Page 26

Chapter Sixteen

Selina

S elina took especial care as she prepared for the card party at Lord Blackstone’s.

Her maid had coiffed her hair in an entirely new way, with every lock coiled and plaited, then looped into a tidy chignon at the nape of her neck.

She added a touch of rouge to her lips and sprayed her favorite perfume onto her wrists and neck.

Her gown was new—a creamy silver silk that clung to her form, shimmering like moonlight on the water, while the gauze overlay dusted the floor.

Mr. Drake must have thought she would shy away from accepting the invitation to the viscount’s party, where they would be seen together for the first time.

The gall he displayed inviting her to the home of the man who had befriended him in spite of his fortune hunting was not lost upon her.

She had not even responded to his last missive, inquiring whether she intended to attend.

He would be thinking he had won, which would make her arrival all the more of a surprise. She wanted him to see her and to be frozen with shock and awe, to admire her and want her, while knowing he would never have her.

Phoebe was waiting in the entry hall when Selina descended, and she glanced up to see her chaperone coming down the stairs. Her eyes widened.

“Selina,” she said with near reverence. “You look…”

“Thank you,” Selina said, hoping for such a reaction from Mr. Drake. “And you look…” She let the sentence trail off just as Phoebe had, winking at her.

Selina’s heart was pattering a quick rhythm against her chest when they arrived at Lord Blackstone’s. The viscount and viscountess greeted them warmly and urged them not to hesitate in joining any one of the various tables set up in the drawing room and saloon.

They heeded their hosts’ advice and went immediately to the drawing room.

Selina’s gaze wanted to stray and survey every corner of the room in search of Mr. Drake, but she bridled it.

Mr. Drake happened to be standing just opposite the doors, however, so her self-control was for naught. And she did not regret it, for his gaze landed upon her and fixed there intently, a hint of surprise driving his brows upward. But it was what followed the surprise that most pleased her.

His lips parted, and he took in a breath that made his chest rise. His eyes dropped to her gown before returning to her face.

Only then did he remember to smile, followed shortly by making his way toward them.

Mrs. Winser and her daughter were before him, however, and after a short exchange of greetings, Phoebe joined them to play at piquet, for they needed one more to complete their game. Selina felt a degree of consternation at the realization that Mr. Evenden was their fourth player.

“Mrs. Lawrence,” Mr. Drake said, coming before her and taking up her gloved hand.

He bent over it and looked up at her through his lashes.

“You have stolen my attention and my breath, and I am come to retrieve them.” He let his gaze hold hers for a moment before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand .

Selina felt eyes upon them, but she steeled herself and allowed Mr. Drake to finish his performance.

It was clear that he meant to play for high stakes this evening, and she was prepared to raise them every time.

“You quite undo me with such compliments, Mr. Drake,” she said once he had come up for air from an unnecessarily long kiss.

“And yet they are but feeble attempts to do justice to your beauty and charm. Please tell me you will join me for a game of cards.”

“With the greatest pleasure in the world,” she replied through a cloying smile.

“Casino, perhaps?” he suggested, naming a game possible for two to play.

“Certainly.”

He smiled at her and tucked her hand into his arm, then led her to an open table in the corner. He pulled out a chair for her, and she took her seat just as a man stopped.

“Drake! I thought I saw you arrive.”

Mr. Drake blinked with surprise, his confident charm suffering a sudden check. It was evident he did not recognize the man.

“Phillips,” the man said. “I met you when you were curate at Birchhurst—my home parish, you know.”

Selina’s brows shot up. A curate? Surely the man was mistaken.

Mr. Drake laughed, though there was an unease in the sound. “Ah, yes. Forgive my lapse in memory. It feels a lifetime ago.”

“Where have you taken up a living?” Mr. Phillips asked.

Mr. Drake’s eyes flitted to Selina for the briefest moment. “I have left the cloth, in fact.”

“Oh,” Mr. Phillips said blankly. “Well, I trust you have found success in your other endeavors. I shan’t keep you from your partner any longer.” He shot a smile at Selina, gave a quick bow, and left .

Mr. Drake took his seat and seemed to be avoiding Selina’s staring gaze, but once he was seated, he had no excuse to avoid it.

The quick exchange with Mr. Phillips had accomplished what Selina had failed to do in sending him home with monkeys and dead pigeons: it had rattled him.

His mouth pulled into a smile as he reached for the cards and began to shuffle them. “Shall we play?”

Selina hesitated for a moment, for she was still trying to grasp this new information.

It would keep, so she nodded.

“What are our stakes?” Mr. Drake asked as he dealt each of them four cards.

“Whatever you wish,” she said with a careless shrug of the shoulder.

Mr. Drake’s hand slowed as he placed four cards in the center of the table, and he looked at her intently. A little glint sparked in his eyes. Mischief.

“Whatever I wish?” he asked.

She met his gaze firmly, wondering what devilry was in his mind. He had no money, so he would not wish to play for that. What, then, would he choose? Her hand in marriage? And what would she say if that was his suggestion?

Her curiosity and her pride brought out her response. “Whatever you wish,” she repeated. “What do you have in mind?”

His eyes raked over her face. “Something…memorable.” His gaze settled on her lips, and Selina’s heart thumped violently as the image of his mouth on hers presented itself to her.

“A poem, perhaps?” she teased, playing as though she did not understand his meaning.

He chuckled softly. “Tempting, but no. That is not what I meant.”

“What, then, did you mean?” She raised her brows. She would force him to say it—to put a name to his wishes. Whether he truly wished to kiss her or was simply testing her limits, she did not know .

He leaned his elbows on the table and dropped the volume of his voice. “A kiss. I would play for a kiss.”

Such stakes were nonsensical. “I find such a stake perplexing, I confess, for does it not ensure the outcome remains the same, no matter who wins?”

“Not at all,” he replied, sitting back in his chair and regarding her. “If you win, you may, of course, choose to forgo your prize—though I admit to hoping you would not wish to do such a thing.”

She nearly scoffed. He thought it would be a prize to kiss him?

She forced a smile. “I suppose the only way to find out is to play.”

A glance at Phoebe informed Selina that she was still playing piquet with the same group. All four of them were smiling, and Selina knew a flicker of doubt. Had she done wrong to warn Phoebe against Mr. Evenden?

Mr. Drake insisted Selina begin the game, and her focus became, of necessity, consumed by the challenge before her.

Casino was a simple enough game: match cards or build up combinations to capture them. With Mr. Drake as her opponent, however, each play felt laden with significance.

Mr. Drake could not be permitted to win, though what she would do if she won, she could not say.

To decline her prize would feel like a sort of surrender or admission. But to take it?

She forced her breath to come evenly.

They both meant to win—that much was clear by the focus they both evinced and the halting conversation that took place as a result of their minds being engaged in strategy.

“You were a curate once, then,” Selina said after finishing a play.

Mr. Drake’s eyes flicked to hers, then away again. “A lifetime ago.”

“I had not imagined you to be of a pious turn of mind.”

He chuckled as he selected a card. “You imagined correctly.” He looked at her for a moment, then returned the selected card to his hand and chose another.

Selina rose a brow in question.

His smile grew broader as he laid down his card. “I could sweep the table now, but that feels too easy.”

Her nostrils flared as she smiled right back. “Do not hold back on my account, Mr. Drake. I assure you, I am capable of winning without any assistance.”

He had been winning, but the game took a turn shortly thereafter, and Selina wondered whether it was intentional on his part. But no. He was every bit as determined to win as she was.

Her hands trembled treacherously as the final cards were played and the points counted aloud by Mr. Drake.

Selina let out a shaky breath as he laid down the deck and looked at her.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Lawrence. You have won.”

She could not even force a smile so jumbled were her feelings and intentions. What would she do now?

His eyes asked that very same question.

Would she take those lips with hers? Would she do so quickly, barely allowing them to touch?

Or would she linger, exploring what it felt like?

To kiss George had been to kiss someone to whom she was not attracted even a whit.

What would it feel like to share that intimacy with a man she had once felt the inklings of attraction toward—a man she now hated?

Would the violence of their feelings lead him to take her lips ruthlessly, his hands gripping her to him in a display of dominance, while she fought to gain control, her hands threaded forcefully through his hair?

Something told her that kissing Sebastian Drake would be nothing at all like kissing George.

Her body warmed.

Even if she did claim her prize, it would not be in a card room teeming with other people. Widowhood granted certain liberties to a woman, but that liberty was not among them .