Page 16 of A Game of Scandal

I fanned the bills across the tabletop.

“Counting them, love?” His eyebrows arched. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Now why would I do a foolish thing like that?”

He leaned over the desk towards me and tugged on the end of my hair, which I’d carelessly bundled into a long braid.

“Your hair … is blue,” he said, apparently fascinated.

I pulled the braid from his fingers. “I must have dipped it in the ink pot again,” I said, rubbing ineffectually at the strands. The ends were a startling sapphire blue, and I knew from experience it would take days for it to fade, creating a challenge that Nancy would tsk disapprovingly over when she styled my hair. “What time is it?”

A smile pulled at his lips. “A few minutes after midnight.”

I blinked. “I’ve lost track of time again.”

“So I can see.” Ash peered down at my notes, then shook his head. “This is like another language.”

I nodded. “It’s one of the things I enjoy most about it. Like being let in on a secret way of understanding the world.”

“And…? Are you getting anywhere?”

“I think so.” I rubbed at my forehead where that annoying headache persisted. “It’s an interesting puzzle. I believe it is possible to gain a distinct advantage against one’s opponents, though to play even with improved odds would still be a gamble.” I gnawed on my lip, as Ash dragged a chair over to sit across from me.

“Can you explain some of this to me?” he asked, and once again I was struck by the sincerity of his interest. Such a small thing – the barest effort, but sadly enough of a novelty to be notable.

“The basics of it will be familiar to any player – they probably don’t think of it as mathematical, but it is,” I said, tapping the deck of cards. “There are fifty-two cards in a deck, and a hand consists of five cards. That means that if we use the binomial coefficient we can calculate that there are 2,598,960 possible combinations.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Ash eyed the neatly written equation that I’d pushed in front of him.

“The beginning is simple. There are four suits, each with thirteen cards, so your chance of being dealt a heart card, for example, is one in four,” I said, turning five cards over on the surface between us. “In this hand I’ve been dealt the two of hearts and the seven of hearts. That means that there are now eleven heart cards left in a deck of forty-seven, so the likelihood of me drawing another heart if I were to trade one of my other cards has reduced from 25 per cent to 23.4 per cent.”

Ash nodded. “But that only follows if you’re the only one drawing from the pack. Other players may hold any number of heart cards.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, pleased that he was so quick. “So it becomes about the probabilities of several things – the cards I am dealt, the odds that another player can beat the hand I currently hold, the likelihood of improving my hand were I to discard and draw, for example.”

“Hmmm.” Ash examined the cards. “I see what you mean. These are the same things I’d think about when playing, but I wouldn’t go so far as to calculate percentages.”

“That’s because it’s a complex problem,” I agreed. “It involves holding a lot of numbers in your mind. As the gameplay progresses, one could include statistics on the hands your opponents play and discard which could, in turn, alter the potential in your own hand. Really, it’s fascinating.”

“So let’s play.” Ash sat back in his chair with that crooked grin on his face.

“Are you any good?” I asked.

“I can hold my own.”

“Fine,” I said, eager to put my theory into practice. “You deal.”

Ash scooped up the cards and shuffled them deftly, setting the cards moving in a competent blur. The look he gave me then was smug. I tore up pieces of paper to work in place of coins for the betting, dividing them between us.

We settled into the game, and I watched as Ash exchanged two of his cards.

“You know,” he said easily, “poker is about more than mathematics. More than theory.”

“What do you mean?” I exchanged one of my cards and after some thought threw one of my paper tokens into the pot.

“It’s about reading your opponents, the art of the good bluff…” He threw his own token carelessly into the mix.

“You mean it’s the perfect excuse for you to stare at me,” I said, raising my next bet as I felt his gaze on my face. His interest in me was obvious, and I couldn’t deny I found it intriguing.