Page 19 of My Lord Rogue
Teddy’s foot withdrew briefly and then, with calculated indolence, reappeared, this time sliding between her ankles andsettling in the hollow behind her right knee. Above the table, his hand played an ace, below, his boot gave a gentle, infuriating caress. She could not move, could not breathe, could only pray that the tablecloth concealed enough of her shame.
She played a queen, and Teddy trumped it with a king.
“Well done,” he murmured.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
It became a kind of duel. Each hand escalated the stakes, the cards sharper, the glances more pointed, the touches more daring. Once, Teddy let his foot rest against her calf for a full minute before withdrawing. The exchange was invisible to the rest of the table, but its intensity made the air between them thick as treacle.
Conversation drifted around them like smoke, Verity recounting the misdeeds of mutual acquaintances, St. Ervan offering dry asides about the unpredictability of country weather and the hazards of unpaved roads. Theo participated only as much as required, her attention divided between the surface game and the deeper, more perilous contest playing out in the shadows.
At one point, Verity reached for her glass of wine and let her fingers linger over Theo’s wrist. “Do be careful, darling. You’re playing with fire.”
Theo smiled. “I don’t mind a little heat, Verity.”
“Nor do I,” Verity replied, and the two women shared a look of such naked complicity that even St. Ervan seemed to register it, blinking as if a mote had entered his eye.
The last hand was a rout. Theo could not remember the sequence of plays, she could only recall the slow, relentless build of sensation as Teddy’s foot found its way higher, testing the boundaries of the possible. By the time Verity announced the score—her side victorious by an embarrassing margin—Theo’shand shook so badly she had to set her cards down and push her chair back, claiming a need to stretch her legs.
“Shall we have another round?” Teddy asked, but his voice was gentle, not mocking.
“Perhaps later,” Theo managed, already halfway to the door. The room seemed to tilt and waver, the candlelight now a hostile glare.
Verity caught up, wrapping an arm around her waist and guiding her to the sideboard, where cut-glass decanters of every stripe awaited. “You were marvelous,” Verity hissed, eyes bright. “I’ve never seen him so off-balance.”
“I lost,” Theo said, barely able to form the words.
“That’s not the point, darling. He thinks he’s hunting you, but you have already set the snare. I could almost pity him.”
Theo managed a laugh, though it was little more than a gasp.
Across the room, Teddy leaned against the mantel, one arm draped over the marble like a conquering general. His eyes found hers, and though he said nothing, the promise was clear. The game was not over. The real game had just begun.
Theo let herself drift, pulse still hammering, and tried to remember how it felt to be in control of her life.
But every time she closed her eyes, she felt the imprint of Teddy’s foot, the heat of his gaze, and the certainty that she would not sleep until the next round was played.
And they played a second round not long after she’d steadied her pulse. Verity insisted on keeping score herself, declaring that her “mathematical gifts” would ensure fairness. The remark drew a snort from St. Ervan, but he relinquished the tally book with good grace, leaning back to observe the action with the air of a man who prefers the theatre to the stage.
Theo tried to steel herself. She pressed her knees together under the table and sat on her hands, as if physical stillnessmight inoculate her against Teddy’s encroachments. It was a hopeless gambit.
He waited until the second trick before resuming his siege, the side of his boot grazing her calf, then inching upward until the fabric of her stocking was all that separated skin from leather. His gaze was fixed on his cards, but every so often he would risk a glance over the top of his hand, the movement so languid and unapologetic that it left Theo dizzy. She could feel the blood thumping in her throat, every word, every gesture became a battle between composure and collapse.
She dropped a card, her hands trembling now, despite her best efforts, and it fluttered to the floor. Teddy kneeled to retrieve it, the motion so smooth and immediate that it seemed almost practiced. He handed it back with a half-smile, brushing her palm as he did. His fingers lingered, just for a heartbeat, before withdrawing.
“Thank you,” she murmured, but the words caught and tangled.
“My pleasure,” he replied, and though his tone was perfectly bland, the heat of his eyes burned her to the core.
Verity watched the exchange with open glee. “I must confess, Theo, you are not your usual self tonight,” she said, tallying another mark on the scorepad. “Normally you’d have us all begging for mercy by now. Has the baron put you off your game?”
Theo tried to smile. “I think I’m simply tired,” she lied, but even as she said it, Teddy’s foot pressed more firmly against her leg, the pressure both anchoring and illicit.
“Tired, or distracted?” Verity countered. “There is a difference, you know.”
“Perhaps both,” Theo conceded, voice small. She refused to meet anyone’s eyes, instead focusing on her hand—four diamonds, a queen and two jacks, nothing she could use.
Teddy leaned in, his voice low and velvet-edged. “I was just about to remind you, Lady Pattishall, of that hand you once described in your letter from Venice. The one where you reversed a hopeless game with a single, inspired play.” He allowed a beat, then added, “I wonder if you have such a trick prepared for me tonight.”