“Let’s talk about this later.” Florence crossed the threshold and ended up in the hall. The two of them continued toward the main entrance then down the front stairs and out onto the street.

“Hold up, miss.” They turned and found Jack hot on their heels. He pointed to a sleek black carriage waiting on the street just a few doors down. “Hop in. I’ll give you a lift uptown.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose,” Florence said. “Thank you for coming, Jack.”

“Let me rephrase that, then. Mr. Madden asked that I see you safely to your door, Miss Greene.” His expression remained firm, letting her know that he meant to carry out this order for Clay. Florence’s shoulders sagged.

“Jack, you remember my sister, Mamie?”

Jack tipped his derby. “Indeed, I do. Pleasure to see you again, Miss Greene.”

“And you, as well. Thank you for saving us tonight.”

“Oh, I did nothing of the sort.” He started walking them to the carriage. “Miss Greene did that all on her own. You should have split those nines, by the way.”

Florence nearly rolled her eyes. “I know. It was a stupid mistake.”

“The only one you made, actually.” He flipped open the latch on the carriage door. “At least during the game.”

“Are you going to tell me how idiotic it was to come down here?”

“No. Mr. Madden plans on doing that himself tomorrow. He said to tell you be at the club by nine o’clock.”

She paused on the step. The words had a portentous undertone. “Am I in trouble?”

“I’ve stopped trying to read his mind, miss. But I’ve never seen him quite so worked up as when the messenger arrived to tell us of your predicament tonight. He was mighty unhappy.”

“Because I was accused of stealing?”

“I couldn’t say exactly why. If I had to guess, though, I’d say it had more to do with putting yourself in danger. This isn’t a safe place for ladies.”

“I can take care of myself,” she grumbled as she adjusted her skirts and sat.

Jack was shaking his head as he sat across from the two sisters. “You’re Madden’s now—and he takes care of his own.”

She was early.

This pleased Clay, probably more than it should. He watched Florence from the shadows, observing her as she stood on the balcony overlooking the casino floor. She was gorgeous, in a midnight-navy silk evening gown that was probably sewn by the city’s most expensive dressmaker. Her hair was perfectly styled on her head while diamonds hung from her ears, both designed to show off her elegant throat. He longed to place his lips along that milky skin, to test its softness with his mouth and tongue.