If he was going to lose Nash’s money—since he didn’t have any of his own—he’d rather it be because he’d played the wrong card than because a ball took the wrong bounce.

Funny how gambling wasn’t nearly as enjoyable when you had literally nothing to lose.

His life had changed irrevocably that afternoon in ways he couldn’t imagine. The thought of not being able to afford anything—he had never had that. He didn’t know what things cost, much less how much money one needed to afford them.

A woman stood at the table, obviously the dealer. Yet another unusual aspect of this club—Sebastian didn’t think he’d ever seen a female dealer. She was an older woman with sharp features and black hair scraped back into a severe bun. She wore equally severe clothing and no gloves. She nodded at them, then resumed efficiently shuffling a deck of cards.

Sebastian heard voices and turned around to see people coming steadily into the room. Some of the people he recognized, so he snapped back around. He didn’t want to have the “oh yes, I am an illegitimate nobody” conversation with anybody right now. Or, worse yet, have them be unaware of his changed status and treat him as an important personage, not some poor bastard who’d discovered his true heritage.

He could still hear a few bits of conversation around him and picked up on some accents that did not belong to the cream of Society. It appeared Miss Ivy’s was egalitarian in its clientele in both gender and class. Bring your money, come in. It was an easy equation, almost impossibly simple to parse.

He wondered how many members of the House of Lords sniffed at Miss Ivy’s, either because of the unsuitable clientele or because they lacked the cash necessary to play. No wonder Nash liked it; it was as devoid of false pretense as he was.

“How long has Miss Ivy’s been open?” he asked the dealer. She shot him a look that indicated she did not want to waste time answering questions. He responded by giving her one of his easy smiles.

It did not work. She only looked more forbidding.

When he’d lost his title, had he lost his charm?

“I’ll take over, Caroline.” Miss Ivy nodded at her employee, who almost seemed to soften, and then stepped away.

“Not just the proprietor, but also a dealer?” Seb asked.

She shrugged, a touch of pink on her cheeks. Why had she stepped in, anyway?

He wouldn’t be Sebastian, now not the Duke of Hasford, if he didn’t believe it had something to do with him.

She tapped the deck of cards on the surface of the table. “Place your bets.”

Nash nodded at Seb, who shrugged and placed one of Nash’s chips on the player side.