A Gentleman's Game Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Gentleman’s Game

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Cole Evans decided on a poker table at the far side of the room where a strikingly beautiful young redhead sat. Seated with her was a white-haired, balding man, whose luxurious satin vest stretched tautly across his expansive girth. From it hung an expensive gold watch fob, but it was not the older man’s flashy opulence that drew his attention; rather, it was the woman with flaming, copper hair that entranced him.

  She smoked a long brown cigarette, which only slightly distracted onlookers from her daringly low cut gown. The fashionable gown of apricot sateen just grazed her soft, smooth, cream-colored shoulders and rested quite low on her bosom, revealing more than a little peek at her abundant cleavage.

  As her hands shuffled the cards with the speed and deftness of a professional gambler, the large, gaudy ruby, sapphire, and diamond ring riding high on her ring finger refracted the lamplight into a million tiny dancing red flames. Everything about this woman implied fire! He had never been afraid of getting burned before, so noticing an empty chair, he strode over to the table never removing his gaze from her.

  A

  Gentleman’s Game

  by

  Rebecca Matthews

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Gentleman’s Game

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Rebecca Matthews

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Historical Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-797-9

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-798-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my family and friends who cheered me on

  through the years it took to reach this milestone.

  Chapter One

  Mississippi River 1879

  Across the smoke-filled room, a tall, mysterious man entered the gambling salon, puffing an expensive-looking cigar, and leisurely twirling his gold-tipped, ebony cane. Darcy Decker Higgins’ attention was drawn to him like metal to a magnet. As he languorously pulled a long draw on the rolled tobacco leaves, she watched him scan the room, slowly, as a predator surveys its prey.

  Grayish-white smoke rose in swirls above his raven-colored locks, and a well-trimmed mustache stood at attention above his lip. From where she sat, his eyes looked like shiny, black nuggets of coal set into his swarthy face, where the white line of a scar traveled down his left cheek. A feature which only added to his mystique but could not be considered a blemish. Large dark brows, like black furry caterpillars, marched single file above his eyes. Darcy’s vantage point at a poker table on the far side of the room allowed her to observe the impressive stranger. It was not the man’s actual height that made him appear to tower above the rest, but rather something in his dauntless bearing and powerful presence.

  Her gaze traveled from his handsome face down to the waist of the short, black-linen suit coat, cut in the latest fashion, which complemented his build. Diamond-studded cufflinks at the wrists of the crisp, white, pleated shirt and a large diamond and onyx ring sparkling on his right ring finger added the finishing touches. She found him intriguing, and even though she was bought, paid for, and could never be free, she could not stop staring

  His confidence—no, arrogance—made everyone appear to cower slightly in his presence, and they stepped aside to let him pass. Other women’s gazes focused on him as well as he strolled through the room. Although he was very handsome indeed, these other women most likely desired their men a little on the dangerous side. A rigid set of his jaw made her think he could easily hold his own in any type of situation.

  The air, thick with smoke, made the stranger squint as his gaze slithered from person to person throughout the room. With a smile and a tip of his hat, he greeted the ladies who passed. Most slowed to take a better look or stopped to turn for a second glance from beneath hooded lashes. His presence created a stir of whispered curiosity that spread throughout the room like ripples from a stone tossed into a pond.

  Fascinated, Darcy watched as he moved through the room with leonine grace, seeming to take possession of the females gathered there as a king does his court. A growing smirk on his rugged face indicated he knew the effect he had on these strangers. Like the ocean’s tide pulling everything out to sea, he drew everyone’s attention to himself with the same irresistible force, possessing the room within minutes. Twirling his cigar between thumb and forefinger, he finally looked in her direction. Darcy quickly averted her gaze to avoid detection.

  What am I doing here? I have not been in public in so long, I don’t know how to act, especially surrounded mostly by men. I am trembling so badly inside I can’t believe my whole body is not visibly shaking.

  What was I thinking? I am only used to playing cards with Eva, and with her, there is no need for a poker face or strategy. I should not have come here tonight.

  Cole Evans decided on a poker table at the far side of the room where a strikingly beautiful young redhead sat. Seated with her was a white-haired, balding man, whose luxurious satin vest stretched tautly across his expansive girth. From it hung an expensive gold watch fob, but it was not the older man’s flashy opulence that drew his attention; rather, it was the woman with flaming, copper hair that entranced him.

  She smoked a long brown cigarette, which only slightly distracted onlookers from her daringly low cut gown. The fashionable gown of apricot sateen just grazed her soft, smooth, cream-colored shoulders and rested quite low on her bosom, revealing more than a little peek at her abundant cleavage.

  As her hands shuffled the cards with the speed and deftness of a professional gambler, the large, gaudy ruby, sapphire, and diamond ring riding high on her ring finger refracted the lamplight into a million tiny dancing red flames. Everything about this woman implied fire! He had never been afraid of getting burned before, so noticing an empty chair, he strode over to the table never removing his gaze from her.

  Young and incredibly beautiful, she had a hard edge that made Cole curious to know more about her. To her left, a young man wore a fringed buckskin shirt laced across his chest with strips of rawhide, and shiny new boots of high-grade leather peeked out beneath the table where he sat. A tall, clean, Stetson hung on the back of the chair. Next to him was a very thin, very pale man puffing on a cigar and rapidly slinging liquor down his throat. Next to him was a freckle-faced young man in simple clothes. Probably some farm boy trying his hand at something besides working the fields. The balding man, wearing a gray silk suit perspired profusely, frequently mopping his forehead with a crumpled handkerchief. Beside him was an empty chair, and Cole placed his han
d on it possessively upon arriving at the table.

  “Is this a private game gentlemen, or can anyone join?” His deep baritone voice reverberated in the low-ceilinged room. A shiver ran up Darcy’s spine at its raw sensuality, and she noted the turned heads of other women nearby. His tone carried authority and an amused indifference, almost mocking those who heard it.

  “No sir, the game is open to anyone who has the table stakes,” the pudgy man explained.

  “And what would that be, sir?”

  “The ante is five hundred dollars. You must play with what you have at the table, and you must be able to cover all your bets, Mr…?”

  “Thank you. I understand,” the stranger stated calmly, reaching inside his jacket pocket to pull out a wallet with an abundance of one hundred dollar bills visible. He counted out five of them and laid them down firmly. “Here is my ante, gentleman. Can I get all blue chips please?” he asked the girl standing by with a tray of poker chips, while he continued to ignore the open-ended question about his name.

  “Have a seat, sir. Would you be gracious enough to let us know who we have the pleasure of playing with?” The balding man acted more nervous than a few minutes ago.

  “When it becomes necessary,” Cole answered him, “and at this moment it is not.” With that, he settled into the empty chair to play cards.

  “Jacks are wild, aces high.” The balding man informed him.

  As Cole took his seat, he noted a threatening scowl from the cowboy in buckskin, the beautiful redhead did not look up, and the skinny man slugged down another drink. The dealer dealt the cards, and a long night of sweating, betting, losing, and winning began.

  Eventually the games at the other tables folded, and a curious crowd silently migrated to his table where three of the initial six remained in the game. Up for grabs was a rather large pile of money in the center of the table. Hours passed. Men discarded topcoats and ties and unbuttoned their blouses. The air in the gambling salon of the steamship Queen Annabelle was stifling, despite having all the windows open to allow as much breeze as possible on this hot July night, a breeze which only ushered in unbearably muggy air as the paddle wheeler steamed down the Mississippi River heading toward New Orleans.

  “Well, look at that! I have won again!” Cole called out. “I thank all of you for your generous contributions to my winning hand, but I am afraid I must call it a night. Don’t worry, there will be ample opportunity to win back at least some of your wagers, I assure you.”

  The cowboy jumped up, knocking his chair over backward, making a loud crash. “You cheated you bastard, and now you’re gonna pay!” He reached for his holstered gun, but Cole was quicker and had his derringer pointed between the eyes of the irate young man before the challenger could reach the handle of his Smith & Wesson. Cole was vaguely aware of a gasp from the crowd.

  “Come, come. Surely we do not need insults or gun play just because our friendly game of cards has not concluded in your favor.”

  Though he did not raise his voice, his words carried sharp edges and the threat of danger. The ruffian’s hand slowly moved from his side. With a look of angry defeat toward Cole, the younger man reached for his hat. Patrons breathed a collective sigh of relief and drifted away from the scene of a near tragedy. The angry loser turned and stomped out.

  “Now, that is better. After all, this is a gentleman’s game, so I would hope we could all behave as such. Good night, sirs and lady.” Cole gathered his chips with both hands and gave them to the cashier to exchange for legal tender, as he glanced again at the lovely redhead.

  “Would you allow me the honor of seeing you safely to your cabin, Miss…?” Cole left the words dangling in midair, hoping she would fill the gap with her name. She did not.

  “Thank you, no. I appreciate your concern, but I am quite capable of safely seeing myself anywhere I want to go.” She answered icily, raising her chin.

  He smiled, detecting an Irish brogue rolling off the tongue of the classy, young woman. He again bowed and watched her toss her head before marching from the room, leaving behind only her lingering scent of perfume and the rustle of satin skirts. A black bodyguard followed at her heels. Apparently, she was a woman of means and a very independent one at that. He most definitely would like to become better acquainted with her and set his mind on that goal as the cashier approached with his winnings.

  The mystery woman had played as well as any man and had lasted until the very last hand, essentially breaking even with her wagers. As tight-lipped as a clam and as unsmiling as the sphinx, her face was unreadable during most of the evening as her gaze darted from player to player assessing their various nuances that hinted at the quality of their hands. An occasional flash from her green eyes was her only show of emotion.

  “Would you like to lock some of this in our safe, sir, since it is a rather large sum of money to keep on your person?” Stuttering slightly, the cashier continued, “I...I am af-fraid many people are aware you were a big winner tonight, and I would hate for you to f-fall prey to any misfortune while aboard. F-for your safety we are happy to offer you the use of our safe.”

  Holding his cigar between his teeth, Cole snickered while using both hands to rake his winnings into his top hat.

  “No thank you, my good man, that won’t be necessary, but I do appreciate your concern. One thing you could do for me though.” He paused, and the man leaned slightly forward, eager to please. “Tell me the name of the woman who played cards with me tonight.”

  “Oh, that was Darcy Decker, I mean Mrs. Darcy Higgins of New Orleans. I knew her as Decker for a long time before she married. Her husband Edgar used to be a wealthy cotton broker down in New Orleans before the war.”

  “Thank you. Now”—he pulled a one hundred dollar bill from his winnings—“this is for giving me the number of her cabin.” He held the bill aloft, waving it like a red cape in front of a bull as he awaited the man’s response.

  “Oh, dear.” The pale, slight man fidgeted, eyeing the large bill. “I am af-fraid…I cannot divulge a passenger’s cabin number without permission.”

  Cole towered over him silently waiting. The poor man looked like a scared rabbit cornered by a wolf.

  “My dear man, don’t toy with me. We both know you can’t, but we both know you will, so just take the money and tell me the number.” It was very late, almost an hour before dawn.

  The nervous man looked around to find they were alone, everyone having departed for their cabins or elsewhere. His hand snatched the bill from Cole’s grasp. “Word of this must not reach my superiors please, sir.”

  “Discretion is one of my strongest attributes, my dear man. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “Well, thank you. It is cabin sixteen. On the second deck. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. Oh, good night sir. Excuse me, but I didn’t catch your name.”

  “That is because I did not give it. Goodnight.” He strode out of the salon swinging his cane and whistling a jaunty tune.

  In a few short minutes, he stood outside the door of cabin sixteen where he found the black servant at his post.

  “Good evening.” Cole used his most disarming persona on the coal-black mountain of a man. “I wanted to check on Mrs. Higgins to see that she is well and apologize for my having had the good fortune of winning so much of her money tonight. I am sure that will be all right with you?” He reached out to knock on her door, but the bodyguard stepped between the intruder and his mistress’ door.

  Cole could see the tactic that had worked so well with the cashier would not work on this devoted servant.

  “I am sure that if you check with her, your mistress will be happy to allow me an audience.”

  The black man stared straight ahead, as inanimate and silent as a solid brick wall, not even gracing Cole with a glance. His intent was so clear that no words were necessary. Cole was resigned that this man was not moving, and he was not going to ask his mistress anything. Cole would have to bide his time for a better oppo
rtunity to meet this interesting lady. Doffing his hat gallantly, he bid the man goodnight.

  Cole at last retired to his own cabin for some rest. Gazing at his bleary-eyed reflection in the looking glass, he paused to consider what had brought him to this point. Cole Evans had not been born to wealth and opportunity. He had crafted this image for himself over the years.

  The fight that left the scar on his face left the owner of the knife dead, for which Cole had served a five-year sentence in the state penitentiary. While incarcerated, he and some other prisoners whiled away the miserable hours playing hand after hand of poker by the dim light of a grease candle. If nothing else, he reasoned, he would have a ‘vocation’ to carry him forward.

  Once released from prison, he did not return to his childhood home. His parents had not contacted him once during his entire five-year incarceration. Convinced they considered him dead to them, which should have made them happy, he chose to believe the same of them. Once released, he needed clothes to change out of his prison garb and found some he easily stole off a woman’s clothesline. He then set about finding card games, which he began winning.

  The more games he won, the more he needed to keep on the move, quickly wearing out his welcome in one town after another. In order to become wealthy, he was convinced he had to look as if he already was wealthy. He used his first winnings to buy an expensive suit of clothes. Then he purchased a pair of exquisite boots, added an expensive, imported silk top hat, and finally, his trademark gold-tipped, ebony cane. The cufflinks and ring he wore completed the image of a high roller.

  Once he was dressed the part, his charm and swagger could gain him entrance to the best games in any town, a far cry from his humble beginnings. As his wealth and reputation grew, he cultivated the air of a wealthy, distinguished, and somewhat ruthless gambler, and for that reason, he liked to keep his identity a secret as long as possible, whenever possible.

  Thanks to the affluence he had attained, he was now accepted in the most elite social circles, but he lacked proper education and etiquette. So, in order to blend in with this new echelon of acquaintances, he read relentlessly about politics, world news, current events, literature, and the arts, when he was not drinking, carousing, or playing cards. Life was good, far better than he could ever have imagined possible, considering his humble beginnings as a ferryman’s son.