Page 4 of A Game of Hearts

“Is exactly what she appears to be. Warm, genuine, intelligent... and quite capable of keeping you on your toes, I’d wager.”

“That is hardly a recommendation.”

“Isn’t it?” James grinned. “When was the last time anyone challenged you? Made you question your assumptions? Besides me, of course.”

Nathaniel found himself remembering Miss Everton’s arch comment about his sensibilities. Despite himself, his lips twitched.

“She is... quick-witted, I’ll grant you that.”

“And beautiful. And well-born. And...” James broke off as Lord Radmill approached. “Ah, Radmill! I was just telling my brother how fortunate he is in his lottery partner.”

“Indeed?” The Earl of Radmill’s expression suggested that he thought otherwise. “I would have thought my daughter, Lady Anne, a more suitable match. She has always moved in the very highest circles, you know.”

Nathaniel stiffened at the barely veiled hint.

“The lottery is merely for entertainment, my Lord. I doubt many lasting matches have resulted from it.”

“Though it does have an interesting way of throwing people together,” James mused. “I find myself quite looking forward to partnering Lady Beatrice.”

The conversation turned to other topics, but Nathaniel found his thoughts returning to Miss Everton. She had stood up to his criticism without losing her composure - that showed strength of character, at least. And James was right about one thing - she was genuine. There was nothing artificial in her manner, unlike some...

He caught himself. This line of thinking was dangerous. Miss Everton’s genuine nature made her more of a risk, not less. Someone who followed their impulses without considering consequences could cause no end of trouble. He had seen it happen before.

Still, as he bid goodnight to his brother and made his way to his assigned bedchamber, he couldn’t quite banish the memory of those remarkable violet eyes, sparking with challenge. Tomorrow would certainly prove... interesting.

A tap at his door preceded the entrance of his valet.

“Shall I assist you in preparing for bed?”

“No, thank you, Staples. I believe that I can manage.”

Once alone, Nathaniel found himself standing at his window, much as he had in the library. The grounds of Pelham Hall stretched out before him, perfectly maintained even in winter. Order. Structure. Everything in its proper place. That was what society needed - what he had fought to protect during his years in the Navy.

So why did he find himself wondering what Miss Everton might say about such rigid arrangements? Would she prefer the wildness of unconstrained nature? He could almost hear her voice suggesting that perhaps a few flowers breaking ranks might improve the view.

Irritated with himself, he turned away from the window. This would not do at all. Miss Everton was his assigned partner for the house party activities, nothing more. That she had sparked his curiosity was irrelevant. That she had made him question his own rigid standards, even for a moment, was dangerous. He had seen what happened when people let their hearts rule their heads. One of his own cousins had nearly ruined herself through such foolishness. If he hadn’t been there to interrupt that scandalous elopement...

No. Better to maintain proper distance. Miss Everton might resent his correction of her behaviour, but better that than disaster. He would simply have to be on his guard - against her quick wit, against that sparkle in her eyes when she challenged him, against the way that her dark red curls caught the light... Nathaniel shook himself. Clearly, he needed sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, and he would need all of his wits about him to maintain proper behaviour with such an unpredictable partner.

Yet as he lay in his bed, sleep proved elusive. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Miss Everton’s face - not as she had looked when angry with him, but as she had been when he first entered the dining room, her expression full of joy and anticipation. Before he had spoiled her evening with his criticism.

Perhaps, he admitted to himself in the darkness, he had been a touch too severe...

Chapter Two

Emma stared at the paper before her, fighting the urge to crumple it into a ball and throw it at Lord Limnwood’s perfectly proper head. His latest attempt at a Valentine’s verse was technically perfect in metre and rhyme, and utterly devoid of any real feeling.

“Perhaps, my Lord,” she managed, keeping her voice steady, “we might attempt something a touch more... heartfelt?”

He looked up from where he sat opposite her at the small writing desk, his grey eyes cool.

“The verses are perfectly adequate, Miss Everton. They follow all the proper forms.”

“That is precisely the problem.” The words escaped before she could stop them. “They’re adequate. Proper. And completely bloodless.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I see. And what would you suggest? Something wild and inappropriate, no doubt?”