He set down his hand and said, “Well done, Mrs. Hartford.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That makes me sound dreadfully old.” She gathered up their cards and handed them to him. “Shall we play again?”
As he shuffled them, he asked, “How old are you?”
“Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her age?”
He chuckled. “This coming from a woman who told me I was the devil for writing with my left hand.”
She sniffed. “Very well. I will give you that.” She eyed him warily and then admitted, “I will be turning forty years next month. On July twelfth, to be precise.”
He paused in his shuffling. “You were born on the Battle of the Boyne?”
She lifted her chin. “While I can’t claim anything quite so extravagant as a victory to celebrate the Protestant King William of Orange and his defeat over Catholic King James of England and Scotland, I still consider it a victory that I’ve made it this far in life, as most girls that had to endure the hardships I have did not make it far into adulthood.”
He regarded her steadily. “I feel quite lucky to be here with you.”
He saw her breath catch. As he looked into those moss green eyes, it was as if he could see straight through into her soul, and he could tell it unnerved her.
“Would you like me to deal this time?”
She jumped slightly, and then blinked. “Of course.” And then she tried to cover her sudden inattention with a slight rejoinder. “It does seem only fair since I won the last hand.”
His offered a lopsided grin that many women had claimed was entirely too charming for a marauder. “You may not have the same fortune a second time.”
She squared her shoulders. “I suppose we’ll see.”
Devin decided that it was time to play a bit more ruthless. And he didn’t have to cheat to do it. At least, not with the cards in his grasp.
No, he had something a bit more underhanded in mind when it came to the alluring Mrs. Hartford.
“Mmm.” He brushed a thumb along his lower lip as he looked at his cards, pretending to be engrossed in his next play. When he laid down a card, he made sure to set it down a bit too far, so that he would have to brush her hand to retrieve it. “Pardon me,” he said huskily, as he set the stray card on the stack.
She cleared her throat and he thought the color rose slightly in her cheeks. “That’s… um, quite all right.”
Devin was starting to enjoy himself even more than before. He had to keep his smile from widening when he suddenly winced.
“What is it?” she asked, a lovely little crease forming between her brows.
“Nothing, really.” He moved his shoulder and made sure to rub the muscles of his bare arm. His ploy worked for her attention was instantly drawn there.
She visibly swallowed. “Can I do anything?”
He held out his arm. “Be my guest. It just seems a little… stiff.”
“Ah…” She swallowed down whatever else she’d been about to say and tentatively set down her cards, face down, and reached out to touch him. After a brief, gentle exploration that unsettled both of them, she drew away and said, “Everything seems to be perfect… ah, in perfect working order to me.”
“Just some sore muscles from disuse then,” he said and shrugged. He noticed, however, that she merely nodded her head. As she turned her attention back to her hand, he was sure that she wasn’t as intent on the cards as she was before, but rather more attuned to him.
Needless to say, this game just got a lot more interesting.
Well, this game just got a lot more interesting…
Constance wasn’t oblivious to what Mr. Blackmore was doing, as she hadn’t been a naïve girl for many years.
And yet…
The way he’d brushed his fingers against her hand—a burst of sensation like nothing she’d ever experienced before had shot across her skin. And his sudden attack of sore muscles? That was merely a ploy to draw her attention to his firmly toned physique, and drat if it hadn’t worked marvelously.
