He did not reply at once, but looked at her through narrowed eyes, as though assessing a horse he suspected might bolt or bite. “These challenges,” he said slowly, “do you mean to win?”
“Most certainly.”
“And if you do?”
“Then you shall owe me far more than a kiss, Mr Deverell.”
It was at that precise moment that Jasper’s thoughts—which were already inclined to unruliness in Miss Tolliver’s presence—descended into a state of utter and irredeemable disarray. Despite the notion being absurd, it was also uncommonly titillating, indeed. It was the most exhilarating and deliciously dangerous wager he had encountered in years.
“Well then.” He lifted his glass in quiet salute, letting his eyes linger on her lips just long enough to make his point. “We must decide upon the first contest. Ladies first.”
She smiled, and then appeared to consider the matter, her head tilting like a cat watching a bird at the window. “Let us begin with what you are least likely to survive.”
He bit his cheek, revealing dimples. “Do continue.”
“Riding,” she said sweetly. “Cross-country. Ashwick Park, before first light. I shall even permit you to choose your mount, though I very much doubt it shall improve your chances.”
“How gracious of you. I shall, of course, best you with ease. Riding is something of a natural talent of mine.”
“How fortunate for you. One does hate to humiliate an opponent entirely.”
He allowed a smile. “As for my own selection… fencing.”
Her brows lifted, pleased. “Ah. Swords at dawn. How very romantic.”
“Sabres. I shall endeavour not to harm your person. Your dignity, however, is beyond my protection.”
“Oh, Mr Deverell,” she said, all lightness and lace. “You are welcome to try. I have been outwitting overconfident men since I could toddle.”
“Then I shall beg for mercy in advance.”
“Certainly,” she said. “You may beg at any point.”
He laughed low.
“I believe it is my turn once more,” she said, tapping a thoughtful finger against her glass. “Since you have claimed fencing.”
“By all means, Miss Tolliver.”
“Cards,” she said. “Vingt-et-un. Quick, and excellent for parting fools from their coin.”
He raised his glass in salute. “A woman after my own heart.”
“Oh, keep it,” she replied breezily. “I’ve no use for hearts. But coin, on the other hand…”
He gave a slow, admiring smile. “You do realise, Miss Tolliver, that it is not too late to withdraw. I should think no less of you.”
“That,” she said, “is precisely why I shall not.”
“Very well. I name the fourth—pistols. Ten paces. Fixed targets. Unless you would prefer a moving one?”
“You truly wish to be reminded of the last time I handled a pistol?”
“I am told Lord Langley still favours his right side.”
“Quite correct,” came Theo’s voice from behind them, as dry as the duke’s port. “And I have no intention of standing within twenty paces of either of you while you are armed.”
Miss Tolliver acknowledged his return with a gracious nod. “I shall do my utmost to aim away from the audience this time.”
