LITMIR.BIZ

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      “You know how to play cassino?” the other gentleman asked as he dealt each of the players four cards.

      “She had better,” the dowager said tartly. “I’m too old to explain the rules.”

      Once the hands had been dealt, the dealer laid out four more cards in the center of the table—the queen of clubs, the four of diamonds, the seven of spades, and the ace of hearts. Tamsyn studied her cards.

      She’d negotiated more than one shipment of smuggled goods over card games in smoky taprooms. Surely playing against these stiff necks was easier.

      The gentleman opened by setting the three of diamonds atop the four. “Sevens,” he announced. Tamsyn remembered that this was known as building.

      Next was Lord Blakemere. He laid the two of hearts on the seven. “Nines.”

      Clearly, then, he held a nine, and hoped no one would capture it before he had a chance to.

      The dowager grumbled as she set down the jack of clubs, unable to build or capture anything with the card.

      Now it was Tamsyn’s turn. She set the nine of diamonds atop the earl’s pile of cards. “Nines,” she announced.

      He gazed at her with curiosity that gave way to admiration. She could have captured the build, but instead, she left it for him to take. It wasn’t unheard of for partners to assist each other in game play, but it seemed evident he was surprised she wanted to bolster him. They would both benefit when it came time to tally points, yet by helping him capture the build, she employed strategy.

      And he liked her for it.

      The other gentleman captured his sevens, and then Lord Blakemere captured the nines. As he did, he sent Tamsyn a slow-burning look. If we’re this good together at the card table, his gaze seemed to promise, imagine what we’d be like in bed.

      The cards became slippery in her damp palms. She’d met her share of country scoundrels, braggarts who were crude in their attempts to woo her. It was easy to dismiss their thinly veiled efforts to get her to lift her skirts because they wanted only their own gratification—she was just a means to an end.

      With Lord Blakemere’s knowing looks, however, her blood felt hot, gathering warmth in secret places. She forgot the other people at their table, and in the room.

      He offered so much more with just his gaze. He guaranteed not just his pleasure, but hers, as well. Hours of it.

      God above, but he was a rake of the first water. The men she’d known in Cornwall were mere awkward, fumbling boys compared to him, and it didn’t appear that he was even trying that hard to impress her. He simply was. How intoxicating.

      The card game continued, with play following a similar pattern. Sometimes the earl helped her capture a build, and sometimes she came to his aid. They worked together seamlessly, give and take, and every time he gazed at her with greater and greater appreciation. With each look, Tamsyn felt flushed and powerfully aware of herself as a woman. She saw how his eyes lingered on her mouth or the curve of her neck, sometimes dipping even lower to follow the neckline of her gown—as though he was entranced by what he saw.

      This is what a siren feels like.

      He was clearly too fond of women to believe in fidelity. Perhaps he would be so distracted bringing willing females into his bed that he’d pay his wife no mind. And when the vast fortune was his, he’d hardly notice the cost of buying a run-down manor in Cornwall.

      He’d make for a truly terrible husband.

      I have to marry him.

      At last, the game ended, and the points totaled.

      “Blast it,” the dowager muttered.

      “We win,” Tamsyn said, blinking with surprise. She’d been too caught up in the moment, and him, to notice the actual play of the game. But she collected herself enough to say, as Lord Blakemere handed Tamsyn her share of the winnings, “Oh no, you keep it.”

      His brows rose. “The prize belongs to both of us,” he said with surprise.

      “I only wanted to play for amusement,” she demurred, though she couldn’t manage to sound coy. It wasn’t the truth, but saying, “I played to flirt with you,” wasn’t very strategic.

      “Are you certain?” he pressed, his voice low and seductive. He leaned closer to her, and she felt her cheeks flush in response to his nearness.

      “I am a woman who knows my own mind, my lord,” she answered pertly.

      His grin was sudden, white, and dazzling. She—a woman who’d never fainted once in her life—grew dizzy from his smile, and wanted to lean into him.

      No wonder he possessed such a reputation. What woman could resist his charm? “And I’m too much of a rogue to persuade you to change your mind.” He tucked his winnings into his coat. “We make a good partnership,” he murmured in a deep voice. “Shall we play again?”

       Oh, yes.

      “Tamsyn!” a disapproving feminine voice said behind her.

      Turning in her chair, Tamsyn fixed Lady Daleford with a cheerful smile, which was difficult to maintain in the face of censure. “You’ve found me,” Tamsyn said brightly.

      “So I did.” Lady Daleford eyed the earl guardedly. “I find myself fatigued. It’s time we head home.”

      Tamsyn’s chest constricted. She wasn’t ready to leave yet. Not when things with the earl seemed so promising. On many levels.

      But first and foremost, she had to think logically. Though she had attracted Lord Blakemere’s interest, she feared it wasn’t enough to warrant him calling on her. He’d found other women wanting as potential brides. Why should she be different?

      I can only be myself. That had to be enough.

      Rising from her chair, Tamsyn looked at him with frankness. “I enjoyed our game.”

      “The feeling is reciprocated,” he answered, standing. His movements were economical but smooth. He had command over his body.

      They stood close. Far closer than was respectable. She had an aching awareness of the breadth of his shoulders and the way his evening clothes skimmed over his muscles. The earl was a soldier still, after two years of peace.

      A small frown appeared between his brows, as though he was attempting to puzzle through an enigma. “Might I—”

      “Now, Tamsyn,” Lady Daleford said in a clipped tone, already heading for the door.

      Damn and hell, Tamsyn thought. Throwing Lord Blakemere a regretful look, she followed her companion out, though she could practically hear her body cry out, Wait! Go back!

      Had she been successful? Was he intrigued enough to call on her? But she hadn’t given him leave to, nor had she told him where she was staying.

      It seemed all she could do now was hope.

      Kit’s eyes followed the intriguing Miss Tamsyn Pearce as she hurried out of the card room. He liked the way she moved with long, purposeful strides rather than using tiny, dainty steps. It wasn’t difficult to picture her tramping over wild, rolling countryside with her cheeks reddened by the wind, unconcerned by the mud edging the hem of her plain gown. He could well imagine that she was the sort of woman who needed to do something rather than restrict herself to being decorative.

      He couldn’t deny his visceral reaction to her, either. Even now he felt the hot grip of desire, which had been heightened all the more by the seamless way in which they had played together. It had been a rhythmic give-and-take that had primed his body and excited his mind.

      If nothing else, they would be a good match in bed. He knew this with a bodily certitude, an innate recognition of her sensual potential.

      Was

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