Although it could very well be day by now. No windows allowed for the viewing of the passage of time, and he was always surprised when he looked at his watch to see how many hours had passed. He was reaching into his waistcoat pocket to retrieve his timepiece when everyone around him went quiet. Glancing up, he saw Aiden Trewlove, the club’s owner, standing there. It wasn’t often that he made an appearance. He was too busy managing his new club, the club Selena was now frequenting, the club that would provide their salvation.

“Camberley.”

He didn’t much like being singled out, especially when he heard no respect in the club owner’s tone. He was determined to match it. “Trewlove.”

“What say you and I play a game, just the two of us?”

Before Camberley could provide an answer, the lads with whom he’d been playing shoved back their chairs and went in search of other tables. Trewlove dropped into a vacated chair and began gathering up the scattered cards. “You don’t seem to be having much luck tonight.”

“I’ve had better.”

“Not often. You’re an atrocious player.”

“I shouldn’t think you’d complain about that. It puts money in your coffers.”

Trewlove’s grin was more predatory than friendly. He began shuffling the cards with a skill and swiftness that was unnerving. In his hands, the cards merely whispered as they fell into place. “Do you know what you owe on your marker here?”

“Twelve thousand pounds.”

“We’re going to play a game of War. Your vowels will be the bet. Double or nothing. If I win, you’ll owe me twenty-four thousand. If you win, your debt to me is cleared.”

Camberley’s heart began racing as though it were a thoroughbred on a racetrack. Never before had he wagered so much in a single go. Everything within him screamed for him to decline, get up, and go home now. Instead, he nodded.

Trewlove fanned the cards out over the table. “We’re playing a simplified version. You select a card, I select a card. The higher card wins.”

Swallowing hard, Camberley placed the tip of a finger on a card—

No, not that one. He touched another, then another. Twelve thousand pounds at stake. If he lost, he had no means with which to see his debt cleared. Ah, but if he won . . .

Using only his fingertip, he snagged a card and dragged it toward him. Slowly, he lifted the edge of the card. Eight of clubs. Damn.

Trewlove didn’t hesitate. He simply snatched up the very last card, the one that had been on the bottom of the stack. He nodded toward Camberley.

Striving to look as haughty as possible, to give the impression he wasn’t afraid his world was about to crumble around him, he tossed down his card, faceup.