end of the table for a long moment before her companion said, “I have gambled with him.” The woman asked for a second card. “Hold. But you needn’t worry.”
“I wasn’t—” Pippa stopped. “Hit.”
Six made twenty.
“I shall hold, please. Worry about what?”
The cards were revealed. “Twenty wins.”
The woman clapped politely as two men groaned, and Mr. West raised his glass in their direction. “The student surpasses the teacher.” The woman leaned in. “Cross does not frequent women’s beds.”
Pippa coughed, blindsided by the flood of sensation that coursed through her at the words. She paused, trying to identify it. Relief? No. She didn’t believe it. His reputation preceded him. But hope . . . it might be hope. One could not stop oneself from that errant, unflagging emotion, it seemed.
But even she knew that she should not hope. Not about this.
In fact she should do the opposite of hope. She should . . . unhope. Her winnings slid across the table toward her. “That does not keep him from inviting women to his,” she said, dryly.
The woman laughed. “No, but I’ve never seen that happen either.”
Pippa thought of Sally Tasser. “You haven’t looked hard enough.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Cross is a fair catch. And it’s not just me who thinks it. A dozen I know would have happily joined him there. Most of them for free. Everyone in London wants a piece of Cross. Have for years.”
Pippa stared at her winnings, counting the coins, pretending not to hear. Not to notice the ache in her chest at the thought of other women knowing him. Touching him. Kissing him.
She disliked every one of them.
Irrationally.