That night, he was in company with the most sought after courtesan that season, a beautiful woman known as Isabella.
Fancy name she had, but it wasn’t the one she was given at birth. The Courtesan Isabella would have been grateful to have her origins amongst people like us.
She was born wretched poor, but there was no proof of it that night. She stood next to and one step behind a young man blessed in birth, wealth, and luck.
She was dressed in a gown the same color as her skin, the neckline cut low. She had her shining hair piled high on her head. Her brown eyes were sparkling, more likely from drops of belladonna, but perhaps it was happiness.
Her escort was young and her favorite kind of handsome. She preferred gentleman built for elegance— slender with long limbs, the neat features of his face perfectly balanced.
His muddy hazel eyes were empty when he wasn’t at the tables, but Isabella was not such a woman to take notice of that. She was in company with a gambler on a winning streak and all she thought about was the promise of a lucrative reward.
She may have felt something akin to joy that night, or as close as she would ever know.
Just before the Gambling Man first saw the Thief of Hearts, the dealer pushed the rest of his chips to him and whispered to the watchman that he hadn’t enough for the next round.
The company of the Gambling Man laughed and cheered when they heard, but the friends standing at his side resented him.
Whoever placed their bets on the Gambling Man was sure to win, but his friends were almost as bitter as the opponents betting against him.
Those spoiled noblemen were jealous of his touch with the dice, and envy seared through them all every time the comely Isabella pressed into the back of the Gambling Man.
They had heard the talents of the Courtesan Isabella had to be experienced to be believed.