Page 42 of Dangerous

“I would prefer not to wager too much as I am not a very good player.”

It was only with a Herculean effort that Adam was able to keep a straight face. “We needn’t wager at all, if you’d rather not.”

“I believe wagering makes the play more interesting. Cian and I always played for penny stakes. Shall I go to my room and fetch my purse?”

“I shall trust you to honor your debts,” he said, seriously.

Adam rang for a servant to fetch a pack of cards while two footmen set up a card table. He watched as Mia prowled the room, pausing near the chess table and running her finger over the delicate ivory pieces. “Would you prefer a game of chess to cards?” he asked.

“No, we can play chess some other time. I am eager to learn cards.”

“The table is ready, my lord.” The footman spoke before Adam could ask her why she was so interested in learning to play cards. Was it to play with him? He dismissed the foolish thought and picked up the deck of cards, breaking them open while she took her seat. He shuffled, his fingers working without any help from his distracted mind.

She stared with open delight at his hands and his smooth shuffling stuttered. A few cards escaped and fluttered to the floor and Mia moved to pick them up but he put his hand on hers. “I’ll get them, my lady.”

Adam reassembled his wits while he collected the fallen cards. Was he so besotted that a sliver of admiration gave him a case of youthful jitters?

When he sat up he was in control.

He began to deal the cards. “A penny a point, is it?”

“Mmm.”

She picked up her cards as they hit the table, studying them intently while chewing her lower lip. Adam forced himself to look at his own hand.

The first rubber showed him her mind was very keen, although her skills were only rudimentary. He offered gentle observations on her discards and was impressed when she incorporated his suggestions during the next hand, parlaying cards that were merely decent into a very close game. After Mia scored a repique against him in the third game, the play became competitive.

Adam had to remind himself more than once to curb his predatory instincts. Judging by the intensity of her stare and rapt concentration she, too, hated to lose.

* * *

Mia was still lamenting her last trade—a poor one—when the ormolu clock on the mantel chimed. They’d been playing for almost two hours and it seemed like only minutes. She bent over the tally sheet, which he’d insisted she keep to help her learn, brushing her chin with the quill as she added up the final damage. She frowned and handed him the sheet. “I owe you.”

He barely glanced at the total as he scraped up the cards and returned them to their case, somehow managing to make even such a small movement appear elegant and enticing.

“Considering you only learned recently, you are quite a good player. Much better than many of the men I’ve had the misfortune to sit across from over the years.”

Mia did not believe him. “I do not like to lose. Next time we should play chess. Perhaps we can wager on that, as well.”

He looked amused. “You believe you will be luckier with chess?”

“Not luck, my lord, skill.”

“Ah, the gauntlet has been thrown. I look forward to taking up the challenge. But not tonight, I think. I believe it is time to retire.” His voice was mild but his eyes were dark and direct. “I will come to you in a half hour.”

LaValle was awake when she entered her room, even though Mia had told her not to wait up.

“I shall wear the white lawn tonight.”

LaValle took an inordinate amount of time undressing, dressing, and fussing with her clothing, until Mia began to fret. Would she still be half-clothed when her husband arrived? Why did that thought cause her so much anxiety? Was she worried he’d turn around and leave if she wasn’t ready? Really, she’d become pathetic.

Her nightgown was simple but the matching dressing gown had a short, closely fitted bodice with a skirt made of yards and yards of diaphanous white fabric. It also had more buttons than a garment meant to be immediately removed should have.

LaValle was loosening her hair when the connecting door opened and the marquess entered. Mia met his gaze in the mirror. The now familiar heat flared in her stomach as he crossed the room toward her, clad only in a dark blue silk banyan.

He stopped behind her. “I will play hairdresser to Lady Exley, er . . . ?” He pulled his eyes away from Mia’s reflection just long enough to glance at the Frenchwoman.

“LaValle, my lord.” She dropped a deep curtsy.