London, December 1821

Phillip had always had the devil's own luck, but not tonight. At the moment, he sat at a green baize tabletop playing faro and losing badly.

Faro was a game partly of skill and partly of chance, and tonight both were failing him. His opponent, a dark-haired man who'd introduced himself as Daniel Sheffield, was racking up debts against him with an ease that worried Phillip.

"Another hand?" Sheffield challenged. "One good hand would set me ...