“One more thing, gentlemen.”

It was always awkward to remind her customers about the house rule, but if she didn’t, there would invariably be someone who claimed ignorance.

“At Miss Ivy’s, we pay to play.”

Mr. de Silva looked puzzled, as did the duke, but after a moment, the duke’s face cleared.

“I’ll take care of all of that tonight,” he said, shooting a look that Ivy couldn’t describe toward his friend.

“Take care of—?” Mr. de Silva asked.

Ivy explained. “Miss Ivy’s requires that anyone who gambles must settle their debts at the end of the evening. Pay to play, so to speak.”

Mr. de Silva’s expression froze. “Because I—Goddamn it.”

Ivy started at the intensity of his voice, but reminded herself it wasn’t her business. The only thing that was her business was . . . her business.

“If you’ll step over to my table?” Samuel said, gesturing toward the far corner. The two men nodded, then followed Samuel, sitting down at the roulette table.

Ivy watched them settle themselves, then turned around, relieved she was able to keep herself focused on what was most important. He was just unduly handsome, that was all. She’d had handsome marks in the club before, and she would again—she would just have to figure out how to contain her reaction.

That she hadn’t realized responding appropriately to a ridiculously handsome gentleman would be a general side effect of being in this business was her own fault.

And then she chuckled to herself as she thought it out. She’d have to share that with Octavia—her sister did enjoy laughing at her. As she enjoyed laughing at herself.

Sebastian sat next to Nash, resisting the urge to glance back at the gambling house’s proprietor. Miss Ivy. Looking at her, however, was certainly better than being reminded he was now Mr. de Silva.

He hadn’t expected such a young woman to own a gambling house. Obviously, since he’d mistaken her for a maid. He winced as he recalled his assumption.

Nor had he anticipated she’d be so attractive.

He wondered where she came from, and why such a lovely young woman was the proprietor.

Not that he’d ever pondered what the owner of a gambling house should look like. Except that they were usually male, often loud, and frequently obnoxious. She was none of those things. Which was why he’d been so dreadfully wrong.

She was approachably beautiful: short, with wide brown eyes, dark brown hair, a wide mouth, and luscious curves. He wondered what she looked like when she smiled. When those large eyes were suffused with passion. How those curves would feel in his hands.