“Well, well,” drawled a voice Tom knew and detested, a voice that raised all the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Why here, goddess, why now? Tom had come to this loud, smoky gaming hell in the least fashionable part of town specifically to avoid anyone he might know. “Tom Drake, as I live and breathe. Thought you were rusticating.” Face frozen in a rictus of a smile, Tom turned away from the faro table to face the owner of the voice, slapping his hand down over the two pitiful guineas left of the forty-three he’d had to his name when he stepped through the hell’s doors. One of the coins went flying, pinging onto the floor and immediately disappearing in the chaos of the gaming room. His chest clenched, and he barely stopped himself from diving after it. An ill-natured chuckle drew his
