The other one, the stranger, looked like the manifestation of every man she’d ever dared to dream about: tall and lean, with a sly grin on a classically sculpted face. Although, truth be told, she’d thought the same thing when she had seen the statues of the Greek and Roman gods in the British Museum.

This gentleman was not made of stone, however. That was a good thing. But he wore much more clothing. Unfortunately.

She bit her tongue before she asked him if his name was Adonis. Although she couldn’t suppress her giggle.

He surveyed the room with a discerning look, as though he were appraising everything. He would not find it wanting, she was certain of that.

He caught her eye and his lips curled up into a rakish half smile, as though he was aware of what she had been thinking. Perhaps she would be called upon to explain why she was picturing him on a marble pedestal wearing a fig leaf.

Ivy could keep her expression serene, it was part and parcel of being a good card player, but she was feeling an unduly interested reaction bubbling inside her as he approached. She hoped he had a squeaky voice, or a dislike of ladies with younger sisters, or anything to jar her out of her current fascination.

“Good evening.” Damn it. His voice was low and rumbly, making her insides tremble even more. “My hat and coat,” he said, removing the items to hand them over to her.

Oh. Well, that was lowering. But it did have the desired effect—he didn’t seem nearly as intriguing. Just another example of the aristocratic species, albeit easier on the eyes.

“I’m not—” she began.

“She’s the proprietor,” the other gentleman said flatly.

The half smile froze on the Assumptive Aristocrat’s face. She would have laughed if he wasn’t so clearly appalled.

“I of all people should know not to judge anyone by how they look,” he said, his tone contrite. “I apologize, I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” Ivy replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, wishing his assumption didn’t sting. “It’s fine. It happens all the time.”

Because nobody could imagine a woman who wasn’t a maid or a loose woman being at a gambling house. That she was neither, that she didn’t fit into expectations, was one of the things that set her, and her establishment, apart.

Now that her insides had been given a good talking-to by his presumption, she could concentrate on what really mattered—making money. The two arrivals were handsome, to be sure, but what mattered more than their looks was the size of their wallets. And how much they were going to lose. They were marks, nothing more or less.