"Are you always this chatty during a game, Your Grace?" she asked, risking a glance in his direction only to be met with a smirk.
"Getting to know your opponent and engaging in a bit of verbal sparring—well, that's half the game's enjoyment," he commented, resulting in several nods from the table.
"Isee," Daphne seethed, quietly.
He leaned over slightly, pretending to fix his cuff and whispered in a low voice that only she could hear. "Besides, you and I bothknow I will win this. I might as well enjoy myself until we reach the finish line."
The absolute smugness in his voice –god, it was infuriating.It snapped something inside of Daphne, and suddenly, her sister's advice was thrown out the window.
She sat up straighter in her chair, all too aware of the quickened pace of her heart and a renewed burning spirit injected inside of her.
The final round approached, and Daphne allowed herself to play to her true capabilities for the first time that evening.
As the dealer shuffled the cards, Daphne sat straighter, her focus sharpening. She glanced at Ambrose, who was watching her with that same lazy, self-assured smile. He thought he had her pinned, that this was just another game he'd win effortlessly.
Not this time.
The cards were dealt, and as Daphne picked up her hand, a flicker of excitement ran through her. It was a strong hand—perhaps her best of the night.
As the round progressed, the other players folded one by one, until it was just her and Ambrose left at the table.
The air grew tense, the other guests leaning in slightly to watch the final play unfold. Daphne ignored Joyce' concerned expression – she had all but forgotten about her advice.
"Time is ticking, lady Daphne," Ambrose said, amused. It still did not occur to him that she could beat him. "I see luck is favoring you well this round."
But Daphne still had an ace up her sleeve. "There is nothing lucky about it, Your Grace. I would have hope that a player of your caliber would recognize it for what it is – pureskill."
Her tone had a biting edge to it, and Ambrose leaned forward on the table – perhaps taking her seriously for the first time that night.
"Well, Lady Daphne," he drawled, "I do hope you've saved your best for last."
Daphne met his gaze, her lips curving into a faint smile. "As a matter of fact, I have."
With deliberate precision, she laid down her final card, completing her hand—a perfect winning combination.
She did it.She won!
"There!" she blurted out, slamming one of her fists on the table, her voice louder than she had intended, "See that? I've won!"
An immediate and awkward silence settled over the table, and Daphne could see some of the ladies turn to whisper in each other's' ears. Her initial triumph transformed into horror, as regret set upon her.
Oh no.
A few of the other guests chuckled lightly, but the damage had been done. She did exactly the opposite of what was expected of her – this was no way for a lady to act.
In her embarrassment, she glanced around the room – wondering if Richard had witnessed her little outburst but he was nowhere to be found.
Instead, her eyes met Ambrose's. He wasn't laughing. In fact, he wasn't even smiling. He was watching her, a strange intensity in his gaze that made her stomach flip.
"Congratulations, Lady Daphne," Ambrose said quietly. "It seems you've bested me."
Daphne felt her breath catch, the moment far more charged than she had anticipated.
Across the table, the men exchanged knowing looks, smiles tugging at their lips. It wasn't just about her winning—it was about thewayshe had won. Her excitement, her lack of restraint, her triumphant exclamation—it had been too loud, too eager. Not at all the calm, graceful reaction expected of a lady.
She caught a glimpse of one of the women at the next table—Lady Rosalind—her perfectly poised smile barely concealing the amusement dancing in her eyes.She's laughing at me,Daphne realized.
"I think I shall retire for the evening," Daphne said abruptly, "It's been a... long day."
