“My turn,” Harriet, who sat on Callum’s left, said with a chuckle. She put down the four of Spades. Callum tried not to smile at his sister, who had never been particularly lucky in card games.
Miss Rothwell wordlessly produced the two of Spades, and Callum wanted to whistle. She doubtless had strong cards, but she was not playing them because he had played a strong oneand so she did not have to. If he won, their partnership won a point regardless.
She clearly does have some talent at this, he thought.
“Dash it all,” Mr Rothwell cursed mildly and threw down the three. They all laughed.
The game continued. Callum put down the four of Diamonds, just because he had it and to see what would happen. Beside him, Harriet threw down the ten of Diamonds, grinning in triumph. Across the table, Miss Rothwell calmly played the King of Diamonds. Mr Rothwell whistled.
“I say!” he said loudly. “You win again,” he added, producing the nine of Diamonds and putting it on the pile.
Callum glanced across at Miss Rothwell. She was looking down at her cards as if she was keeping track of the deck. When she looked up at him, her hazel eyes were bright. His lip lifted in a half-smile. Her gaze darted back to the cards. Warmth spread through him—perhaps she was not quite as indifferent as he thought.
It was his turn again, and he played the ten of Clubs. This time, Harriet produced the King of Clubs, raising a brow at him in a teasing challenge. Miss Rothwell produced a low-ranking card in the same suit, and then Mr Rothwell did so likewise, grinning at Harriet. Harriet’s smile lit the room.
“Our turn to win a point,” Mr Rothwell commented.
Callum said nothing, just looked at his cards to decide what to play next.
Their team won the next two rounds, and then Harriet and Mr Rothwell won two. Callum risked a glance across the table. Miss Rothwell studied her cards, her lip lifted in a half-smile that took his breath away. The light from the nearby candles glowed on her hair, making it the colour of fresh pale honey. He bit his lip, a feeling of intense longing washing through him.
“Your Grace?” Mr Rothwell said from beside him. Callum blinked, then tried not to swear. He had almost forgotten it was his turn.
He chose a card fairly randomly and winced as his sister’s card beat it. He glanced at Miss Rothwell and saw that she was focusing intently. He grinned as she placed a card that beat Harriet’s.
“Dash it!” Mr Rothwell swore and threw down a low card onto the pile.
They all chuckled. Miss Rothwell glanced across the table at Callum and the bright, mischievous twinkle in her eye made him suck in a breath. For the first time, she was looking at him with warmth in her eyes.
Callum beamed. It was only as his grin stretched across his face that he realised what he was doing and hastily his face resumed its reserved look.
“You have five points, and we have three,” Mr Rothwell commented, noting down the scores. “Technically, you have won.”
This time, when Miss Rothwell grinned at him, he could not help grinning back. Her smile was full of joy, and he could not ignore it.
Her gaze held his and he stared back, feeling as though he was being drowned in the tawny depths of her eyes. He gazed into them, and it was only when Mr Rothwell pushed back his chair to stand that he realised the rest of the players were moving. He pushed back his chair hastily, cheeks heating with a blush.
“That was well played,” Mr Rothwell was saying to Harriet, who smiled shyly at him. Callum, seeing the sweet look that passed between them, decided not to reprimand her. Mr Rothwell was not exactly low-ranking—he was the son of aviscount—and besides the fact that the fellow grated on his nerves a little, there was no reason to object.
Miss Rothwell was standing a foot away from him. Her gaze was downcast. He cleared his throat.
“Well done,” he said.
She lifted her eyes to his and he stared into the depths of them. He felt helpless, unable to look away, and strangely, he did not wish to either. He longed to stand with her, to stare into her eyes, to forget everything else—the room, the guests, the presence of his mother not too far away. Someone coughed in a way that suggested they wanted his attention, and he turned around to find Lord Bronham standing there. He struggled not to glare at the fellow.
“My lord?” he greeted him politely.
“Your mother sent me to ask you a question,” Lord Bronham said lightly. He nodded to Miss Rothwell, but did not do more by way of a greeting. “She wished to ask you if you recalled in what year the estate acquired Newford Acres?”
Callum looked away, feeling annoyed. He knew his mother was trying to distract him, trying to get him to stand with her and the earl. He struggled to recall the time when the small windfall of land, called Newford Acres, had come to them.
“It was three years ago,” he recalled.
He was about to tell Lord Bronham to take the answer back to Mama, but then he spotted his mother drifting over and he tensed, knowing that he could not put it off any longer—she expected him to stand and talk to her, and he could not refuse anymore. He bowed to Miss Rothwell, who was looking around as if she wanted to escape.
“Please excuse me, Miss Rothwell,” he said politely. “My mother wishes to speak to me.”
“Of course,” she said softly.
