“Yes, I believe I will.”
Something was wrong. Marlowe had yet to determine exactly what it was, but she felt the tenseness in Langdon down to the marrow of her bones.
He sat across from her, Hollie beside her, just as they’d been that fateful night when he’d changedout his cards. But she didn’t think that whatever was amiss had anything at all to do with the wagers being made.
Was he upset that she hadn’t given him the smile that would invite him to kiss her? She didn’t know why she hadn’t. Her mouth was healed enough, and her entire body had fairly been singing with joy at the sight of him. She’d had to curb her delight to keep a smile from bursting forth, from showing her giddiness that he was so near she could detect his unique fragrance even in a room clouded with smoke.
Perhaps because she couldn’t take her eyes from him, was aware of every move, she was able to perceive that he was not at all comfortable as cards were dealt, studied, cast aside, and replaced. His motions weren’t lackadaisical as they’d been before, his posture not relaxed. He appeared brittle, as though at any moment something inside him could break off.
But more than that was the hesitancy, the uncertainty, every time he revealed his hand. And he was always revealing it because he never folded.
When he laid down his cards for all to see, he waited. Waited for someone else to scoop up the winnings from the center of the table. Waited for moans and groans and the winnings to remain untouched for several heartbeats before leaning forward to gather them up.
In the past, he’d toss down his cards with confidence, and a bit of cockiness, to be honest, before quickly claiming his winnings. Sometimes she’d thought he knew what everyone was holding before they exposed their hands.
When he’d lost, he’d shown his cards with the same confidence but a negligent shrug of a shoulder as if to say,It’s of no importance.
None of that arrogance was visible tonight. There was almost a timidity about him.
“I say, Langdon, as it’s only the two of us left, let’s make this interesting, shall we?”
Hollie’s words jerked her out of her reverie. She knew that tone. It never boded well.
“You wager all the money you have left, there”—Hollie nodded toward the far side of the table—“and I’ll wager that you can spend the hours until dawn with my mistress.”
Langdon’s gaze sought out hers and held. She wanted to object, smack Hollie on the shoulder, remind him that he’d promised not to do this—and yet she desperately wanted those hours with Langdon. She was nearly frantic striving to determine why he was acting so differently. She wanted to give him that smile that would result in a kiss that would drop her to her knees. Why hadn’t she given it to him before? Why had she felt bashful, like an untried debutante?
She was on the cusp of her world changing, but it could never be what she dreamed of with him. It couldn’t be forever. A reworked version of Sophie’s words echoed through her head.The only way to have the man she loved.She wished it were different but then her father had taught her that wishes had no value. As a result, she was a realist. She could look at a problem straight on and make the tough choices.
She could findsomehappiness, if not total joy.For a while he could grace her life. But eventually they’d both have to move on.
“I accept your terms,” Langdon said, his tone one of a man who’d already been defeated, a soldier on a battlefield drawing his sword, knowing it would be the last time.
She dropped her gaze to his cards, striving to catch sight of the sleight of hand that would result in his winning, because now was the moment when he could signal that he’d regretted climbing back into his carriage and leaving her alone at her residence. Now was the opportunity for him to be alone with her one more time. How often could they haveone more time?
Hollie tossed down his cards, face up, even though she didn’t think he was supposed to display his hand first. She’d never really paid much attention to the finer rules of this game.
She darted a quick look. A pair of jacks.
Holding her breath, she gave her attention back to Langdon and waited, his movements slowed as if he waded through treacle. Everyone except him seemed to blur into the background. Blood rushed through her ears until all the surrounding sounds faded into obscurity.
He never took his gaze from her as he set down his cards, one by one, and she struggled to make sense of them. Nothing matched. Nothing was in sequence. Nothing could beat Hollie’s cards.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” Hollie muttered as he began gathering up his winnings.
In Langdon’s eyes, she read an apology. A great loss. A sorrow.
Why? Why? He had the skills to win and yet—
He shoved back his chair and stood. “Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Marlowe.”
His tone said,Enjoy the remainder of your life.
Then he strode away as he had the other night when this stupid wager had been made. When she’d objected. But tonight she’d held her tongue. Should she have smiled so he’d have no doubt that she wanted him?
Reaching across, she snatched up the cards he’d shown and the ones he’d discarded. It was impossible to know what he’d held when he’d discarded those three—a five, a six, and an eight—but in the cards he’d shown were a four and a seven. Could he have possessed a straight?
Why didn’t he play cards with his cheating family? Why did he have a maths primer?
