According to Hoyle
Praise for
A
BIGAIL
R
OUX
My Brother’s Keeper
“This is an incredibly clever and sly story that must be read twice to catch all the subtleties included and often missed on the first reading.”
—
Rainbow Reviews
“I’m still, even a day or two after reading the story, mulling over in my mind the complete mastery with which Abigail Roux wove this most intriguing and enthralling tale.”
—
Dark Diva Reviews
The Archer
“This book really rocked my world.”
—
Fallen Angel Reviews
Caught Running
“Abigail Roux and Madeleine Urban have penned a charming story. Jake and Brandon will steal your heart!”
—
Romance Junkies
Cut & Run
“The plot was a stroke of genius….”
—
Erotic Horizon
“Madeleine Urban and Abigail Roux have created a fast-paced and captivating suspense that is one of the best books this reviewer has had the pleasure of reading in quite some time.”
—
Fallen Angel Reviews
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com
B
Y
A
BIGAIL
R
OUX
According to Hoyle
The Archer
Caught Running*
Love Ahead*
My Brother’s Keeper
A Tale from de Rode
Unrequited
Warrior’s Cross*
T
HE
C
UT
& R
UN
SERIES
BY
M
ADELEINE
U
RBAN
AND
A
BIGAIL
R
OUX
Cut & Run
Sticks & Stones
Fish & Chips
*co-authored by Madeleine Urban
Copyright
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
According to Hoyle
Copyright © 2011 by Abigail Roux
Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected]
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
ISBN: 978-1-61581-791-7
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition
January, 2011
eBook edition available
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-792-4
Dedication
For Jaclyn,
because she never pulls her punches.
Author’s Note
Special thanks must go out to several people who slogged through the many variations of this story. First and foremost to Jaclyn Mika, whose advice and humiliating use of Canadian sarcasm has been instrumental in all my writing. To Aleksandr Voinov for introducing me to the proper technique for delivering a Glaswegian kiss, and who panned through every single word to pick out the bits of gold dust. To Andrew Grey for his dialogue and character expertise. And to Hugh Wells for his endless historical knowledge and for waiting until after the novel was finished to inform me he possessed a scale model of the steamboat
Robert E. Lee
in his basement.
Foreword
A
CCORDING
TO
H
OYLE
: In accord with the prescribed rules or regulations.
Edmund Hoyle (1672-1769) was an English barrister and writer who authored several books on the rules and play of card games. His rule books soon became the authority on all things cards, and the phrase “according to Hoyle” entered the language due to the perceived absolute rightness of the rules Hoyle set forth. The phrase soon took on a more general meaning, referring to any situation in which someone wished to refer to the rules of a higher authority.
It is a similar statement to say we are doing something “by the book,” wherein this statement “the book” is often perceived to be the Bible. From the late 18
th
century to the turn of the 20
th
century, the phrases “by the book” and “according to Hoyle” were both in common usage. They meant the same thing, only the former venerated the Bible as the highest authority, while the latter deferred to the whims of a deck of cards.
Chapter 1
November, 1882
Denver, Colorado
T
HREE
men sat around a linen-covered table in the expansive dining room of the Windsor Hotel. The great clock on the mantel read well past midnight by the time their meeting commenced, and candlelight was all that lit the room, throwing the faces of the three diners into deep shadow.
Just a month prior to their meeting, John C. Baird had been in New York, watching as the city’s elite unveiled the Pearl Street Power Station and the magic of electricity had lit up the city. He missed that civilized place, and he looked on overgrown mining and cow towns like Denver with disdain he could not and did not want to conceal. There were a few buildings in the town that had electricity, but the Windsor Hotel did not yet number among them, no matter how elegantly appointed it was otherwise.
It didn’t matter how uncomfortable the trip had been for him, though. He was here on orders, and everything being asked of him hinged on this meeting. It would be worth a trip to this trumped up little silver town to make certain this was done properly.
The dining room was all but empty, save for a sparse number of diners and the hotel’s staff lingering to wait on them. One thing Baird found he did like about the western towns was that people knew how to mind their own affairs. They were in no danger of being disturbed.
“You’re late,” Baird said to the man sitting to his right, who was just settling into his seat.
“This is a fancy place,” the large man said in an annoyed, husky voice. His common cowboy clothes were dusty, and his hat had left an impression in his black hair when he’d taken it off. It appeared to Baird that he’d just made the trip to Colorado from Texas on the back of a bison rather than in a rail car. He wore thin leather gloves, but they didn’t conceal the fact that one of his fingers was missing on his left hand. “They weren’t gonna let me in,” the Texan explained, nodding to the grand lobby and the doorman who still stood watching them in distaste.
The man opposite Baird gave that a quiet snort. He was handsome, dressed to the nines, in clear contrast to the large Texan. Wiry and of average height, he carried himself with an insolent ease that Baird found both annoying and striking. He certainly wouldn’t have been refused entrance to the Windsor Hotel, or any other hotel on the continent, Baird thought idly. They hadn’t let his scruffy little puppy in with him, though, and the beast sat by the window, watching its master devotedly through the speckled glass.
His accent was that of an Englishman, though, and upon hearing him speak Baird had instantly decided he didn’t like or trust the man. This was government business. An Englishman had no right to be involved. But Baird’s orders were clear, and these were the two men he’d been told to contact. Before coming to his current position, Baird had been a Pinkerton agent, and a good one. He knew how to follow orders.