1
London, December 1821
Phillip had always had the devil’s own luck, but not tonight. At the moment, he sat at a green baize tabletop playing faro and losing badly.
Faro was a game partly of skill and partly of chance, and tonight both were failing him. His opponent, a dark-haired man who’d introduced himself as Daniel Sheffield, was racking up debts against him with an ease that worried Phillip.
“Another hand?” Sheffield challenged. “One good hand would set me right.”
Phillip jerked slightly as Graham gripped his arm in warning, but he took no heed.
“Another,” Phillip said. He watched the dealer lay out thirteen cards and placed his bet as to which card the dealer would turn up next. Sheffield doubled Phillip’s bet, and Graham stiffened beside him.
Phillip tried to keep calm, but t
