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He gathered a handful of the little stems, tapped them down until all the ends were at exactly the same level, and held them out. “Pick a straw.”

“Longest straw wins?” There was a rustle of her gown as she leaned toward him. Her fingers brushed his as she dithered over which one to take. Slowly, she drew one out, turned it and rolled the little twig in her fingers.

“Is this long?”

He smirked. “No, that’s not long. Did anatomy lessons not teach you anything?”

Tam rolled her eyes. “Go on.” But when she swallowed as she watched him choose a straw, he saw that they were both nervous.

He yanked a straw at random; no point in torturing himself. He held out his straw, and his pulse raced as she held hers to his. Their bare skin brushed.

“It was big, then.” She smirked and his heart sank.

“It’s what you do with it that counts,” he replied lightly, trying to hide how much he cared about the outcome.

Never had a wager meant so much. Everything he wanted hinged on this. Her, in his bed, in his life, his wife. He didn’t care if he had to cheat his way through this game, he was going to win.

“This is all ridiculous, you know. I win either way, and you lose. You should just let me go downstairs and find a rich husband as originally planned.”

He handed over the straws in his hand and she shuffled them, looking into her cupped palms as she did so.

“Either way you’re ruining your life, Att.”

Oh, his name on her lips. Not his title. It was delicious.

“We’ll see.”

She extended her arms slowly, the straws hidden in her fist. One was sticking up a little higher. Their eyes met. Was that…?

This was as foolhardy as leaping off the roof of his manor house. He tugged at the straw, careful not to touch her. Because once he started, he didn’t think he’d stop. The straw came out smoothly, and it was long. Their gazes didn’t waver, her blue eyes on him.

No hesitation this time, she plucked the straw on the end, and placed it on the table.

He could tell, before he placed his next to hers, that it was twice the length. The tension stretched between them, both their breathing audible in the quiet room. Tam’s pulse in her throat looked fast.

He’d seen her naked hands before, many times, but as she offered her upturned palm with the sticks, he couldn’t remember being more compelled. There was no reason to ask her to avoid touching, and he’d sound deranged to ask. So he gathered up the sticks and ignored the electricity that ran up his arm.

He arranged the twigs in his hand in height order, heart hammering in his chest. A wager was based on trust, ultimately, and at its best, choice. Not coercion.

Offering the sticks, clearly arranged, was all he could do.

She looked between him and the straws a dozen times, a crease between her eyebrows. Waiting patiently as she made a decision nearly killed him. Her hand hovered over the longest ones which were nestled in the crook of his thumb. Those would give her money, and him nothing but the satisfaction of having given her the freedom she should have had by right, and the cold comfort of knowing she likely wouldn’t marry anyone else.

“Size matters,” she whispered at last, plucked the shortest straw from his grip, and flicked it onto the table.

They both knew what the outcome was.

He placed down the longest stick. He’d won.

Now he just had to make her understand he’d won what he wanted more than anything in the world: her.

CHAPTER5

Two small bitsof dried twig and the rashest, stupidest decision of her life. A gamble.

A Bedlam-worthy risk on the Duke of Newton. Att.

Because why would he be doing this if he wasn’t interested in marrying her? Or bedding her, at least. He wouldn’t.