“Thank you,” Hugo said.
The door closed.
For one suspended second, neither of them moved.
Then Lily burst into helpless laughter.
Hugo looked down at himself, then at the cards scattered across the carpet, then at her abandoned gloves and shawl. “I believe,” he said gravely, “we have lost control of the game.”
“You think?”
“I also believe my footman will never respect me again.”
“He will respect your commitment to rules.”
“My trousers are on the floor.”
“Yes.” She wiped at the corner of her eye, still laughing. “That may complicate matters.”
Hugo bent to retrieve them, then stopped and looked at her. “You do realize we now have half an hour to make ourselves presentable.”
Lily glanced at the scattered clothing, the ruined cards, his bare chest, and the expression on his face.
“Half an hour is not very long.”
“No,” he agreed, stepping closer again. “It is not.”
“Hugo.”
“Yes?”
“We have to dress for dinner.”
“We do.” He kissed her once, softly. “At once.”
He kissed her again.
“Hugo.”
“I am beginning immediately.” Another kiss, this one lingering. “I am simply starting with morale.”
She laughed against his mouth and pushed lightly against his chest. “Trousers first, Your Grace.”
He sighed as though she had asked him to surrender a kingdom. “You are a cruel woman.”
“And you are a Duke in his smallclothes with a dining room expecting him.”
“That is the least romantic thing you have ever said to me.”
“It is also true.”
He caught her hand, kissed her knuckles, and gave her a wicked smile. “Very well. Dinner first.”
“Good.”
“But after dinner,” he said, reaching at last for his trousers, “we are finishing the game.”
Lily gathered her gloves with as much dignity as she could manage. “Then I shall insist on revised rules.”
