To None But Me

A Gambling Man

Paris, France

May, 1719

"John Law, how long it's been!"

The Duke d'Orleans greeted his Scottish companion with a shake of the hand and a kiss placed upon each cheek. Their meeting was timed with precision, as was Law's doing. He was nothing if not a master puppeteer, with a certain knack for financial calculations. And France, having spent the past thirteen years at war, was in dire need of someone with his talents.

"Pleasure to see ye once more," he crooned, wondering at which angle he'd best be able to shovel more profit into his pockets. The establishment the Duke had chosen to meet was less than reputable, but this was Paris, after all. Brothels, for the elite, were purely recreational, their prostitutes of the highest standards. Not that Law was as keen to partake in such frivolous activities as his counterpart, but he enjoyed the view all the same. He'd rather gamble, and not just small amounts, either. His fingers drummed on his knee as they sat at the small, round table, the itch to spend another's money a compulsion now.

A busty woman clad in nothing but an underskirt drifted by, catching the eye of the Duke, who had a wife and a mistress already. Women, to Law, were not held in the same regard as currency, and therefore could be treated as less-than. He reached for his brandy, letting the exquisite liquid trickle down his throat in a cascade of fire. He nodded to the beast of a man who stood behind the Duke, his hulking frame impossible to ignore for long.

"A new friend?" he asked, raising his brow. The same woman floated by once more, trailing her fingers along the stranger's broad chest, lust heavy in her hazel eyes. The man was tall, more so than any man Law had seen in some time, and broad shouldered, his arms thick with muscle. He ignored the advances of the whore, well trained and taking his job seriously.

The Duke chuckled, reaching for his crystalline glass of brandy as well.

"It seems I need a bit of...protection, as of late. My decisions tend not to sit well with the populace."

"Ahh," Law said, understanding the need for such a brute. He narrowed his eyes, though, at the man's chiseled, bearded face with disdain; for once, Law's mind was not calculating finances, but rather preoccupied with jealousy. If he'd been graced by God to look like some Pagan hero of old, he'd have no need to use his mind so often. This young man was wasting his talents and appearance as a bodyguard.

"I hear the settlement in the New World is struggling," Law conceded, mind drifting back to the task at hand. It was unfortunate, to lose money on such a grand scale, but that was the reason for Law's presence in this stuffy brothel in the first place. That, and their common hatred for the English. This new scheme, about to be presented to the Duke, had been in the works for years now. The timing was finally precise, in Law's mind.

The Duke nodded, leaning in so as not to be overheard.

"No one wants to leave Paris. The settlement is rife with terrible crops and illness. In the meantime, our streets and prisons overflow to the point of combustion."

Law smirked, for he had already formulated his answer to the problem. It was a gamble, to be sure, but that is what Law did best.

"I must admit, I've a solution to yer woes."

The Duke's eyes lit up in the dusky, perfumed space. Glasses clinked, women shrieked with fake delight at men's advances. It was altogether repulsive. The giant of a man shifted behind the Duke, feet sore and tired from his twelve-hour day at the blacksmith's shop. He detested brothels, the gaudy women making him rather uncomfortable. He was attracted to them, to be sure, as any young man would be, but none stood out. None made him want to spend his hard earned coin for a few moments of bliss. Bliss, it would seem, the man had never experienced yet before, though his virginal status was not the least bit embarrassing to him.