"I would think there are not many things a man your age would need a young woman's help for," she commented, her focus on the cards rather than the words escaping her lips.

The dealer flipped the card over. It was not one of the two suits she needed.

Bella did not frown, but she felt the muscles in her face tighten up. She was down five sickles in this hand already. If she bet anymore, she would likely leave the table at a loss if Arthur Pettigrew won the hand. On the other hand, folding now would ensure that she lost what she'd already won—no chance for a winnings. She was the type of person who enjoyed taking risks, but it was a part of herself that she was all too aware of, and that meant she had the choice to not take the risk.

But she didn't. She pushed a final sickle forward, let out a breath, and waited for the dealer to turn over his card.

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