Stephen didn't mind the cold nearly as much as he minded being sober his stagger had steadied back into a powerful swagger. Turning his coat pockets inside out in search of some coins, only to find them pitifully empty. Giving it one last shot his gloved fingers slipped through a hole in the silk lining of his coat pocket. Withdrawing a single, dull shilling he held it aloft in the moonlight.
"Always did 'ave the luck o' the devil."
He grinned as he flipped the coin to his other hand, swaggering off to find the evenings fortune. He might not be able to afford more then one hand of cards, but perhaps he could find some pretty bit of muslin to take pity on him and offer him at least one glass of Madeira. Crossing the street, he ducked into a Covent garden gambling hell so disreputable to allow even the likes of him.
Indeed his luck held on this night, less then two hours later he was sitting behind a substantial pile of winnings at the brag table. Employing a lethal mix of charm, guile and wit he had managed to parlay that single shilling into a small mountain of British pounds and guineas.
Gently rubbing the lower back of the dark haired, doe eyed beauty perched on his knee, gaining a jealous glance from the golden haired minx who draped herself over his shoulders like a mink stole. A trio of men sat at the table trying in vain to hold back their hopeful looks, while Stephen calmly flicked his long fingers with negligent grace, over the cards fanning them out to reveal yet another winning hand.
A stench of desperation hung in the air. Most of the patrons having worn out their welcome at any reputable gambling house. It was all to similar to the scenes Stephen had witnessed in then opium dens of Istanbul and Bangkok, places he too worn out his welcome. Fingers twitched and their eyes gleamed as they awaited their next play. Absently he stroked the rounded hip of the brunette as he pondered how easily it would be to lure in a pair of over extended merchants, or perhaps even a bastard son of some titled gentry into his snare.
Settling back into his chair as he cleared some of the winnings from the table, he stretched out his legs out. The brunette took full advantage to wiggle herself deep into the cup of his lap.
"Why don'cha quit the cards an' come upstairs an' play with me?" She cooed at him.
The blonde leaned forward to refill his glass of wine from the half empty bottle on the table. Batting her fawn colored lashes against his cheek, her ample breasts strategically pressed against the back of his neck and shoulder.
"Play yer cards right luv an' you can win the pair of us for the night."
Their admirable efforts were undeniably stirring, but he wasn't quite ready to abandon the table just yet.
"In good time me darlin's. Fer now the table be me mistress an' I'll nae leave 'er tae a cold an' lonely fate when be she still warm an' willin'."
While the blonde nuzzled his neck in protest, he soothed the brunettes pout with a lingering kiss upon her rouged lips.