“I knew it. But what could I do? I had the winning cards. I would have won whatever wager was made. You didn’t have to agree to that wager. Samuel would have let you bow out gracefully.”
“I did it for the—”
“Oh, please,” he said, scoffing her. “Have the decency to be an honest drunk. You agreed because it was Brigham Moore who you hoped might hold the winning hand.”
“My father held a full house,” she said a shade haughtily. “Remember? I thought it was very likely that he would win.”
“That may be so, but youhopedBrig would.”
“If you knew that why did you insist on showing your cards? You could have just folded. The pot would have gone to the orphanage just the same.”
“Would it?”
“Of course.” Lydia paused, taking another full swallow. She thought she could acquire a taste for Scotch. “Are you saying Mr. Moore would not have honored that part of the wager?”
The last thing Nathan wanted to do was say anything against Brig. That would surely send her flying into his old friend’s arms. Nathan unbuttoned his evening jacket and pulled out the paper marker in his vest pocket. He leaned forward and held it out to Lydia, letting it dangle between his thumb and forefinger. “Say the word and I’ll put it in the fire.”
Lydia couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. In the library, when he’d won the hand, he’d seemed so pleased with himself. She came to the only conclusion she could. “You don’t want to take me out to dinner at all, do you? You only did it to spite me, because you knew I wanted to go with Mr. Moore.” Belatedly she realized what she’d finally admitted to Nathan Hunter. Her chin lifted a notch. “So? What if Ididwant to have dinner with him at the Cliff House? The wager was his idea, wasn’t it? At leasthewanted to go with me.”
Nathan gave her a hard, steady look. “Do you want me to pitch this in the fire or not?”
“Oh, no, I’m not going to make this easy for you by reneging on my part of the wager. You do with it what you want to do.”
He leaned back, sighing. Her logic confounded him. Nathan hoped it was the alcohol that had her talking in circles. Once they were married he was going to lock the liquor cabinet and carry the key on him. He folded the marker again and put it back in his pocket. “I’m keeping it,” he said. “I’m taking you to the Cliff House tomorrow and I won’t allow you to use your impending hangover as an excuse to get out of it. Your eagerness to go to dinner with Brig is hardly flattering.”
Lydia rolled the tumbler between her palms and stared down at her empty glass. “I’ve been rude. I’m sorry.”
Nathan shrugged.
She looked up to see why he hadn’t answered. He was still watching her closely, his clear gray predator eyes holding her motionless. She refused to repeat her apology, unaware that it had already been acknowledged with practiced indifference. Leaning over the edge of the sofa, Lydia reached for the crystal decanter. “Ooooh,” she said, holding her head as a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I think your rug is spinning, Mr. Hunter.”
“Nathan.”
“Hmm?” She glanced up at him and smiled. “What’s that again?”
“You may call me Nathan…and judging by your grin, I think you’ve had quite enough.”
“Oh, but—”
“Enough.” He moved the decanter back to the sideboard and returned to Lydia’s side in time to catch her tumbler before it dropped to the floor. “How do you like being drunk?” he asked a moment later when Lydia herself slipped off the sofa and onto the floor.
“Am I?” she asked. “Am I really?”
Judging by her voice, Nathan decided she was completely pleased with herself. “You’re about as shikkered as I’ve ever seen a sheila. And you’re going to feel crook come sarvo.”
Lydia knew she was drunk. She’d heard what he’d said and hadn’t understood a word. She frowned up at Nathan, wishing he’d stop towering over her and sit down.
“I said you’re about as drunk as I’ve ever seen a girl, and you’re going to feel terrible by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, I feel fine now,” she said with a sense of practicality. “Except for having to look up at you. It makes my neck ache.”
The long line of Lydia’s throat was completely exposed to Nathan. At his side his fingers itched to close around it and throttle her just once. “I’ll sit down,” he offered.
Lydia patted the floor beside her. “Here.”
“I don’t think—” Her eyes darted down quickly, hurt by his refusal. A moment later he was sitting beside her, his back against the sofa. “It would have been easier,” he said, “if you’d have let me put you back on the sofa.”
“Too high.”
