All of it was familiar. The table inlaid with white holly wood, the rattle of the dice, the rise and fall of conversation.

What wasn’t familiar was Viola. Gone was the pragmatic wallflower with the schoolmarm tones. In her place stood this magnificently seductive woman wearing silky red velvet that clung like a second skin to her ripe curves.

Her hair was twisted atop her head with ringlets falling over her neck.

Gamble on me, her eyes challenged. Take your winnings. I’m yours, for one night, or forever.

In that moment all West wanted to do was ravish her on the table. But they were in public and there would be no ravishing.

He placed a wager for her, watching her, mesmerized by her beauty, instead of the caster as he shook the dice and then spilled them across the table.

The evening passed in a blur of scarlet and delighted smiles. Every man in the room was enthralled by Viola. Every time she won, she threw her head back and laughed.

And she kept winning . . . and winning.

Jax came over and congratulated her, offering her a glass of sparkling wine. “This is made by your friend and mine, Lady Henrietta.”

“Hetty makes the best wine in England.” She drank deeply, giggling as the bubbles tickled her nose. “Have some, West.”

“You told me I had to stop drinking.”

“A little sparkling wine can only improve your surly mood. I’ve tripled my money, West,” she whispered excitedly.

“Which is the perfect time to quit. While you’re ahead.”

“I want to play more. Luck is on my side.”

“I know that shimmering, can’t-lose feeling but it’s only a mirage. If you keep playing now, eventually you’ll lose. Possibly everything. You’ll walk out of here with nothing.”

“I can’t believe you’re lecturing me like a schoolmarm about knowing when to quit. I thought you were a hedonist. One more wager, just one more.”

“I’m doing this because I care about you, Viola.”

“If you cared about me you’d allow me to have this night, to be free, to be reckless!”

“Reckless isn’t you, Viola. You’re careful and you’ll regret this tomorrow. I’m doing this for your own good.”

“What are you doing, West? You haven’t done anything but—oof. Put me down!”

She beat on his back with her fists. “Put me down.”

He fixed her over his shoulder with an arm around her shapely buttocks.

Loud shouting and laughter erupted in the crowded room.

“Send the winnings to Westbury House,” West shouted to Jax, and carried a squirming Viola outside.

“Oof,” Viola said as West deposited her, none too gently, on the carriage seat. His coachman had evinced no surprise at seeing him carry a woman out of The Devil’s Staircase.

It may have happened before, come to think it.