--from The Ice Princess
He was a fool.
Isaac Wargate knew it even before his fingers left the bag of guineas. Only a fool tried to save a whore. He'd told more than one besotted sailor the same thing in innumerable ports of call, and yet he still couldn't regret placing his money on the table.
He'd felt Aphrodite tremble when this wicked game had been called.
Thus it was with much less regret than a sane man should feel that he watched Hyde snatch up six month's wages.
"Well done, sir!" crowed Jimmy Hyde. "Who else? Who else wishes to win this lovely prize?"
"Count me in," said an elderly lord. He threw a silk purse on the table.
"I as well," said a skeletal gentleman with a twisted lip. His skin looked diseased.
Suddenly there was a rush to the table, very like the churning of sharks when chum is thrown in the water. Isaac glanced at Aphrodite. If she was disturbed at being the possible prize of an old man or syphilitic she didn't show it. But then her golden mask covered her face, hiding everything but her pale green cat eyes. The mask was skillfully made, the eyeholes oval and framed by delicate gold eyelashes, the lips fashioned into a frozen golden smile. Two years he'd been coming to the Grotto to retrieve his men and he'd never once seen her without her mask.
Though sometimes in his dreams he thought he saw her face.
"This way, gentlemen," Hyde called as he led them into one of the salons.
Aphrodite strolled by his side, head erect, her movements graceful and unhurried. She appeared as composed as always, but she shot him an unreadable glance from her green cat eyes as she passed.
Isaac straightened. He hadn't imagined the way she'd sagged against him when Hyde had appeared. Dammit. She might be a whore, but she didn't want this.
He jerked his chin at Lieutenant Cranston, who'd been standing quietly by the side of the hall all this time.
Cranston came to his side. "Sir?"
"Have Smith finish rounding up the men," Isaac ordered, "and see that they make it safely back to the Challenger or whatever lodgings they've found."
"Aye, sir," Cranston replied quietly. He was a man in his third decade, the oldest and most reliable of Isaac's junior officers, and thus the man Isaac often chose to accompany him on these retrieval trips.
Cranston cleared his throat.
Isaac cocked an eyebrow at him impatiently. The other loo players had already entered the salon. "Yes?"
"Will you be wantin' me to return to, ah, help you, sir?" Cranston murmured.
"No, I think I can handle a game of chance myself, lieutenant," Isaac replied drily. "And Cranston?"
"Sir?"
"I'd appreciate it if the other officers didn't hear of this matter."
"Very good, sir," Cranston replied with a small twitch of his lips.
Isaac eyed his lieutenant a moment before grunting and entering the salon. Wonderful. Even Cranston thought him a fool.
The salon was like all the other rooms at Aphrodite's Grotto—vulgarly opulent. Marble pillars held up the high ceiling—only on closer inspection did one notice that the pillars were wood painted to mimic marble. The ceiling itself was gilded and lewdly painted with a scene of a woman being ravished by a bull. The woman seemed to be enjoying the act more than the bull.
Seven men were seated about a round card table leaving one chair empty. Hyde was shuffling a deck of cards showily. To his right was Lord Howling, his face red and bejoweled beneath his white wig. The rake sat to Hyde's left. Beyond him was a country squire, his waistcoat straining over a potbelly, his stockings splotched with mud. A young aristocrat, scarcely old enough to shave, nervously tapped his fingertips on the table whilst striving to look bored. An elegant gentleman marred by a ticking eye was beside him, and the skeletal man with the skin disease was the last of the players.
Hyde looked up as Isaac approached, his eyes glittering with malice. "We await you, Captain. Please have a seat and we'll begin. Aphrodite, show the captain his chair."
She'd been sitting behind Hyde, as still as a statue, but she rose at his words and obediently went to hold out the empty chair.
Isaac tamped down rage. How dare this little manikin use Aphrodite as a servant? He kept his face bland as he sat in the offered chair, but as he lowered himself he heard her whisper, "Don't let Hyde deal."
Then she was gliding away to take her place behind Jimmy Hyde again.
"The rules of this little game are as follows, gentlemen," Hyde said gaily. "To simplify matters I'll serve as dealer throughout the game. You'll play as normal otherwise, staking your own money. The winner takes not only the pot but our lovely Aphrodite as well. Agreed?"
Heads nodded around the table. Isaac kept his face impassive, but he felt cold sweat slide down his spine. Most of his money had been in his pay purse. He might've given it all away only to lose on the first round of this game.
"Good," Hyde said. "Let us begin."
Isaac placed his hands on the table, careful not to let his eyes wander to Aphrodite. "I don’t want you to deal."
"Don’t you trust me?" Hyde asked with a grin.
Isaac smiled easily. "No."
Jimmy Hyde's grin froze. "Now, captain--"
Isaac turned to Lord Howling and raised his eyebrows, "Do you, my lord?"
Lord Howling stirred, his brows knit as if the possibility of Hyde's cheating had just occurred to him. "I do not."
Hyde's grin went rigid, but he wasn't about to let his money-making scheme fall flat. "Is there someone you'd suggest, my lord?"
Lord Howling frowned. He might be the highest ranked man at the table, but he wasn't known for his quick wits.
Isaac cleared his throat. "Perhaps Aphrodite herself will do the honor, sir?"
Hyde's quick eyes narrowed, but Lord Howling was already nodding. "Yes, let our Aphrodite deal the cards."
Hyde was forced to accede. He rose with a sour smile on his face, and held the chair for Aphrodite with exaggerated politeness. She sat--as serene as always, her golden mask concealing whatever expression she might be wearing while her bodice revealed her beautiful white titties all the way to her rouged nipples. Isaac averted his eyes, feeling a black tide of anger surging in his breast. He'd noticed it first the last time he'd visited the Grotto--a stupid urge to beat in the face of any man staring at her nudity--and the minute he'd walked in those faux golden doors tonight he'd known it was worse.
Much worse.
Only an idiot was possessive of a harlot, a woman who deliberately flaunted her naked body before any man. A woman who could be bought for a handful of coins.