Olivia pulled the cherrywood table toward the chaise. It was not the proper size or shape for what she wanted to demonstrate, but she would make do. She stood on the opposite side of the table and began shuffling the cards.
It took her a few moments to find her rhythm. The cards were well used, slightly thick because of it, with corners that snagged and faces that did not easily slide against one another. She was also badly out of practice. Twice the cards fluttered from her hands, making her feel gauche and clumsy.
Griffin’s cup hovered halfway between his lap and his mouth as he gave over all of his attention to Olivia Cole. Her long, elegantly tapered fingers moved and manipulated with a speed and deftness that his eyes could not easily follow. Even when some of the cards escaped her hands, she shoveled them up with the remainder of the deck in a fashion so smooth as to give the impression the initial fumbling was deliberate.
He put his cup aside and leaned forward. She tapped the deck on the table, squaring it off, then fanned it open, first with the back of the cards showing, then again with the pips and faces turned up. She did this several times, flipping the cards back and forth with a flick of her wrist.
When she paused, he glanced up and caught her frowning. “What is it?” he asked.
“Will you look under the chaise? The four of hearts and the queen of clubs are missing from this deck.”
He did not inquire as to how she could possibly know that—she’d neither sorted nor counted the cards—but when he felt around under the chaise his fingertips caught the edges of two cards. He picked them up and laid them face up on the table. The four of hearts and the queen of clubs.
“You purposely left them behind when you picked up the rest of the deck,” he said.
Olivia drew the two cards toward her and slipped them into the deck. “You know I didn’t examine the cards when they were under the chaise. I couldn’t see them properly.” She handed him the deck. “Take as few or as many as you like.” She turned her back and waited.
Griffin removed one card and slipped it under the tray at his side without looking at it. He slid the deck toward her again. “All right.”
Olivia pivoted, picked up the cards, and resumed shuffling. They stuck occasionally, and she had to adjust the pressure of her hands and fingers to compensate. She spread the cards in a perfect arch on the table, flipped them once, flipped them back, and gathered them up again.
“The six of spades,” she said.
Griffin lifted one edge of the tray and slipped the card free. He glanced at it before pushing it across the table toward her. “The six of spades.”
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Did you suppose that if you examined it beforehand you might give it away? I should very much like to see what expression of yours hints at the six of spades.”
He scowled at her.
“Really? I confess I would have mistaken that for one of the knaves. A diamond, mayhap, or a heart.”
“Amusing,” he said in a tone that communicated the opposite.
Olivia tried to school her smile but it would not be tempered. It was only when she realized that she was enjoying herself that it faded. Her hands grew clumsy again and she lost several cards. She flinched, turning her head and raising one shoulder a fraction, then dropped a small curtsy and offered an apology for her awkward handling of the cards.
“Why did you do that?” Griffin asked.
“Do what?” She attended to her shuffling and did not look at him.
“Make that bow and apologize.”
“Did I?” Olivia divided the deck and nimbly worked the halves between her fingers, passing them back and forth between her hands. “I didn’t realize.”
“Yes, when you dropped the cards.” He inclined his head to one side to try to catch her eye and was left with the impression she was purposely ignoring him. “Just after you drew back.”
“I couldn’t say,” she told him. “I don’t recall doing it.”
Griffin chose not to press. He knew what he had seen and did not question the accuracy of his perception. She had anticipated a blow. That was the only reason people started in the manner she had. The lift of her shoulder was instinctive, a protection against a strike that was aimed at a more vulnerable point, perhaps her chin or cheek.
He returned his attention to her manipulation of the cards. She was remarkably smooth given the dog-eared condition of the deck she was using. There was rarely a hesitation; her initial stiffness was gone. She now was able to look away from her hands and still complete the cutting and turning of the cards without mishap. She had the sort of dexterity that would have enabled her to force any card on him that she desired. What she did, however, was slide the deck forward and ask him to make a cut.
Olivia took back the deck and laid out thirteen cards in two rows, ace through king, all of them spades. In the first row the ace was on her left, the six on the right. The seven of spades lay at the head, perpendicular to the two rows, and the remaining six cards, the eight through the king, had a one-to-one correspondence with the cards in the first row.
“That is the layout of a faro table,” Griffin said.
“It is. I assume you have one in your hell.”
“Of course.”
