Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,6

possibly have that this man wanted that could be nearly as valuable.

“Convince my daughter to marry you.”

Jules exhaled softly.

The man wanted a title for the chit. Jules ought to have known. He flicked his gaze around the room.

Chase shrugged. Mantis raised one brow. Greys flicked a glance at Blackheart and then another warning one back at Jules.

There was nothing spectacular about each card when analyzed by itself. They were quite common really. But assembled together, the pattern of red hearts emboldened Jules: a ten, jack, queen, king, and ace.

He couldn’t lose. The notion of having his cellars filled with endless bottles of the delightfully smoky amber liquor convinced him. Another part of his mind offered up the possibility of a handful of redheaded offspring running willy-nilly around the manor—an idea so preposterous that he nearly snorted.

“Agreed,” Jules declared.

Jackson’s eyes flared for a fraction of a second, showing more emotion than he’d shown all evening. Jules could almost feel sorry for taking such a valuable stake from the man.

With a nod, his opponent slowly lowered his hand to the table—face up.

Jules frowned initially. And then blinked as he comprehended exactly what he was seeing. A ten, jack, queen, king, and ace. Spades—all of them.

A combination of groans and expressions of astonishment rose around the room.

Impossible. What in Hades? But sure enough. Spades beat hearts which beat diamonds which beat clubs.

Jules had lost. Lost!

Lost?

Greys’ hand squeezing his shoulder pulled him back to the present. What had he just done?

The odds of two royal flushes being dealt in the same hand, let alone in one game, were hardly even feasible. Had the man cheated? He must have. As a gentleman, however, Jules could not call him out. Mr. Daniel Jackson was a guest in his home.

Chase met Jules’ gaze from the corner with a sympathetic shrug. A few hands landed heavily on his back and then Blackheart, Peter, Greys, and Mantis filed solemnly out of the room. Chase downed what remained of his drink and then shuffled out as well.

Stone was the last to go. To gloat? The blasted codpiece grinned, apparently finding humor in Jules’ predicament. “We’ll settle up tomorrow.” Hell and damnation. Jules had all but forgotten about his earlier debt.

The only luck he’d experienced on this particular day had been wretched. He ought to have realized this sooner.

“A moment of your time, my lord?” Mr. Jackson remained seated but was now lounging back in his chair, a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.

Jules met the man’s gaze and nodded. The hour was late, he’d been up since dawn, had had too much to drink, and wanted nothing more than to climb into his bed.

Unfortunately, he had something of a situation on his hands. Better to address it now. Perhaps he could negotiate the debt so that he could get a good night’s sleep after all.

Picking up one of his cards, the ace of hearts, Jules tapped its edge on the table as he waited for the door to close behind Stone.

When the only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock that rested on the mantle, Jules forced himself to acknowledge the consequences of his actions. He lifted his gaze from the card and was surprised by the other man’s demeanor.

Mr. Jackson wasn’t gloating or smiling or even looking overly satisfied. He was frowning deeply.

“I suppose I owe you my congratulations,” Jules offered. Or was he the one to be congratulated? On a most unlikely betrothal? “Hell of a hand.”

The American remained frowning. “Wouldn’t have wagered my legacy otherwise.” The man’s accent seemed more pronounced now that the game was over. Hard, long consonant sounds, weak vowels. Accented with the slightest drawl.

Would the daughter sound the same? Of course, she would.

Jules continued tapping the card and began imagining how the news was going to go over with his mother and… others. Somehow, he didn’t think this man was going to be willing to negotiate his winnings.

He ought never to have underestimated a man deemed a king of anything. Especially an American one, by god. He had to have been swindled.

Jules had given his word, however. “I will offer for her tomorrow.” He spoke with conviction.

Jules tilted his neck to the left and then to the right, but the cracking failed to bring him the relief it normally did.

Was Miss Jackson a harpy? Was she unintelligent? Sickly? She’d not seemed like any of those things from what he’d noticed earlier that evening. But then again, he