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Their audience’s collective exhale was a soft susurration that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
Hoisted by my own petard. There was nothing for it but to play. He briefly considered letting her win in order to save the situation, but with so many onlookers there was no way to do so without being caught. If he went easy on her, ev
eryone in London would know he’d thrown it and wonder why. Play to win, then.
She won the first round. He won the second and third. The area around their table was ringed with faces as the room became crowded. More were trickling in, having been alerted to the titillating nature of their wager. She won the fourth.
The fifth game would determine the winner of the forfeit. Tension rose as the cards were shuffled. The atmosphere in the room fairly crackled with it. Harrow’s face was inscrutable as he looked on.
Lucas had a moment of sincere regret for having brought it to a head in so public a manner. “We can stop now and call it a draw, if you prefer,” he offered her quietly, ignoring the small noises of protest echoing around them. “I won’t hold it against you if you do so.”
Irritation sparked in her eyes, telling him it’d been the wrong thing to say. “Now who is afraid of losing? Deal the cards. Unless, of course, you wish to concede and grant me the forfeit now?”
Oho! So that’s how you want to play this, then? Very well. You asked for it. In a flash, his reticence vanished, and all at once he became the cool hand that had won this house and most of his fortune. Picking up the deck of cards, he offered them to her. “You deal this time.”
Without breaking eye contact, she picked them up and shuffled them a few more times before dealing. The crowd ringing them seemed to collectively hold its breath as they played the game out to its end.
When the last of the cards was laid out, a bolt of pure elation ran through Lucas. He met her eyes, seeing his own shock reflected in their sea-green depths.
He’d won.
Her voice quavered a little as she bowed her head in acknowledgment of her loss. “Name your prize.”
A choice lay before him. Ever since proposing their wager, he’d been going back and forth, desire wrestling with conscience, trying to decide what he’d do if he won. He had the option of requesting something safe, something that would offer no offense, yet put him one step closer to his goal. Something like: all of your first and last dances at every ball we both attend for the remainder of the Season. Or perhaps even a little more daring: a kiss.
It was there, on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was say it, and this would be over.
Chapter Twelve
A strange calm blanketed Diana as she awaited his answer. It was almost as if she were floating somewhere outside herself, watching the scene play out as on a stage.
When he spoke, she heard it as if from far away. “One night of passion with you.”
Gasps broke all around them.
Blackthorn’s face had gone quite pale, but he held her with an unwavering gray gaze, awaiting her response.
Damn. She’d hoped he might ask for something innocuous, hoped that he’d know better than to claim a prize that might earn him a ten-pace walk on the field of honor. But in her heart of hearts, she’d known exactly what he would request. “I’m afraid that is not within my power alone to grant.”
In the silence that followed, Harrow’s warm hands again enveloped her shoulders, and she peered up at him expecting to see a look of grim resolve. But to her surprise, he appeared almost amused as he gave her a miniscule nod of agreement. Prickles broke out across her skin in a sweeping wave. He wants this to happen!
Numb, she turned back to again address Blackthorn in a serene voice that utterly belied the turmoil inside. “It appears my lover has no objection. Very well then. As you wish.” She raised her voice just enough to be heard above the crowd’s subsequent murmuring. “I would prefer that we discuss the exact terms of fulfilment in privacy.” She glanced up again at Harrow for confirmation, receiving it in the form of another small nod, before continuing. “As such, I invite you to call on us at my residence tomorrow at two o’clock to settle the details.”
Blackthorn’s glance darted between her and Harrow as he answered, “I look forward to it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, betraying his nervousness.
Ramifications sinking in, are they? Afraid you’ve gone too far? Good. She had no sympathy to spare him. Too many other emotions were already crowded inside her, all in disarray as each fought for supremacy. Part of her dreaded the encounter, but the larger part of her was far more excited than afraid.
She was used to men lusting after her. What she wasn’t accustomed to was reciprocating their desire. Even now, though her insides shook with apprehension, she wanted Blackthorn. Briefly, she wondered if she would’ve been bold enough to request the same forfeit of him had she been the winner.
Those bearing witness to tonight’s battle certainly would’ve expected it of someone like her. Mistress. Harlot. Whore.
She was, in truth, none of those things, but these people couldn’t know it. Blackthorn will find out soon enough. Another wave of panic threatened, and she quashed it. Until that moment arrived, she had a job to do. Donning a mask of cool sophistication, she rose, forcing her erstwhile opponent to follow protocol and rise also. Harrow immediately offered his arm, which she took before again addressing Blackthorn. “Until tomorrow, my lord.”
When she turned around, it was all she could do not to falter on seeing a veritable sea of bodies between her and the door. The room had filled to capacity while they’d played, and now all eyes were on her as the crowd slowly opened a path before her and Harrow.
The silence was so thick it was practically palpable. She wondered how anyone in the room could even breathe for it. Harrow’s arm kept her steady, granting her a measure of security as they ran the gauntlet. It was less crowded out in the hallway, at least. As they entered the ballroom, faces swiveled around to regard their passage.
Gossip travels faster than dawn’s light. It had been one of her mother’s favorite sayings. Everyone here tonight would know of this before the ball ended. By mid-morning, all of London would know.
