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Stansfield and his expectation of Sir Roderick’s substantial estate, the ambitious father and vain, silly mother had openly encouraged the friendship that had grown up between their daughter and Marcus. Even Marcus’s long absence in the American wars had not dulled everyone’s belief that the two of them would marry.
    But Sir Roderick’s catastrophic change of fortune had altered all that, and now Philippa was doing her Season in London, intent on wealthier prospects. Hal felt deeply angry for his friend, who had come back from two years of brave service to his country to be faced with calculated rejection. But of course Hal knew that Marcus didn’t want his, or anybody’s, sympathy.
    Instead, Hal leaned forwards, and poured out the last of the wine. ‘Time to re-plan tactics, dear boy,’ he said briskly. ‘Plenty more where she came from.’
    Were there? Marcus had been remembering a summer’s day, just before he had set sail for the American war two years ago. He and Philippa had ridden out along the Gloucestershire lanes, unchaperoned—Philippa had laughingly escaped from her groom—and on a grassy bank by a secluded stream Philippa had allowed Marcus to kiss her and promised him that she would wait for him for ever…
    Hal was still talking. ‘Capitalise your assets, Marcus,’ he was pronouncing gleefully, ‘and get your revenge on Corbridge. Remember gambling is his fatal flaw!’
    ‘Revenge on Corbridge indeed.’ Marcus echoed Hal’s toast at last, and knocked back the last of theclaret. ‘Talking of gambling, Hal—didn’t you mention a gaming house called the Angel?’
    It was eleven o’clock, and the night was just beginning.

Chapter Three
    ‘G ot it!’ Tassie was still sitting cross-legged on her bed in the light of a tallow candle, so utterly absorbed in her task of getting all the hearts to the bottom of the pack that at first she didn’t hear the quiet knock at her door. Then it came again, and she tensed, afraid that it might be Billy. But, no, it was Lemuel’s voice that she heard, calling out quietly, ‘Tassie. Tassie, are you in there? I was just wonderin’ if Edward’s all right, seeing as I was lookin’ after him for you…’
    Quickly Tassie scrambled off the bed, pushing her loose hair back from her face and tucking her big shirt into her slim buckskin breeches. Lemuel was a bit sweet on her, she knew, but she trusted him to keep his distance. She opened the door wide. ‘Come in, Lemuel, do. Yes, Edward’s fine. Moll hasn’t poisoned him—yet. My thanks for keeping an eye on him.’
    ‘Darling Marcus! Darling Marcus!’ cackled Edward, pleased with his new-found phrase.
    ‘Marcus?’ Lemuel stood in the middle of the room, frowning in puzzlement.
    Tassie laughed and coloured a little. ‘Oh, it’s justsome nonsense he’s picked up.’ She tapped Edward’s perch lightly. ‘Be quiet now, Edward, do.’
    Lemuel nodded, his face expressing eager shyness. ‘And you, Tass? Are you all right? After—after—’
    She shrugged, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her breeches. ‘After hearing that Moll wants to get rid of me, you mean? Aye, Lemuel, I’m all right. She’ll not get the better of me, never fear.’
    Lemuel grinned at her approvingly, then his eyes fell on the pack of cards. ‘You been practising your tricks then, Tass? There’s none of us can beat you at cards, is there?’
    ‘No one,’ said Tassie earnestly, because it was true. She could even beat Georgie Jay, without him realising exactly which trick she was up to—the Kingston Bridge cheat, or shaving the cards, or even the difficult sauter la coupe. She’d mastered them all…
    And then, suddenly, she realised what she had to do next. It was so blindingly obvious that she almost laughed aloud. Her green eyes gleaming, she gestured Lemuel to the battered chair at the foot of the bed. ‘Sit down, Lemuel,’ she said encouragingly. ‘I want to talk to you.’
    ‘To me?’ His freckled face