Susanne Mccarthy - Groom By Arrangement

‘Ah, well—perhaps I’ll have better luck if I change my game,’ Hugh responded with that air of amiable good humour that was beginning to seriously annoy her, strolling round to take a stool that had just been vacated right opposite her position.

Natasha kept her professional smile pinned firmly in place—she wasn’t going to let Hugh Garratt see that she was the slightest bit bothered whether or not he joined her table. But she couldn’t quite prevent her eyes from slanting in his direction—snatching them swiftly away again as his glance caught hers. And he smiled that idiotic smile that would fool absolutely no one that he was as stupid as he was trying to make people believe he was.

‘No more bets now, please.’ She was glad of the familiar routines of the game to anchor her concentration. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen—no more bets now.’

Hugh had put his chips on red—and it came up black. Natasha refused to allow herself to glance across the table as she raked in his chips. He was up to something—she was quite sure of it. Only a sucker would play even-money bets on a table with a double zero. But quite what he was up to she hadn’t yet worked out.

He stayed at the table for about half an hour, and lost maybe a couple of thousand dollars, betting with a reckless good humour that had all the table laughing with him. That drew others to see what all the jollification was about, making the table the centre of attraction of the whole room.

‘This time it’s got to be the red!’ he insisted, taking another large swig from the whisky tumbler he was waving around ostentatiously—though Natasha had noticed that, for all he appeared to be drinking from it, the level seemed to be remaining pretty much the same. ‘It can’t come up black five times in a row!’

Darlene was back, anchoring herself firmly to his side and fluttering her false eyelashes up at him. ‘Well, if you’re betting on the red, my money’s on the black,’ she giggled. ‘Don’t you mind losing all that money?’

‘Ah, you have to hold on and wait for your luck to change,’ he asserted cheerfully. ‘It’s got to happen—any minute now.’

‘Well, I won’t hold my breath.’

‘Heartless wench.’ He slipped his arm around her waist, smiling that wicked smile. ‘Stick around and watch for the fireworks.’

‘Last bets now, please,’ Natasha rapped out, startled by the cutting edge in her own voice. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,’ she added more smoothly, flashing her cool smile. ‘Last bets, please.’

Lester had wandered over to see what was causing all the excitement, and watched approvingly as Hugh carelessly tossed a pile of chips onto the red diamond.

It wasn’t even a truly evens bet since along with the American wheel Lester had introduced the American rule—if the spin came up on the zero of double zero, the player lost the whole stake—instead of the English system of returning half. Natasha had argued vociferously against its introduction—it had seemed to her that the house advantage on the roulette table was already quite sufficient. But, as Lester had pointedly reminded her, most of the time the punters didn’t even seem to notice.

Hugh certainly didn’t seem to care. Apparently half drunk, he was laughing rather too loudly, his arm draped casually around Darlene’s shoulders as if he needed her to prop him up. ‘Come on, Lady Luck,’ he pleaded, playing out the role of the reckless gambler from some cheap B movie. ‘Spare me just one of your sweet smiles tonight.’

Natasha did her very best to ignore him. If he was the sort who was attracted to Darlene’s amply displayed charms, she wasn’t remotely interested in him.

Not that she would have been interested anyway. So far as she was concerned, any man who came in through the doors of the casino carried a warning sign that spelled TROUBLE in giant red letters. No sensible woman would want to get involved with a gambler—even one that was winning.

But then across the table those wicked shark-grey eyes caught hers—and the glitter in them owed absolutely nothing to alcohol. Her heart gave a sudden thud. She was right—he was faking.

Was she the only person around the table who was aware of the charade? It seemed so—everyone else was laughing, enjoying the foolery. But why was he doing it? Last night she had wondered if he was working with a partner, drawing all the attention to himself while someone else worked a scam at one of the other tables. But her careful checking of all the surveillance videos had revealed nothing. So what was his game…?

He had held her gaze for much longer than she had intended, and she felt herself growing strangely warm, the memory of the way he had kissed her creeping into her mind, the way that strong, sensitive hand had caressed her breast… She drew in a long, deep breath, struggling to steady the beating of her own heart, and returned him the sort of cool, level look which would put most men very firmly in their place.

‘Last bets now, please, ladies and gentlemen.’ Damn—she had already said that.

Hugh lost yet again, and to Natasha’s relief Lord Neville came over and demanded his attention, dragging him off to one of the blackjack tables, Darlene clinging to his arm like an leech.

With him gone from her table, she was able to feel a little more relaxed. She knew it was crazy to let him affect her like that. It was just because…she was still annoyed with herself about that encounter on the beach this morning. She wasn’t even sure why she had let it happen. OK, so he had a good body, and a certain attractive way of smiling… And, yes, all right—she was intrigued. Why was he acting like some drunken, weak-minded fool, when she was pretty sure he was anything but? What was he up to?

Anyway, for the moment at least he was out of her hair. She refused to let herself think about him, and when she took her break she was careful to check that he was nowhere near the dance floor before crossing to the door that led to the back stairs and slipping up to the family apartment on the top floor.

She was surprised to find Lester there, kneeling on the floor beside the private safe in the little-used sitting room. He closed it quickly when she walked in, swinging back the section of bookshelves that concealed it. ‘Well, we should be in for a pretty good night tonight,’ he declared gleefully.

Natasha arched one finely drawn eyebrow in cool question.

‘It seems our Mr Hugh Garratt thinks he can play poker,’ Lester explained, riffling a thick wad of banknotes. ‘I’ve let him persuade me to cut him in on our game.’

‘Poker?’ With a sudden kick of certainty Natasha saw the whole puzzle fall into place. ‘I don’t think you should play poker with him, Lester,’ she warned tautly.

Her stepfather laughed, cocksure. ‘Why not? If he’s sucker enough to sit down with me, why shouldn’t I fleece him? Teach the sap a lesson.’

She shook her head, wondering why she should bother to waste her breath. She really couldn’t care less if Lester lost his money—or, come to that, if Hugh did. ‘I think you’ll find you’ve underestimated him,’ she persisted. ‘You might find it isn’t you doing the fleecing.’

Lester sneered. ‘You think I’m stupid? I’ve marked him these past few days. He’s a friend of that chinless aristocrat Neville—what does that tell you?’

‘Not a lot,’ she responded dryly. ‘He may be a friend of his, but that doesn’t mean he’s one of his crowd.’

‘Fancy him, do you?’ he queried, his voice edged with sarcasm. ‘Well, there’s a first—I always thought you had ice in your britches. It’s a pity you couldn’t have a bit more sense than to fall for some bonehead like that. You’d better say goodbye to him—I doubt if he’ll stick around very long after I’ve finished with him. He’ll be lucky if he can find a banana boat to work his passage home!’