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Wicked West:
THE GAMBLER
By
Eryn Blackwell
© copyright September 2006, Eryn Blackwell
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright September 2006
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Galveston, Texas; 1887
“She’s all I have left to offer,” he said, as if talking about the weather.
Gina’s heart slammed in her chest, yet she stood frozen behind his chair.
Her husband was using her to cover his losses. He was practically going to sell her. Regina couldn’t get over that fact. Her heart thrummed louder and louder against her ears, beating against her chest. Inside she trembled. Outside she was calm.
Sell was the wrong word. He was gambling her, but it hardly mattered.
She didn’t dare look up. She could only stare at the scarred wooden table, now piled high with chips, Egan’s pocket watch that she knew his father had given him--or so he’d once told her in a letter. Then again, he’d lied about so much, perhaps that was a lie, too.
Egan was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a good man.
He was selfish.
And cruel.
She tried to take a deep, calming breath, but her corset was too tight. She’d tightened it because he wanted her to look right. Of course, it hadn’t been tight enough, and Egan had laced it even tighter.
So Regina St. Martin Briggs stood silently, trying to force air into her lungs.
She could smell the sea, the sweat of too many men, the liquor and the smoke.
A woman’s bawdy laughter floated from upstairs.
Gina glanced up and saw a man pumping into a well-dressed whore against the stairwell. As she lowered her eyes, she caught the quick glance of the man her husband played the game against.
The gambler.
He was the owner of The Southern Belle, a notorious saloon near the docks in Galveston. She hadn’t wanted to come here. However, since marrying Egan Briggs, she’d done a lot of things she hadn’t wanted to do. Once upon a time, she’d had a normal life, a life she took for granted. Then her parents had died in a cholera outbreak, and she and her younger sister were left in the care of Uncle Hubert and Aunt Shelia.
Gina had become a mail-order bride with the hope that her husband would help her keep her sister safe from Uncle Hubert by allowing her sister to live with them. In the three months since marrying Briggs, she’d learned that wasn’t the case. Briggs had lied over and over in his letters. She now knew she’d been stupid, not only for herself, but for her sister. It had been her intention that once wed, she’d be able to help save her sister from their uncle.
Gina shook off the thoughts and focused on the hand of cards being dealt. All the other players were out.
She shifted, wishing she could sit. The gambler had offered her a chair earlier, but Briggs had declined, saying she’d stand beside him--his lucky charm, after all.
Now?
“You can’t be serious,” the gambler replied.
What was his name? He had an even-tempered voice, calm--reminding her of the ocean. Not at all like Briggs’ voice.
Egan Briggs downed another shot of whiskey and hiccoughed as he set his empty glass down. “Damn serious. Woman’s not worth much. Thought I’d at least get something out of the damn mar’age.” He shook his head. “Stupid wench could do with a stay in this place. She might learn a thing or two, eh?” Egan laughed.
Chills of humiliation danced over Gina’s skin, but she didn’t move. Didn’t lower her head or turn away, like she wanted to, didn’t take a deep steadying breath, as she wished she could.
A piano played a ragtime tune in the alcove beneath the stairs.
“I hardly think a lady as beautiful as your wife would have any use for a place such as this,” the gambler said, drawing her gaze back to him. His eyes, green as wet spring grass, raked her in lazy appreciation. He cocked one blond brow, only a shade darker than his gilded hair. “Perhaps the problem lies--” He paused, looking away from her, back to her husband. “--elsewhere.”
Shame and anger warred within her, but she did as she often had in the last year. She simply ignored them--or tried to. Let them talk about her. Let them plan. If this man won her....
Then what?
Would he be better or worse than Egan Briggs, who jerked her gown up every eve and rutted over her? She hated those nights, his breath reeking of whisky, his body sour and heavy.
Straightening her shoulders, she looked back at the gambler and saw his half smile.
He was sprawled in the chair, the cards held loosely in his hand, his other held a chip that he rolled slowly between his fingers. Long, elegant fingers with sinewy wrists. Seated as he was, she couldn’t tell exactly how tall he was, but then, she assumed he was taller than Egan who was rather on the short side. Where Egan was balding on top, this gambler’s fair hair reflected his lazy attitude. No pomade for him. His hair lay in gentle waves over his head, a bit longer in the back than was currently fashionable. He didn’t dress like a frontiersman, but neither did he dress like the high rollers of The Strand. She knew enough to see the shirt was expensive, the material soft. His vest was of imprinted satin, black and dark gray.
“Besides, I have a policy about taking another man’s wife,” the gambler said, his voice soft and even, yet she caught something ... some edge to the words.
Gina looked again at his face, the long, almost aristocratic countenance, the straight nose, high brow and startlingly green eyes that were zeroed in on her. He didn’t so much as blink.
Gina couldn’t look away even as he again slowly looked down her body. She felt as if he were undressing her, and unlike the times Egan looked at her, her nipples hardened against the fine linen of her chemise, and she felt a tingle between her legs.
Gina could only stare at him.
His full, lush lips tilted at one corner.
“You should guard such a treasure, Mister Briggs, not toss it away on a whim.” Still those green eyes bore into her.
Gina looked back down at the hand lying lazily against the side of his chair. All she could watch was his fingers. The chip, a white one from the pile in front of him, danced nimbly over his knuckles. Then, quick as a blink, he tossed it and caught it.
“Treasure my ass,” Egan muttered and grasped her arm, jerking her forwards. “Look, the gal doesn’t even have tits enough to fill a hand.”
He squeezed her arm so hard she couldn’t contain her wince.
Against her will, she glanced at the gambler and saw something hard glint in his eyes. Then she realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at the hand on her arm.
Slowly, he leaned over, dropped the chip on the table and cupped her breast. It was a shock of lightning down her spine, to her toes.
She gasped and jerked back.
Egan’s cruel laughter brought her harshly back to where she was and what was happening.
Fool. All men were the same. All of them. They only thought about women as things, existing merely for their pleasure.
This time, she didn’t keep her emotions in check when she locked eyes with the gambler. Let him win. Let Egan keep her. She really didn’t care.
Egan tapped the marriage document on the edge of the table, then flicked it onto the growing pile of chips, jewelry and other belongings. “I almost hope you win, just so I don’t have to keep the bitch.”
How in the world did she ever end up here, all the way down here in Galveston, Texas, practically being sold?
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