The Highest Stakes of All

Don’t think about him, she told herself. Concentrate on the play.

She soon realised that her father’s forecast that the stakes would be getting higher was fully justified.

The first pot, won by the South African Hansi Dorten with a straight, was worth over three thousand dollars, and she was relieved that Denys had decided to fold when the draw did not improve his original pair of tens.

But in the next hand his cards yielded a spade flush. There was a flurry of betting, then Chuck, Hansi and one of the Frenchmen all folded. But Vassos Gordanis, Henri de Morvan and Denys did not, each of them continuing to call and raise until there were over twenty thousand dollars’ worth of chips in the middle of the table.

Joanna’s hands curled into tense fists. This was it, she thought. The amount they needed to get them out of here, and some to spare. Make or break.

A second later it was all over. Vassos Gordanis shrugged ruefully, and tossed his cards towards the dealer, and Henri de Morvan followed suit.

Joanna watched Denys rake the chips towards him, her heart somersaulting. She had to bite the inside of her lip to stop a sheer grin of exultation spreading across her face. Because she didn’t want any of these people, least of all the dark man sitting opposite, to know how much this mattered. How vital this was for her future. For everything.

She put her hand on her father’s arm, pressing it warningly. Stop now, she urged silently. It’s a big enough win, so make an excuse, cash in your chips and we’ll get out of here.

But Denys was already selecting chips for the next game.

‘Denys.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, her fingers tightening on his sleeve. ‘Why don’t we call it a night now—and celebrate?’

He glanced at her impatiently, ignoring the pleading in her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Your magic is working, and I’m on a winning streak, so we’re going nowhere.’

But you promised, she wanted to cry aloud. You promised—you know you did….

And remembered too late that he’d sworn once before that she would never again have to use her eyes, her smile and her young body to divert another man’s attention from the game, and how soon his word had been broken.

Or she would not be here, half-dressed, at this moment.

She sat, almost sick with fear, while the hand was played, but all the others folded after the draw this time, leaving Denys with another two thousand dollars to add to his winnings.

He sent her a triumphant wink as he prepared for the next game.

‘Third time lucky, darling,’ he muttered.

Then make this the last, Joanna implored silently. Please—please, Daddy. Quit while we’re ahead.

I’ve never felt like this before, she thought. When he’s been as confident as this, I’ve been right there with him. But maybe I’ve never been quite so disillusioned with my life before.

Yet in her heart she knew that wasn’t it. That ever since Persephone had arrived in the bay and her father had announced his plans her every instinct had been screaming in warning.

And nothing that had happened since had done anything to reassure her.

She had learned to show no emotion, so her face was still, her eyes shuttered and her hands clasped loosely again in her lap as she saw Denys had been dealt a pair of kings and a pair of nines, with a small club as his fifth card. He discarded the club, asking for one, and received in return from the dealer the king of diamonds.

Three of a kind and a pair, Joanna thought, her heart beginning to pound. Full house. Good—but good enough? I just don’t know.

The two Frenchmen folded quickly, but Hansi Dorten and Chuck briskly pushed up the betting, with Vassos Gordanis and Denys matching each call and raise.

Joanna reached for her glass and swallowed the remaining water as the pile of chips in front of her father began to diminish with startling speed.

‘I’m out,’ Chuck said wryly in answer to the South African’s call and raise of five thousand.

‘Fold,’ Joanna whispered under her breath when it was Denys’s turn to bet. ‘Remember why you’re here doing this, and leave us with something.’

Only to watch, helplessly, as her father pushed another pile of chips into the middle of the table and called.

‘I also know when to stop,’ Hansi Dorten said, tossing his hand on to the discard pile.

Vassos Gordanis counted out the requisite chips and added them to the pot. ‘Call,’ he said quietly. His hand moved again. ‘And raise another ten thousand.’

Joanna was trembling inside. Showdown, she thought. The point of no return. Denys and Vassos Gordanis facing each other across the table, and between them—what? Thirty thousand dollars? Forty thousand? More?

Small change to a millionaire. The world to us. Or it could have been.

Because Dad hasn’t enough left now for another call. Not at this kind of limit. He’s been squeezed out. And we’re wiped. We won’t even be able to cover the bill for the suite.

Vassos Gordanis leaned back in his chair. ‘What do you wish to do, kyrie?’ It was a courteous, almost bland question.

Denys squared his shoulders. ‘Naturally bet again, Mr Gordanis, if you are prepared to accept my IOU.’

The dark gaze looked past him with faint enquiry, and Joanna realised, startled, that Gaston Levaux had come back into the room, and was leaning against the wall, shaking his head in grim negation.

‘I think our good Levaux doubts that you would have the ability to pay this debt if, of course, it falls due.’ Vassos Gordanis reached pensively for another cheroot and lit it. ‘However, there is a good deal of money at stake, and I wish to be fair. So I will give you the opportunity to back your hand once more—but only once. Therefore, you may call, and you may also raise me to whatever limit you wish and I will match it. Double the raise. Treble it, if you please. It is of no consequence.’

Denys stared at him, frowning. ‘I don’t take you for a philanthropist, Mr Gordanis, and I am not a charity case.’

‘No,’ the other returned softly. ‘We are both gamblers, are we not? So, if you win, you take the money. All of it. There will be no dispute. I say it in front of witnesses.’

Joanna risked a swift glance round the table. The other men were very still, looking down unsmilingly at the table in front of them, but there was a tension in the air that was almost tangible.

‘And if I lose?’ Her father’s voice was hoarse.

Vassos Gordanis shrugged. ‘Then the money will be mine, naturally,’ he returned levelly.

His eyes, brilliant as jet, and as cold, rested on Joanna, and she felt a tremor of awareness bordering on fear shiver through her body, as if cold fingers had trailed a path down her spine.

‘But,’ he added musingly, ‘you would also owe me the amount you have wagered, and I would require that to be repaid.’

‘And how could I possibly do that?’ Denys flung at him.

‘Not in cash, certainly.’ He drew reflectively on his cheroot. ‘But—in kind. That would be a different matter.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Denys demanded aggressively.

‘I am wondering how much you are prepared to risk, Kyrios Vernon.’ He nodded at Joanna. ‘The beauty at your side, for instance. This girl—your charming talisman. How much do you consider she is worth to you?’

He leaned forward suddenly, and Joanna recoiled instinctively as she suddenly realised how right she was to have been afraid. And how much there still existed to terrify her.

‘Because that is the pledge I require, my friend,’ Vassos Gordanis went on, looking now at her father. ‘In full and final settlement. If you play and lose, you give me the girl, and when she comes to me I take her for as long as I want her.’ He paused. ‘I also ask that you give me your word you will honour your debt as I have done, in front of witnesses,’ he added almost casually.