The quiet steel in Major Owen Turner’s voice belied the torment churning within him. Addington’s ungloved hand paused above the set of cards. Silence engulfed the room. The only movement came from plumes of smoke fleeing expensive cigars and the fluttering pulse point upon the neck of the only woman who had ever cracked Owen’s armor. “I have to deal the cards for you to play, Major.” Addington spat the word as if it left ash upon his tongue. “My cousin wishes to retire. We cannot stay here all night.” Owen didn’t bother to acknowledge this last. Addington was in no hurry to escort his cousin anywhere. He was too eager to deny Owen something he wanted. Again. “I don’t trust you to deal honestly.” Owen’s words ricocheted through the hushed room. For Addington, they would hold a double meaning. Shock and a touch of eagerness widened the onlookers’ eyes, but no one stepped backward to make room for a mill. Not here. These were “gentlemen.” Peers didn’t solve problems person-to-person, a flurry of fists followed by a handshake.
