For a brief moment Sam thought she believed him, but then she twisted her mouth into a scowl. He sighed and said, “It is Adderly’s cardroom.”
She peered into the darkness before pointing those dubious blue eyes back at him. He walked past her into the room and started lighting a few candles. The wood paneled room glowed in the candlelight. The light revealed a massive mahogany circular table surrounded by deep blue wingback chairs.
Sam had spent one or two evenings playing cards with Adderly in this very room. The earl, unlike some of the other nobs, was rather good. Still, Adderly’s wife hated that he played cards, so he only hosted a few games a year when she was in London. The card games had taken on a mythical reputation because of the location and the limited times they were held.
Fortunately for him and Clara no one would look for them here because when both Adderlys were together they pretended the room didn’t exist. The walls were covered with more of Lady Adderly’s art. Clara was stopped before one, frowning with her head tilted. The painting was a portrait of Adderly standing along a tree line. Sam only knew that because Adderly had once explained it to him.
“Still hideous,” Sam said before stepping back into the library and grabbing the leather box he had carried down from his room. He returned to the cardroom, placing the box on the table. Clara looked at it with curiosity but remained silent. He said nothing, knowing it annoyed her. On the sideboard was a decanter, filled with brandy. He strode over and poured them both one, placing the glasses down on the table.
Clara turned to him with a smile lighting her face. Sam paused in awe of how it transformed her from a beautiful woman into something else altogether. Clara’s smile, if she used it more, could bring men to their knees, himself included.
“Her art is actually growing on me. There is something I enjoy about the way Lady Adderly paints. Her paint strokes are bold and vibrant.”
He chuckled and said, “Bold and vibrant? Yes, so much so, they are hard to look at.”
“That’s harsh. Look at it again and study the colors she uses,” Clara said.
He rolled his eyes but turned back to it, doing his best to envision the painting how Clara did. No, he still didn’t understand why she liked the painting.
Sam shook his head and looked at Clara, “We will have to disagree. Now sit, my lady, so we can commence our game.”
She sat rigidly on the edge of one of the chairs, her hands folded properly as if she were about to have tea with the queen herself. He smiled broadly at her, amused by her proper perch. He placed his hands on each side of her chair, and she took a deep breath at his closeness. Sam’s eyes were drawn to the base of her throat and downward where her breasts rose and fell deeply. His eyes swept back up to hers. She looked back at him questioningly. What was he doing with Clara, he wondered? He pushed the complex thoughts from his mind and winked at her. “If we are going to play a game, Clara, you can’t be so ice princessy. Games are meant to be freeing, an escape.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back from her proper perch until she was lounging against the back of the chair. Well, as much as an outraged ice princess was capable of lounging. Sam stepped back and smiled mischievously. She sat up with a haughty expression on her face.
“How dare you!”
He shook his head. “All I am saying is I don’t particularly care if you do or don’t sit like you have a metal pole strapped to your back. Relax. Stop being so ice princessy.”
“I hate that nickname,” she said quietly.
He stopped and studied her. She looked haughty as ever but there was a vulnerability underneath it. Sam felt a nibble of guilt for using a term that she detested. He slid the glass towards her and said, “Then relax.”
Clara scowled at him before grabbing her brandy glass and throwing herself back against the chair. She molded her slender form against it, tilting her body in a way that allowed her to loop one leg over the other. The fabric of her skirt fell over her crossed leg, defining and outlining the slender limb in a way that was only possible if she wasn't wearing any petticoats. He swallowed hard at the alluring thought. She brought the brandy to her lips, still looking at him haughtily. Provocative was the first word to pop into his head and the second was tempting, damn tempting.
She took a gulp of the brandy then coughed and sputtered. She doubled over in the chair still holding the glass. Her shoulders shook and Sam for a moment thought she was in pain, but then she looked up, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
“Why do I keep accepting drinks you offer me? They are atrocious.”
Sam chuckled, causing Clara to laugh even harder. Their eyes connected and they smiled at one another. She composed herself and took a smaller sip of the brandy. “So what game are we playing in the Earl of Adderly’s exclusive cardroom?”
“Ahh... you have heard of this place. I wasn’t sure.”
She scoffed at the notion that she wouldn’t know. “Of course, I have. I may be a young lady but even us innocents hear gossip. So, what game do we get to play?”
He flipped the lid off the sizable leather box. Clara leaned forward eagerly. She looked up at him confused and said, “A dissection puzzle? Aren’t those for children?”
~
Clara couldn’t keep the disappointment off her face. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a dissection. He smiled down at her, seemingly amused by her disappointment. He moved towards a chair and took his waist coat off, throwing the garment on another chair. Clara’s eyes widened as he rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and pulled the cravat from around his throat. It was easy to understand why so many ladies were a-flutter over him. His golden hair fell over his forehead and his white shirt emphasized his bronze skin. Her eyes lingered where his cravat had sat before moving down his chest.
“Clara?”
She jerked her eyes back to his. She flushed, horrified she had been ogling him. His lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh. She took a sip of the brandy in front of her and said, “What is the dissection of? A nursery rhyme?”
He dumped the puzzle pieces on the table. “You wound me. I happen to love dissections. This is my own personal one. I have several.”
Clara was shocked. One of the greatest rogues of the times sat at home playing with dissection pieces. She was at a loss for words.
