“Have you something in mind, Kate?”
How could she tell him that if she won, she wanted nothing more than to have him vow not to touch her, to quit frightening her in that way? Her tongue seemed to tie itself into knots, and she stood in pained silence. Finally she managed to recall something that she very much wanted. Her words poured out in a rush, “If I win, Julien, I would that you teach me to fence like a man.”
“Ho, I was under the impression that you had already learned all men’s sports from Harry.”
“Ah, Harry, he’s a clod with a rapier. I butchered him at the second lesson. You should have seen the look on his face. I thought he would cry there for a while. You, my lord, you are somewhat skilled, are you not?”
“Somewhat, my dear, somewhat.”
“You’re not exaggerating? As one of the dandy set—”
“Corinthian,” he said very gently.
“Are they not the same thing? You are concerned only with your own pursuits, your own pleasures.”
“Now that you’re my wife, I’m very much concerned with your pleasure as well. But let us cry peace. If you do not mind, ring for our host for a pack of cards.”
Once presented with a rather grimy, well-used deck of cards, Julien rose and held out a chair for Kate. She seated herself at the small table Julien had arranged near the fire and began with a good deal of skill to shuffle the deck.
Julien sat down across from her and found that he couldn’t help admiring her green eyes, glowing with excitement, and her auburn hair, shimmering with soft lights from the gentle light of the fire. He tore his gaze away from her face, only to find himself acutely aware of the gentle rise and fall of her breasts against the soft material of her gown. He didn’t notice the gravy stain.
“Three rubbers, Kate? We will total points at the end to determine the winner.”
She nodded in agreement and extended the shuffled cards toward him. “Would you care to cut for the deal, Julien?”
“Yes, certainly.”
In a practiced move she fanned the cards on the table toward him. He turned up the jack of hearts. She perused the cards for a moment and flipped over the king of diamonds. Her eyes sparkled. “My king wins, sir.”
She played the first several hands carefully, making a concerted effort to assess Julien’s skill. As not a great number of points were scored, she found it difficult at the end of the first game to be certain of his abilities.
The rubber went to her, and although there were not much more than a hundred points to her credit, she began to feel more sure of herself. It seemed to her that Julien was an overcautious player, particularly in his discards. She decided that he was much too conservative.
During the second rubber, the luck seemed to run evenly between them, and since Julien didn’t give her overt reason to change her opinion of his play, she began to take small chances, risking a gain of substantial points by relying on her instincts. The rubber went to him, but again the points weren’t great and she consoled herself that it was only a mild setback. But as she dealt the cards, she was bothered that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he’d won. He must have held the better cards after all. She allowed only a slight frown to pass over her forehead as she cut the deck to him.
“A glass of claret?”
“No, not for me. I must keep my wits about me. You’re playing well, Julien, and I just don’t understand it.”
“I daresay you will understand very soon now.”
During the third rubber, she found, hand after hand, that she failed to defeat his major holdings because of his careful and studied retention of some small card. She quickly changed her opinion of his skill, for he seemed to calculate odds to perfection, curse his hide. He played his cards decisively, no longer ruminating over discards, and it appeared to her that he had the disconcerting trick of summing up her hands with an accuracy that made her wonder bitterly if he could see through the cards. She threw caution to the wind and began to gamble on slim chances, discarding small cards for the chance of picking up an ace or a king. Her confidence plummeted, her nerves grew taut. It annoyed her no end that he appeared so repulsively casual and relaxed. The third rubber ended quickly when, in the final hand, Julien spread out his hand, all save one card, and said gently, “I trust my quint is good.”
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