He made a quiet noise of assent. “But I shall need something from you.”
She blinked at him. “What could you want from me?”
Too late she realized what she’d said. He realized at once, of course, and his tawny gaze flashed over her, hot and all-seeing.
“If you win,” he said, each word careful and precise, “I’ll examine your proof and give strong consideration to pursuing a claim to the title. That is all I can promise, without seeing the documentation,” he added as she drew breath. “If it’s as sound as you say, you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Suspicious, but unable to argue, she nodded slowly.
“And in return for the monumental inconvenience and disruption to the life I have chosen and built, you will do me... a favor.”
Her skin flushed hot all over. “What?”
He leaned forward. “It’s notthatsort of favor,” he said, softly mocking. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Greene.”
Emilia knew herself to be a terrible, wicked person—not because she had flushed at his request for a favor, but because it had been more from arousal than alarm. Mr. Dashwood was a magnetically attractive man, especially when he was tilting toward her like this, his eyes glowing and his wicked little smile suggesting he knew exactly what sort of wicked things had burst into her mind at the wordfavor—and worse: that she didn’t find them repulsive.
Stop it,she told herself frantically. He could have half the women in London, dangerous, gorgeous, and rich as he was. He probably already had. A governess with empty pockets was fooling herself if she thought this man cared a whit about her.
“Thank goodness,” she said as stridently as she could. “I’d hate to have to slap your face just as we become allies.”
“I daresay there will be more opportunities in the future.” He sat back.
“If there are more provocations,” she returned. “What is the favor?”
Still smiling in that lazy, confident way, he shook his head. “It’s something within your power to grant, and it involves only decent, respectable behavior.”
She flexed her fingers in her lap. Her hands had grown stiff from being clenched. “Very well. How shall we decide the wager? We haven’t enough players for whist.”
“Simple tricks. Aces high, no trumps. Black over red.” He sent the cards through one more flying shuffle, then set the deck before her. “Deal,” he prompted as she gaped at him. “So you trust that it’s fair.”
Dear heavens. Was Lucy’s life to be decided by a rash wager and Emilia’s skill at cards? It had been a long time since she’d played with any care. But perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised that a gaming hell owner would leave the direction of his own life to a hand of cards.
Heart thudding, Emilia picked up the cards and dealt them.
“You may lead,” he said courteously.
“Do you make all your decisions based on cards?” She played the ten of clubs.
“No.” He tossed the queen on top of her card and swept the pair to his side of the table. “Some I leave to the dice.”
“Of course,” she said dryly, taking his king of diamonds with the king of spades.
“Everything in life is a gamble. I merely embrace it instead of fighting it.”
She looked up. “What rubbish. Life is what you choose to make it.”
“What is a choice, other than a gamble on a certain course of action?” He tossed his card on top of hers, winning another trick. “You, for example, took a gamble that you could persuade me to fall in with your mad plan.”
“It’s not mad,” she said under her breath.
“It was a risky play. Who knew what sort of man you might have found here, in this den of iniquity and vice?”
Her jaw ached from being clenched so tightly. “I did consider that.” She played the jack of spades to win his nine.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You didn’t,” she said, laying down the ace of clubs.
