"I detest losing." Alexandra had always been competitive, but something about Langley’s smug certainty made the prospect of defeat particularly galling.
"Then you should avoid games with me."
She glanced sideways, annoyance flickering sharply beneath her composure. It wasn't just his smugness that irritated her—it was how easily he slipped past her defenses, leaving her feeling dangerously exposed. “You are enjoying this entirely too much."
“Indeed, I am.” He gave a smug grin.
When her next turn resulted in a marginally better placement, he gave a slow, exaggerated clap.
"You’re asking for a bruise, Langley." Alexandra’s pulse quickened irritatingly, and she felt her cheeks warm despite the edge in her voice.
"A love tap from you? Be still, my heart."
The crowd laughed. Wagers were exchanged. Genny was practically bouncing with glee, her delighted laughter ringing out clearly over the murmurs of the crowd. Hattie muttered something about betting double. Arthur, of course, sighed tragically.
As the match continued, it became increasingly clear that he had the edge.
"One last round," he said. "Let’s make it interesting."
Alexandra lifted a brow. "Define 'interesting.'"
"If I win, you owe me a dance. At the Grafton Spring Soirée."
"Absolutely not."
He grinned. "Afraid you'll lose?"
"No. I'm afraid you'll make some dreadful pun about sweeping me off my feet."
"Too late."
"Ugh. Fine. But if I win—you have to leave me alone for the rest of the Season."
"All of it?"
"Every event. No flowerbeds. No flirtations. No wagers.” She held his gaze.
Lord Langly folded his arms, studying her with a glint in his eye. A thrill of uncertainty flickered beneath his confident facade, making his pulse quicken. "Done."
She threw first.
The ball sailed, rolled, curved—and stopped an impressive distance from the jack.
"Better," she said. "Respectable."
He said nothing.
Then he stepped forward, casually, as if the outcome were already written in the stars. His throw was smooth, almost lazy.
The ball rolled.
Right past hers.
Closer. Closer.
It stopped less than an inch from the jack.
There was a collective gasp. Arthur murmured something about destiny. Alexandra felt her cheeks heat, unsure if it was irritation or embarrassment at the audience’s romantic sighs. Hattie cursed under her breath, clearly less enchanted by the spectacle.
