sink. The banker glanced up from his end of the table, and with grim austerity uttered, “Eleven.”
“Goddamn it,” Nick muttered, gripping the edge of the table and lowering his head.
The dice cup was prised from his grip by the man at his left, since this had been his third losing turn. He swayed on his feet, inebriation working against his equilibrium.
“C’mon, love,” mewled the woman at his side, her hands stroking his arm. “Your luck’s bound to change. Don’t give up now.”
Nick glanced at the baggage who’d been hanging on him since he’d taken his place among the other men chancing their luck at Hazard. Either he was incredibly drunk, or she had four breasts. He blinked. No, there were only two of them, and they were his favorite kind—large and round and spilling from the neckline of an ill-fitting bodice. Several of the whores plying their trade within this hell knew him by name, but this one must be new. He didn’t think he’d had her before.
“How about a kiss for luck, m’lord?”
“I’m not a lord,” he slurred, though he didn’t resist when she took hold of his face and pulled him down from his substantial height.
Their lips met and her tongue slithered against his. When she released him, his head spun. For a few seconds, she sprouted two heads, complete with twin, rouge-stained mouths. She came into focus again and Nick returned her grin.
“You taste better’n any lord I’ve ever had,” she cooed.
“You certainly know how to bolster a man’s confidence, Mellie.”
“Mildred.”
“Right,” he murmured, then reached around to pinch a soft bottom cheek.
She squealed, then laughed and fell into him, her hands groping down his torso toward the front of his breeches. His cock responded predictably.
“You could always come with me and forget Hazard for a bit,” she purred, toying with one of the buttons on his fall. “I’ll make you forget all about it.”
“I’m afraid that will have to wait.”
Nick’s head jerked up at the sound of Benedict Sterling’s voice, and he found a double apparition of the man standing beside him, a scowl setting his features. Or was that a smile? He could hardly tell up from down just now.
“Hello there, m’lord,” the whore said, giving his friend a once-over with wide eyes. “My, but you are a prime piece. I’m not averse to takin’ two at once, you know.”
Nick wasn’t so jug-bitten that he didn’t recognize the look of distaste Benedict cast the whore.
“I think not,” he snapped. “Dominick, we are leaving. Now.”
Nick didn’t have the strength to fight as Benedict took hold of his arm and pulled him away from the grasping doxy. Though, he did manage to keep his unsteady legs beneath him.
“Farewell, Mopsy,” he called over his shoulder.
The slattern braced her hands on her hips and huffed. “It’s Mildred.”
Promptly shaking off the mystery of the whore with too many names, Dominick found Benedict retrieving something from a waiting attendant. A cup was thrust under his nose, and the strong aroma of coffee wafted up his nostrils.
“I’ve been all over London looking for you,” Benedict grumbled. “I went to four other gaming hells, and you’re so deep in your cups, you—for God’s sake, Nick, don’t just stare at the stuff. Drink it, and let’s go! We have business.”
“Right-o,” he mumbled, accepting the coffee.
It was barely lukewarm, and without sugar or milk, the bitter taste nudging at his befuddled senses. He set the cup back on the tray, then gave the attendant a playful salute.
“Until next time, my friend.”
Then, Benedict had him by the arm again, pulling him out into the night.
“Fuck … I forgot my coat.”
Benedict held up a bundle of black broadcloth and thrust it at him. “Put it on.”
Nick obeyed, knowing it was best to go along with Benedict’s demands when he had his smallclothes in a twist. Just now, he seemed particularly agitated, though Nick had no idea why. As the employer of nearly a dozen gentleman courtesans, Benedict’s work was never done. Just now, the majority of the agency’s men were employed with happy keepers, though Nick had found himself without a lady to service for months. His rapidly depleting funds were a problem, for certain, but he couldn’t see why that should upset Benedict so much. The man had his own lady, who’d been keeping him in grand style for two years.
“You have rouge on your lips,” Benedict said with a shake of his head.
He retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to Nick, who took it and promptly