The color remained but a smile spread across her face. “All right. But I can’t wait to see what it’s like when youdoforget yourself.” The look she shot him over her shoulder was pure wickedness and went straight to his loins.
Paul realized in that instant that he was an incredibly lucky man. Given that the preceding years had been ones of aimless wandering, loneliness and no small amount of anger at the circumstances causing his situation, he’d come about remarkably well.
He had reconnected with a sister who had always stood by him, discovered he now had a family by default—the Ridlingtons—and over the last weeks it had been Harry who had walked quietly into his life and turned it upside down.
He couldn’t remember a time when his thoughts had been so in tune with a woman. Or when their conversations, their interactions, their kisses…everything to do with her…it all feltright.
There was no second-guessing this decision. Fate may have pushed marriage onto them both, but he knew in his heart he would not have said yes if he hadn’t wanted her as his wife. And he sensed that Harry’s acceptance might well be based on the same sentiments. She was not a woman to be swayed by circumstance into an action she might later regret.
She had a lot of courage. She’d walked away from a frightening and threatening situation into a future that could have been an even worse disaster. But she’d chosen her own path, and she trod it with determination.
He wanted to tread that path at her side. And then to forge a new path for both of them.
The bell rang and he sighed. It was the parlor; he knew the gentlemen would be ready for their after-dinner brandy, perhaps a cigar or two, and cards.
The tray was ready, so he picked it up, making sure there were glasses, brandy and a few tapers if cigars were on the agenda. Passing the staff sitting room, he popped his head around the door and nodded at a footman who awaited the order to clear away the dishes.
“Thanks, lad,” said Paul as he shouldered his way into the parlor. “Once this is cleared, you can go off to bed.”
He got a broad smile in response, and the dishes were cleared with extraordinary efficiency.
“Would you like your brandy now, sirs?”
“By all means,” said the Earl.
“Cards, Vernwood? Ambrose? Fancy a few hands of something?” Sir Farren watched Paul light a taper from the fire and cross the room to hold it to Ambrose’s cigar. “I wouldn’t be averse to a throw or two of Hazard?”
“I’d be most pleased to enjoy a rubber of whist,” said the Earl, “If we can make up the numbers.” Then he glanced at Paul. “So, Paul. You seem like an educated chap, rather more so than the usual butler, I’m happy to say. Don’t supposeyouplay whist at all, do you?”
Paul, who had played most of the crowned heads of Russia in his day, not to mention relieving several members of the German diplomatic corps of some of their fortunes, modestly dropped his eyes. “I have played a time or two, my Lord.”
“Well then, that’s perfect,” declared Ambrose. “We will be quite disregarding of your position in the household, Paul, since we need a body in that seat. You may make a fourth.”
Quite by accident, the Earl’s gaze met Paul’s. “I’ll be happy to partner you, since I have no opinion of your position in the household to disregard.”
Paul’s lips twitched. “The honour will be mine, my Lord. Allow me a few moments to set up the table.”
By mutual accord, actual money was replaced by the dried beans Paul located in the pantry. Since this was an informal country game, such license was allowed, even though Sir Ambrose muttered a little about spoiling his chances of relieving the Earl of his fortune.
“Now Ambrose,” scolded Sir Farren. “Look at it this way. You won’t have to face your debtors or write any promissory notes if all you lose is your beans.”
That statement struck them all as mightily amusing and thus the game began with the competitors in good humor.
That situation could easily have slipped into animosity, however, as the rubbers progressed.
Paul rapidly understood that the Earl was also a player of no mean brilliance, and between the two of them they took the first book and the first rubber handily. A complete grasp of the concepts and a pleasure in the strategies of the game maintained their lead during the second rubber, and only the constant topping up of brandy glasses kept Sir Ambrose and Sir Farren from becoming testy about their losses.
The Earl himself was grinning hugely as they swept the table to take the third rubber and rob their opponents of every single bean.
“A good hand, Paul. My thanks.”
“All due to your skill, my Lord.”
Sir Ambrose was frowning at his glass. “I must have drunk an inordinate amount. I never lose quite this badly…”
Sir Farren shrugged. “See? I knew you’d be happy we were only playing for beans.”
“Point taken,” sighed Sir Ambrose. He stood. “I’m going to put my awful play down to the fact that my two lucky muses aren’t here to inspire my play.” He scratched beneath his chin. “Time for me to go and make sure they’re settled.” His grin was just shy of unpleasantly lecherous.
