“Ask the judges,” shrugged the Marquis. “I warned you that I drive best when I am drunk.” He was watching the next table as he spoke. Loo was being played, but someone was leaving, and the party was broken up. The Marquis raised his voice slightly, addressing one of the players. “A hand of piquet, Mr. Comyn?”
Mr. Comyn turned his head quickly. A flicker of surprise showed in his face. He bowed. “I shall count myself honoured, my lord.”
Vidal strolled over to his table and waited while a waiter put fresh cards and placed chairs.
“Cut, Mr. Comyn,” said the Marquis.
Mr. Comyn obeyed, and won the deal.
“The usual stakes?” drawled the Marquis.
Mr. Comyn met his eye firmly. “Whatever you will, my lord.”
Vidal laughed suddenly, and abandoned his drawl. “We’ll play for love, Mr. Comyn.”
Mr. Comyn paused in the middle of his deal. “I can scarcely suppose, my lord, that that would amuse you.”
“Not in the least,” grinned the Marquis.