Re: The Capital: Jude and Sasha
Fredi van Amsberg didn't care one way nor the other if the gentleman (emphasis ironic, if you please, because gentlemen asked ladies nicely first before they groped them and royalty was a tier above ladies) decided he was offended or he didn't. He endured the fluttering and flicking of fingers and Jude watched the way Sasha's gaze slid off over his shoulder in the direction of the individual making most nusiance of himself, rather than the direction he was most interested she look. Notably, portrait of a man entranced at table kitty-corner.
"Double is enough for most men. But they are stupid. Aren't you?" Addressing the nearest, in tone dripping abject derision. But the game was played and Jude's wits were sober-sharp thank you, given the propensity for the glass near to hand to sparkle with tonic rather than tonic and -.
Thus attention preoccupied by the baize and the cards splayed out across the top and wasn't this good fun? It had been a while since he'd sat in the smoky room in the dark of the house and been taught card-counting and sleight of hand as if it were homework from school, an essential lesson to be memorized whether desired or not. Jude liked mathematics because he liked adding numbers and probability theory unwinding sharpish like clockwork in his head and he was winning the minute he looked up and saw Sasha panic.
Not that it was entirely visible but the shape of the expression on her face was not bored indolence, rich youth amusing oneself with well-financed chance. No, there was something about the way Sasha had blanched that made Jude sweep a hand through his cards and declare himself finished with this particular game, tokens piled up in front of him. He pulled his sister's hand toward him, thumbed her wrist and felt the jump of her pulse.
"Is there a better game to play?" Demand, but Jude's own look tipped up toward her with quiet and concealed concern.