He nodded. “He grew up on the streets, knew the game. Brought his own pea and slipped it into place as he was lifting his cup. I couldn’t very well call him out for a cheat without exposing my own trick.”

“So you had to pay him an entire guinea?”

He shook his head. “He told me, ‘Never let the mark lift the cup himself.’ He’d been watching me for some time apparently. Introduced himself. Jack Dodger he was.”

Her eyes widened. “Not the Jack Dodger?” One of the wealthiest men in London, in all of Great Britain for that matter.

He nodded. “Indeed. I went to work at his gaming hell, Dodger’s Drawing Room, learning my way around proper gaming. Eventually I became a dealer, the youngest they’d ever had. But I wanted to be the one standing in the balcony looking down on my domain, not standing on the floor being watched. So when I was nineteen I struck out on my own. I didn’t think it was right to go into competition against a man to whom I owed so much, so I opened the Cerberus Club in Whitechapel, more for the dregs than the posh, but dregs have coins, too. And not all the nobility is welcomed in the finer circles.”

“And from there you decided women needed a place as well.”

“I can’t take credit for that. It was my brother’s idea, but his heart was never truly in it, so he gave the place to me.”

“Gave it to you? Without recompense? Just like that?”

“He felt he owed me.”

“Why?”

“Ah, darling, that’s another story entirely.” Abandoning her feet, he straightened and leaned toward her. “Now you need to tell me a tale. What brought you here tonight?”

“A carriage.”

He chuckled low at her quick response, her deliberate failure to properly address his question. This one was full of secrets. He’d wager the entirety of tonight’s take on it. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her that drew his attention, that kept him at her side. Normally, he didn’t linger with the ladies, having no desire to make any of them jealous—jealousy was bad for business. But for some odd reason, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from her. Perhaps it was the sadness in her eyes, or her discomfort. Most women had excitement thrumming through them when they came here, but with her, it was as though she had no interest in the place but felt compelled to be within these walls. She was searching for something, thought she’d find it here, but he could have told her no treasures resided within these rooms. They provided only momentary escapes. There was value in that, but it was always fleeting. Which was the reason people returned. Because the joy they found here could not be taken with them. It always dissipated once they exited.