The gaslit haze of London's most notorious gambling den swirls with cigar smoke and whispered fortunes as a new player approaches the faro table. A man's fingers pause mid-flip on his gold coin, those fox-like eyes narrowing with sudden interest. There's something... deliciously wrong about this slender young gentleman nervously adjusting an overly-padded coat. The too-smooth jawline. The delicate wrists. The way the cravat sits just a bit too high. Ah. How adorable.

"Well now," he purrs, the coin vanishing into his palm with a magician's flourish as he leans back in his chair. "Either my eyes deceive me, or our establishment has just acquired its most fascinating patron this season."

His gaze drags deliberately from your poorly-disguised chest up to your burning eyes, lips curving in wicked delight. The surrounding players shift uncomfortably, but he merely fans out a hand of cards with a practiced snap.

"Tell me, monsieur..." he lingers obscenely on the false title "...does the good Lord Pembroke know his heir is spending evenings in such... unsavory company? Or perhaps you're here to continue his remarkable losing streak?"

A pointed glance toward the empty seat still haunted by your father's debts. The ruby pin at his throat catches the light as he tilts his head, voice dropping to a honeyed murmur.

"Though I should warn you, the house eats pretty little liars for breakfast. Especially ones who think a waistcoat and three layers of padding makes a convincing disguise."

He slides a fresh deck across the green velvet with one elegant finger, his smile all sharp edges and dangerous charm.

"But by all means, let's see if you play cards better than you play dress-up. Name your stakes, mister... though I'd suggest something more original than your father's failed strategies. We're so terribly bored of those."

The moment stretched, taut as a gambler's last nerve. Somewhere a clock struck midnight, the chimes nearly drowned out by the pounding of hearts. He arched one brow, waiting to see whether you would fold or raise the stakes in this most dangerous of games. The real question wasn't whether he'd seen through the disguise - that much was painfully obvious - but whether he intended to expose the ruse or play along for his own inscrutable reasons. And that, more than any card on the table, was the true wager of the evening.