Page 36 of The Danger of Desire

As Warren headed for the door, he listened to the rest of the fellow’s babbling with only half an ear. Delia had lost her bloody mind. And Owen, too, apparently.

He stalked out the door, ready to do whatever he must to take the chit in hand. Now that she and Owen had called his bluff, he had no choice but to make certain she stayed out of trouble. Or get her to leave Dickson’s.

That would undoubtedly be a feat. And even as irritation surged through him, another feeling mingled with it. Anticipation at the thought of sparring with Delia.

Bloody hell.

As soon as he entered the place, Dickson greeted him jovially, but Warren brushed him off and strode straight to the card room. He spotted her at once, playing cards with some dandy. And Owen was nowhere to be seen.

God, she was here without any protection at all. Foolish woman.

He strode up to the dandy and said, “Get up. I have a game to finish with Jones.”

The dandy blinked. “But my lord, I have already—”

“What are your stakes?”

“Twenty pounds.”

He dug in his coat pocket and came out with a fifty-pound note. “Here. That’s more than double your stake. Get up.”

The dandy goggled at the note, then snatched it and jumped to his feet. “You’re welcome to him, sir.”

Him? Oh, right. Delia was ahim.Warren kept forgetting that. Probably because the way her eyes glittered at him as he took a seat was decidedly feminine. Only a woman could put that much anger into a mere glance.

“What if I don’t wish to play you, m’lord?” she said in her gruff approximation of a male voice.

“You wished to play me last night,” he countered. “And you ran off in the middle of the game, no doubt because you thought I was winning.”

Her eyes flashed fire. She had to know that a reputation for abandoning a game to keep from losing would make others cautious about playing her. “I do not avoid fights, sir. I merely remembered I was supposed to be somewhere else. I’m sorry we weren’t able to finish then, but—”

“We’ll finish now.” And then he would take her somewhere and put the fear of God into her, if it were the last thing he did. “Sadly, we can’t reconstruct the hand from last night. So we’ll have to begin thatpartieagain. If that suits you.”

She hesitated, clearly debating whether she could get away with choosing not to play him. But she had to know that would be frowned upon by the onlookers, who might assume she reallyhadrun off to avoid losing. “Of course it suits me. I was winning handily after the secondpartie, remember?”

“Hard to know who’s winning when the game isn’t even half finished.” He picked up the deck of cards. “It was your deal last night, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Smug satisfaction crept into her voice. “And I had twenty-two points more than you.”

“Don’t remind me.” He shuffled the cards, then set the deck in front of her.

As she dealt, it occurred to him that although she rightfully wouldn’t accept a loan from him, he could give her money by letting her win. Which wouldn’t be hard, given her skill. Piquet wasn’t his game, and he’d never been that fond of cards. It had always been just a way to pass the time in the evening.

So once the game began, he played with his usual haphazard nonchalance. It was only money, after all. God knew he had plenty enough of that.

Somewhere in the nextpartie, she seemed to realize he wasn’t taking the game seriously and began to press her advantage. He let her.

Better than having her come here night after night, risking her reputation and forcing him to come here to keep her from trouble. There were still two days until the house party. Anything could happen in that time.

“So where is your friend Owen tonight?” he asked.

She stiffened. “He’s ill. Stomach ailment.”

“Ah.” So she’d come without her guard rather than give up her plans. Reckless chit.

But a clever one. By the fifthpartie, she was winning by a substantial margin.

“Are you sure you’ve played piquet before, my lord?” she asked blithely, clearly determined to goad him into giving her a challenge.