“No,” Anthony said severely. “Once I handed over that sovereign, it became hers. The barmaid’s luck was in. Mine will have to come back around.”

Somehow.

He hoped.

Miss Devon motioned toward the pile of purses. “May I, then?”

Every muscle in Anthony’s body shook with fear and desperation. The night was young. There was plenty more money to be won. Just as soon as he got his winnings back. Or at least a few shillings. Something. Anything.

There had to be a way.

Charm, he reminded himself. When his empty wallet got him tossed out through doors, his charm was the one thing that could open new ones.

“Of course,” he replied easily, and pushed all three purses to her side of the table as if they contained nothing more valuable than handfuls of dirt. “Although I’m sure you’ll return the favor and allow me one last wager, will you not? Just enough to stay in the game.”

She hesitated, her fingertips mere inches from the stack of full purses. Anthony tried not to fall to his knees and beg.

No, she did not wish to return the favor. Who would? But luck was a powerful seductress, promising lies of invincibility too sweet to resist. Perhaps she would succumb to its sway.

“I’m afraid I don’t collect hair,” she hedged. “I wouldn’t want any of yours.”

Relief coursed through Anthony’s veins. He had her. Maybe. “Quite a boon, that, as I’m quite attached to my mane. Let us wager something far more valuable. If I lose, I’ll offer you my…purity.”

She burst out laughing. “I doubt you have any. You’re too handsome.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, careful not to show his desperation. “Then I shall be your slave for the evening. A servant of any sort you desire.”

“Isn’t that the same offer?” she asked teasingly.

He feigned exaggerated shock. “Never say the only servant the lady can imagine is one who offers his body. Very well. If I lose, I shall suffer through as best I can.”

“I’d rather you muck out the chimney.” Lady Fortune sent him an arch look as she picked the heavy purses up from the table.

But she didn’t say no.

Anthony held his breath as he awaited her decision. Anxiety flooded him. Miss Devon was the most unpredictable card he had ever been dealt. The wisest choice would be to leave the cards, pick up the money, and walk away. Luckily for him, gamblers weren’t known for making wise decisions.

The question was… What would Miss Devon choose?

Chapter 2

Miss Charlotte Devon hefted the three gaming purses in her hands and hesitated.

She wasn’t penniless. Not yet. And her father would be settling a sizable sum upon her, either as a dowry or as an independent living or as…as something. Of this, she was certain. The problem was finding him.

In the meantime, she oughtn’t to be gambling away small fortunes. The future was too uncertain. She probably ought not to have been gambling at all. But she could use the cushion. The other men’s earlier rebuff had been so infuriating that when Mr. Fairfax joined their table and sent her so many curious, friendly glances, the lure had been impossible to resist.

When was the last time a gentleman had sent her a friendly look, not a lewd or dismissive one? Come to think of it, when was the last time anyone had been friendly to her at all?

Ladies treated her with disdain, if they even acknowledged her presence. Gentlemen only sought a quick tup with someone they could easily discard. As far as Society was concerned, Miss Charlotte Devon wasn’t a person at all. She was nobody. Meaningless.

Was it any wonder this profligate’s roguish smiles and open face had drawn her like a moth to a flame?

It wasn’t merely attention from someone above her station. Everyone was above her station. Charlotte was long used to being treated like it.

But Mr. Fairfax was different. She’d suspected as much from observing his interactions with his peers, yet he continuously delighted her. Her surprise when he’d treated the barmaid like a person, rather than a stick of furniture, had turned to astonishment when he’d given the woman an entire sovereign to do with as she would. Charlotte’s astonishment was eclipsed by shock when he’d lost his winnings and still let the barmaid keep the coin.

His friends had seen nothing wrong with asking for its return. After all, the recipient was a mere serving wench. To them, her sentiments and situation need not enter the equation.

But not to Mr. Fairfax. His gifts were permanent. His debts were his own.

Now he wanted a chance to rejoin the game. She shouldn’t give him one. Perfectly nice gentleman or not. Chimney slave or not. She had won their money fair and square.

But he had given her a chance when he should not. When no one else would have done. She watched him from beneath her lashes. He had not only allowed a woman to join his gaming table, but he’d allowed her to wager nothing more than a lock of hair to stay in the game. Not because it made sense to do so, or because he was beholden to anyone else’s wishes in any way, but because he was kind.

Her pulse skipped. No one else had ever cared before.

She sat a little straighter. He might be too handsome and charming for his own good, too reckless and overconfident with his wagers. But by all appearances, this happy, devil-may-care rogue was also a genuinely nice person. He’d given her an extra chance at his own expense because he’d wanted her to feel like she had been treated fairly.

She could do no less. A begrudging sigh escaped her lips. Blast.

“If you lose, you may escort me to my chamber,” she began, and frowned sternly when he gave his dark eyebrows an exaggerated wiggle. “And then you may return to your own chamber without so much as crossing the threshold of mine. Or donating any hair.”

His green eyes sparkled at her merrily. “Done.”

Mr. Leviston gathered up the cards and fumbled them into a shuffle. “In case you were unaware, you are both delightfully mad.”

Didn’t she know it. Charlotte tightened her lips.

She dumped the pile of purses back onto the table with a thud. “All in?”

“All in.” Mr. Fairfax smiled back at her, both dimples showing sweetly.

Charlotte picked up her first card.

If Mr. Fairfax was watching her for a reaction, he would not discern one. Not solely because of Charlotte’s legendary self-control. But because she was in shock. Expressionless. Emotionless. Even she couldn’t believe the hand she’d been dealt.

This was surely the worst opening card anyone had ever held in the history of stupid wagers.

She touched her jewels. Her necklace and ear bobs were the sole possessions she could not lose at any cost. She normally wouldn’t even wear them in public, but Scotland was the one place where a bit of ostentation might help, rather than hurt her.

The other reason she wore them was to keep them safe. For the past few days she’d felt like someone was following her. She never saw the same person two days in a row, but she couldn’t shake the sense of being spied upon.

Today, there had been a man with a limp and a scuffed top hat who had stared at her with far more than casual interest. Perhaps he had seen the jewels and was waiting for her to leave them unattended.

A prickle went down her spine. She was positive that the contents of her valise had been rifled through at the last inn. Nothing had been taken—perhaps because the rubies were still on her person. But she couldn’t take the risk of losing them.

And now, without her purse, she couldn’t even afford to hire a maid or a hall boy to watch over her at night. Just until she was reunited with her father. In fact, protection was the real reason she’d agreed to let accompanying her safely to her chamber be Mr. Fairfax’s wager.

That, and she hadn’t expected him to win.

She swallowed. No sense drawing out the torture. She played all three cards, then lifted her chin.

Mr. Fairfax was ashen.

Slowly, as if touching his hand was more pain than could be withstood, he displayed his final card.

She’d won. Charlotte stared at the cards in disbelief. She’d won.

Mr. Leviston cackled. “I reckon it’s off to clean chimneys for you, Fairfax. Or whatever mischief the two of you decide to get up to.”

The nameless horror on Mr. Fairfax’s face vanished as if it had never existed. His visage resumed the same sunny cheer he had displayed earlier.

He shrugged and clapped Mr. Leviston on the shoulder. “Fortune giveth, and fortune taketh away.”

“Every time.” Mr. Leviston chuckled. “Shall we have another go tomorrow? I suppose I could scare up a shilling or two.”

“You know I’ve never said no to a game,” Mr. Fairfax replied easily. He fixed his magnetic gaze on Charlotte. “Ready, my lady?”

As she nodded her acquiescence, her mind was not on the short walk to her chamber, but on how blithely both men shrugged off staggering losses and agreed to repeat the same foolishness the following day. Were they daft? She had always supposed town gentlemen could not possibly be as careless and as dissolute as the Society papers painted them, but she had clearly been too generous.

She rose to her feet. Good. She was glad they were foolish. She could not possibly feel guilty at relieving them of more money than she normally spent in a year if they didn’t even have the good sense to miss it. She would be a much better mistress to these purses.

Hope fluttered in her belly. In fact, with two hundred pounds, she could hire a maid before taking the next hack north. She would do so first thing in the morning.

As for tonight… Well. Perhaps fortune truly was on her side.

She slipped her hand about the crook of Mr. Fairfax’s arm and let him lead her from the table. With a man like him seeing her safely to her chamber, her virtue would remain safe for one more night.