“Could you put your dress back on?” His eyes went to her breasts again, then her naked arms. “All that skin, it’s damn distracting.”
Not bothering to hide her grin, she hummed thoughtfully. “Really? Is it making you want to kiss me?”
When his gaze slammed into hers, and she saw the heat there, she took a step back.
“Everything you do makes me want to kiss you, Tavie,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She leapt for the dress.
As she wriggled into it—her back to him, as if that would preserve her modesty at this point—she heard him take a deep breath.
“Yes, alright. So. We need King to willingly give it to us, or sell it to us.”
“Or…” She peeked over her shoulder as her fingers flashed on her buttons. “Lose it to us.”
His pale eyes widened. “A poker game,” he whispered, obviously intrigued by the idea. “Just the way he claims to have won it in the first place!”
Smiling now, she turned to him, disheveled, but properly clothed at least. “I have the right disguise, and now that Stevens is…” She swallowed, not wanting to remember today’s horror. “No one would recognize me if I appeared at the Three Queens as a new girl. I can set up a game between you and King, especially if I spend some time with him between now and, say, Friday night.”
He frowned. “You told me you weren’t going to be spending time with King.”
“I said I wouldn’t be intimate with him, if you’ll recall. But I can manipulate him just as well in the main room.”
Crossing his arms in front of him, Jack’s glare turned icy. “Manipulate him to do what?”
She threw up her hands. “Into taking your invitation! He already thinks you’re a sloppy drunk, and we know he needs money. All I need to do is perfect my disguise, bribe the bartender and owner, and slip into his game a few times.”
His frown softened as he considered her words.
“Jack, you know I can do this,” she said softly.
When he blew out a breath, she knew she had him.
“Fine! But no more than three evenings between now and Friday, and you’ll be home before ten, do you understand?”
With a mocking curtsy, she grinned impishly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he growled, “I like you when you’re agreeable.”
“You like me even when I’m not agreeable,” she quipped.
And he looked as if he was about to launch himself across the room at her.
Part of her wanted him to.
He’d shown restraint today. Did that mean her worries were no longer relevant? She could allow herself to fall in love with a man who could maintain control, couldn’t she?
Fall in love? She almost snorted. She was in love.
“You’ll have to tempt him, you know.” As soon as the words left her lips, as soon as she saw the way his hungry gaze dropped to her curves, she knew how he’d interpreted that. “I meant King. When you get him down at the table, you’ll have to tempt him enough that he’ll bet the deed.”
Just as he’d been able to jump between thoughts and emotions earlier, the tension drained out of Jack’s shoulders almost immediately, and he reached for his jacket’s inner pocket. “That won’t be a problem.”
He pulled out a deck of cards, and began to shuffle them. Her eyes tried to follow his movements, but it was almost impossible. Was this another of his many talents? His fingers seemed to move through one another as he passed the cards around the deck.
His grin turned sly. “See, Tavie, the trick is not to rely on luck.”
With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out the king of spades. Then another flick, and he held the king of hearts.
Cheating.
“It has to be legal, Jack. You can’t stack the deck in your favor.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on stacking it in my favor.” He stood, his smile downright wicked now when he repeated his words from the restaurant. “After all, what’s a little cheating amongst friends?”
12
This afternoon—and for the last three nights—she was Madame Francoise, an aging not-quite-French entertainer. Four days ago, Tavie had colored her hair a flamboyant red, the shade of an older woman desperate to appear younger, and waltzed into the Three Queens saloon.
The proprietor had been happy to exchange a room for two performances a night, and Tavie was pleased to see business had picked up a bit, thanks to her.
She’d made contact with King that very first night, fawning over him to the point of flattery. Her disguise—makeup to appear older, covered by garish paint as if she was trying to hide the fact—was good enough he didn’t recognize her as Tavie or Nina, his recent dinner companion.
King did, however, see through her French-ness. Tavie’s mother had been French, and she could speak it fluently, as well as adopt a flawless French accent. The accent she was using as Francoise was designed to sound real to anyone who didn’t know French…but fake otherwise.
And as she’d planned, King was proud of himself for seeing the trick, when “these gullible fools” had been duped. Tavie had pretended to be affronted at the accusation, but quickly relented and begged King not to share her secret with any of the other customers.
King couldn’t resist the allure of knowing more than other men—few could. He’d sat, smug in his knowledge, sure she was devoted to him, each evening since then.
When this was over, if he remembered Madame Francoise at all, it would be her outrageous hair and horrible accent, not what she looked like.
And that was what Tavie wanted, because after tonight, everything would change.
She’d been the one to arrange the first poker game between King and “the very fine young Mr. Douglas, oui?”
That had been yesterday, and Jack had made sure to lose copious amounts of money to King. He’d held his temper, done his best to be charming—although it was hard, she could tell—and set the stage for tonight.
Tonight, he’d force King to wager the deed to the Bicycle Mine.
The afternoon seemed to drag until Jack arrived, then everything happened rather quickly. She watched him swagger in, looking just as assured as he’d been yesterday, the walk of a man who has enough money he can afford to lose more tonight. He was wearing that fancy European evening cape he sometimes wore as the Black Ace, and when he didn’t remove it, but just threw it back over one shoulder, she wondered what he was hiding under it.
He lifted a finger toward the bartender, nodding when the man pulled out the brandy, then sauntered toward the same table they’d used the day before.
“Good evening, monsieur,” Tavie tittered, curtsying deep, as if trying to make him look down her cleavage. Well, maybe that wasn’t all an act.
“Madame,” he acknowledged, with a curt bow of his own.
Then he reached for her hand to place a flirtatious kiss across the back of it. But instead of dropping it, his thumb traced small circles across her skin. It was the actions of a man determined to charm an older woman, and Tavie responded accordingly.
“Oh, Monsieur Douglas! You are—how do you say it? Très charmant?”
He grinned lazily. “Charming, Madame Francoise, and thank you. Merci, I mean.” His pale eyes sparkled, and anyone watching might think it was because of her flirting, but she knew it was a sign of his excitement. “Have I missed your performance for the evening?”
“Oui, but I will sing again.”
“The same songs as yesterday? The ones you said your mother taught you?” he teased in character.
She pretended to pout, but knew humor wasn’t far beneath the surface when she said, “It is almost as if I know no other French songs, n’est-ce pas?”
He covered his snort of laughter with a genteel throat clearing. “Indeed.”
It was almost impossible not to throw herself into his arms, to take comfort in his embrace. The memory of that one kiss they’d shared was overpowering, but Tavie forced herself to push it to the back of her mind. A
fter tonight, she’d have the answers she needed.
If Jack could control his demon, perhaps a future together was a possibility.
She took a deep breath, which was probably a mistake, because his unmistakable scent tickled her nostrils. Forcing herself to step back, she turned toward the front door, as if waiting for King, but not so far she couldn’t hear him when he murmured near her.
“Everything’s all set up?”
She managed to nod subtly, then made a small gesture toward the table, making it to appear as if she were just adjusting her bodice. “Same seats as last night.”
“Good.” She heard him move toward his seat. “I’ll let him deal.”
They’d discussed the plan at length, and she couldn’t say she was pleased with all of it. Still, it was necessary, and she was as confident as Jack it would work.
Right on time, King entered the saloon.
Despite the fact he had little money left, no income from the mine, and no hired guns, he still moved as if he owned the room. Maybe he did, if the Three Queens was one of the properties which sat on land belonging to the Bicycle Mine.
He was dressed in the height of fashion, as always, and when he shrugged out of his overcoat, he hung it on the hook by the door. He kept his silver-tipped walking sword-cane—the ornamental one he didn’t really need, but made sure to rattle occasionally—clenched tightly in his hand. His nose rose haughtily as he scanned the room, and Tavie could swear she saw him sneer when his gaze landed on Jack.
When he began to swagger toward the table, Tavie intercepted him with a fawning titter. “Oh! Monsieur Roi! You do not mind if I call you that?” She giggled like a foolish schoolgirl, and was gratified by his eye roll. “Your challenger awaits, and I look forward to watching the game!”
He growled something as he slid into his chair, propping the cane beside him, but she couldn’t hear what it was. Then he reached for the deck of cards, and their plan went into motion.
But it was a slow build. For the first hour, Jack played conservatively, and Tavie saw him fold twice when he had hands he might’ve won. She had to go perform a second time—these men not seeming to mind her merely passable singing voice—but returned to watch the game whenever possible.
Jack and King were joined by a few other men throughout the afternoon and into the evening, but they all eventually left, one-by-one. It wasn’t that Jack and King were particularly brilliant poker players; it was just that they seemed to have unlimited money, and could continue to raise bets until the other men folded.
Of course, Tavie knew King’s money wasn’t unlimited. She’d wager the money in front of King right now was what he’d won from Jack last night, which meant it wasn’t unlimited at all.
They’d ordered food, and although they bantered through dinner, only a fool would think them friends. There was a bite, a frostiness to any conversation they exchanged, and they each seemed to delight in taunting the other.
It was early evening when Jack caught her eye. “Another double, madame?”
She jumped up from the table, where she’d had a prime seat among the spectators, and nodded to King. “And pour vous, monsieur?”
King waved his hand in irritation. “Same,” he barked, and she scurried for the bar.
It had been Jack’s signal. He was ready to start the final movement.
She returned with their drinks in time to watch him with the next hand, and win it richly.
King was scowling when he snatched up his drink, but he was wise not to swallow it all at once. He’d need his wits about him.
Little good it would do.
In the next hand, he did come close to winning, but Jack turned out to be an excellent bluffer and took that hand as well, holding a pair of sevens.
Yesterday, he’d explained poker was more about the psychology of betting than the luck of the draw. Over the last two nights, he’d gotten better at understanding King’s method of wagers and raises and calls. He could guess how and why King would bet.
But of course, he was planning on helping the process along a bit.
Jack had just finished dealing, and as he reached for the deck to pass to King, he took a big gulp of his whiskey.
“Dear God!” he gasped as he coughed, choking on the harsh liquor. Another fit of coughing overtook him, before he could say anything else.
Tavie played her part, jumping up and waving her hand in his face, as if that would help.
King smirked. “I guess some boys just can’t handle a man’s drink, eh, Douglas?”
Jack continued to wheeze. “Quite…right.”
Of course, what King didn’t see—what no one saw, even Tavie—was Jack palm the deck of cards they’d been playing with, and replace it with his own.
The bartender brought him another shot—which caused King to jeer—and stayed to watch the action, along with most of the rest of the patrons. Hell, half the town was in there tonight.
Doc Vickers and Matthias Blake, whom Tavie knew for a fact preferred the High Stakes saloon, stood against the back wall. Mr. Gomez and one of the ranchers—Mr. Ryan, she thought?—were trading whispers off to one side as they watched curiously. And standing opposite Tavie’s place at the table, where he could keep both players in his sights, Marshal Diamon stood impassively, his thumbs hooked on his gun belt.
And if any of them had seen Jack switch the decks, in what was a really remarkable sleight-of-hand, no one said anything.
Slowly, Tavie’s lips pulled into a grin.
He really can do anything, can’t he?
Recovered now from his fake coughing fit, Jack grinned lazily across the table. “Ready, Mr. King?” he asked, as he slid the new deck over.
Picking up the cards, the older man sniffed. “I’ve enjoyed taking your money thus far, Douglas. Are you sure you’re still solvent?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jack drawled, as King began to deal. “My sister and I are heirs to quite the fortune.”
King hummed speculatively. “Yes, and I intend to get my hands on it.”
It was intended to offend, but Jack just cocked an eyebrow at his opponent. “At the poker table, or by marrying Nina?”
King’s lips curled upward as he studied his cards. “Both.”
They fell into silence as they each considered their cards. Under the table, Tavie’s hands clenched into fists, sure the anticipation would kill her. She couldn’t be the only one whose heart was pounding against their rib cage.
Well, not Jack. He glanced up at King, his smile never wavering.
“Well, old man?”
King was icy as he placed his cards face-down on the table. “You, of course, have the first bet.”
King would be magnanimous about Jack betting first. Tavie knew he had to be excited. She didn’t know what his hand was exactly, but she knew Jack would’ve arranged for it to be a good one.
It had to be a good one, to convince King to bet everything…including the deed to the Bicycle Mine.
Jack nodded and glanced down at the pile of money in front of him. “Well, how about we start with…”
When he began to count out bills, the murmurs around them grew.
“There.” He tapped the stack of bills against the table and laid them between the men. “That should be two thousand. We can start with that.”
Two thousand dollars.
It was probably mere pocket change to a man who’d lived in a royal court, but it was obvious from the excited whispers around her that the Three Queens—Black Aces in general—wasn’t used to this kind of stakes.
And King, knowing he had a good hand, matched it.
“Very well. Two thousand.”
He carefully counted out the bills, until the stack in front of him was noticeably smaller. When he saw Jack’s brows raise, he snorted.
“What? You didn’t think I’d call your bluff? I’ll gladly match a mere two thousand.”
Jack pretended to shrug with acceptance. “Well, if that’s the case, let�
��s go up to three thousand.” He pushed a another thousand dollars into the center.
King nodded firmly, following suit, then said, “And I call.”
Tavie knew the rules of poker, but also knew that both of these men would bend the rules to suit them.
It was up to King to take the next step, but he was staring hard at his opponent. Jack obviously decided to prompt the man.
“How many cards, Mr. King?”
The older man sat forward, his gaze icy. “Two. But not from this deck.”
Around them, the spectators sucked in startled breathes, knowing what he was implying.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with your own dealing, Mr. King?”
“No.” But before anyone could relax, King snapped, “Just the deck.”
He knew Jack had cheated, had stacked the deck. But could he guess what he’d dealt himself?
What’s a little cheating amongst friends?
But Jack and King weren’t friends, far from it.
Finally, Jack shrugged. “Want me to deal?”
“No,” King fired off. “I want a new deck.”
“Impossible.” Jack kept his voice bland, but it had to have been hard. “You can have a new dealer though.”
When King didn’t object, Jack turned to Tavie. “Madame, if you’ll do the honors?”
He trusted her to deal, to continue their plan. She reached for the deck, but again, King’s voice lashed out.
“Shuffle first, ‘madame,’ if you please.”
He’d said please, but his tone was anything but conciliatory.
Tavie made sure not to glance toward Jack. First of all, she wasn’t asking him, because there was nothing she could do but follow King’s demands. If she didn’t, everyone would know Jack had cheated, and that she was in on the deception.
Second, she knew if she looked at him, if she saw any sort of hesitation in his eyes, she’d falter.
So she picked up the deck and shuffled it, just as King had demanded.
Without a word, she placed it on the table in front of him.
His smile was snake-like. “I said two cards, I believe.”
He discarded two in front of her, and Tavie, knowing what he was asking, dealt him two cards off the top of the deck.
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 13
