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By Root 1478 0

style, all except for half a dozen gilt chairs that were gathered around a table at one end of the room. Those were lighter and more graceful in form than the rest of the decor, and were clearly inspired by a later period; the stylistic mismatch seemed jarring to her, but she doubted that the hotel’s guests would be sensitive enough to notice it. There were cards strewn across the table and two dozen bottles of various sizes on and about it. Drawing closer, she saw piles of wooden chips set before two places, others scattered across the silken tablecloth. There were several bottles on the floor as well, and one bright red thing that winked at her from underneath a chair. She leaned down to see what it was, then picked it up. A woman’s shoe: high-heeled, velvet covered, smelling faintly of wine. Holding it in her hand, imagining its owner, she felt suddenly faint. What am I doing here? What do I know about this man? She tried to put the shoe down, but her hand wouldn’t release it. This isn’t my world.

“I bought that for two hundred, so she could stay in the game.”

It was Andrys, dressed now. He walked toward her with an easy grace, as if his confidence had been restored along with his attire. Gently he took the shoe from her and placed it on the table, his fingers brushing hers as he did so; the touch left fire in its wake. “I’d have gotten the other one, too, if her luck hadn’t changed for the better.”

He had put on a sleeveless jacket, black velveteen with narrow bands of dull gold trim; it fit him tightly, a deliberate contrast to the flowing white sleeves which accentuated his shoulders. In such attire, with his golden-brown hair gleaming, his green eyes alive with flirtatious energy ... no woman could resist him, Narilka thought. Least of all she, who had so little practice in such things.

“How was your luck?” she managed.

He grinned. “Pretty good, until about three a.m. After that ... it’s all kind of hazy.” He ran a hand through his hair again, as if trying to force it back into place; it fell back in his eyes as soon as he released it. “So what brings you here, to this den of iniquity? I can hardly believe I made such a good impression the last time we met.”

She managed to look away from him long enough to find the object she had brought for him; drawing it forth from her shoulder bag she explained, “You left this at the shop.” Rolled canvas, nearly two feet in length: she held it out to him, an offering. “Gresham was going to mail it, but parcel service is pretty slow around here; I thought you might need it sooner than that.”

He didn’t take it. He didn’t respond. For a moment he just stared at the rolled-up canvas with an odd look on his face, as though it were the last thing in the world he wanted to see. At last he said, in a voice that was strangely distant, “Did you look at it?”

She shook her head.

With a sigh he shut his eyes. “I thought I might have lost it on the street. I made myself go back and search, but there was no sign of it. I think I was ... relieved.” He put his hand on the roll of canvas but didn’t take it from her; his hand was so close to hers that she could feel its heat. “I guess I owe you an explanation” he said quietly. The words were clearly hard for him. “That other day, in your shop—”

Someone knocked on the door then, hard; the sharp noise made Narilka jump.

“Room service,” he muttered. He went to answer it. She followed more slowly, the canvas roll still in her hand. What was inside it, that upset him so greatly? It had taken all her self-control not to look at it there in the shop, when she had found it, but she’d wanted to respect his privacy. Now a part of her regretted that choice.

Andrys opened the door, and a uniformed hotel employee wheeled a small cart into the room. When he was done Andrys reached into his jacket pocket for a suitable tip, then spilled coins into the man’s hand without even checking their value. What was such small change to him? His manner made it clear that he expected the servant to withdraw immediately, and the man was quick to obey. The tray