Walking beside Patrick, we entered.
The entry was one large room filled with men and women all dressed to perfection. Above us shone a Louis XV chandelier.
“There is a bar in the back,” the doorman said. “And the tournament will be held upstairs.”
I smiled at the men and women as we moved deeper into the room. The atmosphere was very similar to Club Regal and other venues that favored the old-school charm of dark paneling, old fashioned lighting, and blood red carpets. My steps stalled as a painting upon the wall caught my attention. Gilded in heavy gold frames and spotlighted, the painting was an erotic piece. The woman appeared to be positioned for pleasure. By the look upon her face, she was in the throes of an orgasmic state.
As we walked, the paintings continued, each with women in a variety of poses.
Patrick’s eyes met mine, widening as he grinned.
“Yes, I noticed them,” I wanted to say.
Holy shit.
The farther we moved into the building, the more risqué the paintings became. The artist or collector was a fan of a BDSM theme.
“I guess they take the gentlemen’s club title seriously,” Mason said as we all climbed the red-carpeted winding staircase.
“Welcome to Boston Club,” a woman greeted at the top of the stairs. “I’m Elizabeth, and my ladies are here to make your visit memorable.”
Sterling’s neck straightened as did Mason’s.
“We’re here for the poker tournament,” Sterling replied.
“Of course. We’re here if you change your mind.” She gestured down a hallway. “The tournament is in the room on the right. Good luck, sir.”
Sterling turned back to us. “Actually, my sister is the poker player.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “Then good luck to you, miss. This is highly unusual at our establishment. And I’m rooting for you.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.”
“I hope to see you all tomorrow and Saturday.”
I nodded. “It is our plan.”
With each step along the hallway, I gripped tighter and tighter to Patrick’s hand. My trepidation wasn’t over the other thirteen players I would encounter. It was the older man with blue eyes and the belief that he’d purchased me who I wasn’t anxious to see again.
“Madeline Miller,” Sterling said to the man guarding the door. “Plus three.”
With a nod, the gentleman wearing a similar uniform to the man downstairs opened one side of the double doors. My breathing caught as I took in the room. There were three tables, each with five seats, set up in the center of the room. Around the walls were chairs for spectators. All fifteen of the seats were empty and would be until our names were drawn.
Patrick squeezed my hand and tilted his head toward Marion.
With a cowboy hat in place, his cowboy boots, and bolo tie, Marion looked the part of Texas oilman.
“Madeline,” a deep voice called.
Turning, I saw Julius Dunn, the poker tournament circuit’s resident playboy. He’d been in the Chicago tournament. “Julius,” I replied.
He came to a stop before Patrick and me as he eyed Patrick up and down. “Don’t I remember you from Club Regal?”
Patrick offered his hand. “Patrick Kelly, Madeline’s husband, and yes.”
Julius’s eyes widened. “Husband.” His features contorted. “I thought I heard...” He turned toward Marion and back.
“You heard incorrectly,” I said with a smile. “Patrick and I have been married for a long time. Good luck, Julius. You’ll need it.”
“Well,” he said with a nod. “Congratulations.” He turned his attention back on me. “This is one of my favorite tournaments. I don’t recall seeing you here before?”
I shook my head.
“The post-tournament entertainment is…” He took a deep breath. “Probably not for ladies, if you don’t mind my warning.”
“Interesting. I have no desire to stay after I collect my winnings.”
Julius flashed his all-too-white smile. “Best of luck to you, Madeline.”
I turned to Patrick with a questioning look. “Entertainment?”
He shook his head. “We’re out of here.”
Sterling and Mason had made their way through the growing crowd to a small bar at the side of the room. Despite the increase in people, I was able to pick Sterling and Mason out by their height. “Are you going over to them?” I asked Patrick.
“I’m not leaving you until you’re seated.”
Like daggers piercing my exposed skin, I looked up to see Marion’s stare focused our direction.
“We can leave,” Patrick said.
I took a deep breath, seeing the white of my dress. “No. I need this. I won’t live in fear of that man or any.”
“You’re safe as long as we’re here.”
A few minutes later, the woman from the top of the stairs appeared. Stepping upon a riser in the back of the room and speaking with a microphone, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen.” She smiled my direction. “I am Elizabeth, and it is with great pleasure we welcome you to Boston Club’s annual poker tournament.”
While in other situations, her announcement may be met with applause, tonight there were smiles, murmurs, and raised glasses.
Elizabeth spent a few minutes reminding the players of the club’s rules. They were standard playing rules, yet it was all part of the show. Next, she began the seating draw. The second name called was Marion Elliott. Tipping his hat, he made his way to his seat.
I held my breath at the next name.
It wasn’t mine.
It wasn’t until his table was filled that I finally released the air burning hotter by the second within my lungs. Patrick squeezed my hand.
“He may live to see another day,” he whispered.
The second table had three players when Julius’s name was called. The last seat was assigned to me, Madeline Miller.
With a parting squeeze of my hand, I stepped away from Patrick and made my way to the chair beside Julius. While I’d never been a fan of his and rightfully told Ruby that he could be a jerk, I was pleased to be seated next to a familiar face.
“We meet again,” Julius said with a grin as I took my seat.
Once we were all seated, the remaining viewers made their way to the spectators’ chairs. Patrick and his friends were as near to me as the seating would allow.
“Gentlemen…and lady,” Elizabeth’s voice came through the speaker. “Play will now begin.”
Club workers appeared with trays of chips, each representing a million dollars. Each player was presented with a tray and time to arrange our chips as we wished.
I looked up as our dealer appeared. Surprisingly or not, she was a scantily dressed woman.
If it was a distraction technique, it was lost on me.
Mostly, I hoped she wasn’t cold.
“Good evening,” she said with a bright smile. “Shall we begin?”
The ceremonial cutting of the deck was followed by the first deal.
For a roomful of people, the noise level diminished.
Over time, the pot before me dwindled and grew. I was up for the evening. My big break came as the man at the far end from me, Dr. Lindsey Bolton, decided to risk half a million on what he undoubtedly felt was a winning hand.