billiard table in the back of one of the less-respectable gaming halls in town. A bead of nervous sweat rolled down her back causing an itch between her shoulder blades that was destined to go unattended to. For the first time that night her scheme seemed like a bad idea. In the space of minutes, the mood of the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle had gone from revelry to something darker.
For the life of her, Sophie did not understand exactly what had precipitated the change. But her fingers twitched around her cue in awareness and she straightened, pretending to assess the shot from a different angle. The hum of conversation resumed somewhat.
She brushed past some of the crowd that pressed too close on her way around the table to take the shot from the other side. The wall on that side was much too close to afford many unhampered shots but she sought the sanctuary it offered more than anything else. Just on her way around the last corner, a large hand shot out from the crush and fitted itself to her hip. She was too shocked to protest and then she heard the voice behind her.
“Throw the shot.”
Gray!
She froze. Then she frowned because it meant they—the gunmen—knew she was there and if they did, so would her uncle. Her gaze flicked to the two piles of cash resting under a heavy marker on the table’s bank at the other end. Her contribution had been desperately hidden away one dollar at a time over the years.
It represented freedom and it was hers if she sank the shot.
She moved to continue but the hand grabbed her wrist in a grip that refused to be ignored. “We’ll never make it out of here if you don’t.”
That made her look back at him over her shoulder. He wasn’t looking at her. He merely nodded with his head tipped forward. She followed his gaze to the group situated behind the cash. There stood the man she was competing against, Jeb, she thought someone had called him, cue in hand, in deep discussion with a few rather unfriendly looking characters. Those men had not been there earlier. Not when she’d beaten Jeb in the first game and certainly not when he had so graciously proposed a double or nothing scenario.
Then the man looked at her and her heart sank. He was angry. And then the group around him looked at her and she actually blanched. Something dark and menacing gleamed deep in their eyes.
“The lady forfeits.” Gray’s voice carried loud and strong across the table and over the din of the crowd.
Sophie immediately took exception to his interference and opened her mouth to say so but then closed it, mentally evaluating the possible outcomes. If she sank the shot would she be allowed to walk away unscathed? The looks the men gave her suggested not.
“Does she know that?” The idiot with the cue laughed.
Gray came around her then and she found herself pushed behind his shoulder and her hat shoved onto her head. Black with a short veil, it had been borrowed from Martine as a means of escaping from the dress shop undetected. And then discarded as too cumbersome the moment she had stepped inside the hall. Even now she pushed the stiff lace veil up so she could see.
“Doesn’t matter. She forfeits.”
Sophie had grudgingly accepted that Gray’s assistance was needed to get her out of the situation, but hearing herself relegated to an insignificant detail was more than she could take.
“Now—” She started to interject but his hand pressed lightly against her stomach and halted anything she might have said.
“Just who are you?” The idiot persisted.
Sophie noticed a movement and when she saw the men as a group look down she realized Gray must have pushed his coat back so they could see his gun. How had it come to this so fast?
One of the men muttered something to the others. It was too low for her to hear but created a rumble in the folks gathered round. Surely they must have noticed he was something of a professional.
“You her husband?” It was a peace