Chapter 11
Before Rowe entered Lady Milton’s house that night, he had been regretting not only having accepted the invitation, but pushing his friends into accepting it as well.
His mother had arrived later than anticipated and was in a mellow mood due to her fatigue from the journey.
She expressed her desire to take soup in her room and retire early.
He hadn’t needed the invitation to the card party as an excuse, had he but known it, for he could easily have slipped off to the club without giving offense.
However, accept the invitation he had done and could not pull out now.
Particularly not after he had had to cajole the others not to leave him alone and prey to Lady Milton’s clutches.
He could not pull such a mean trick by condemning them to the same.
These were his thoughts as he stood in front of the door.
Then he had stepped into the drawing room and caught sight of Lady Camilla.
Why a glimpse of her should change his prospect for the evening, he could not say.
After all, he had known she would be there.
But there she stood with that stubborn moue of haughtiness on her face that he wanted to persuade into something brighter.
Surely he could remove it and get a glimpse of her smile, never mind that coaxing a smile from her had lately seemed an insurmountable feat.
Had she not eagerly met his friendship with an open nature up until and throughout Elmscote?
If her tongue was sharp at times, it only delighted him, never disturbed.
And it was never directed his way except to tease.
How he missed that now that he was left with only the aloof, indifferent Lady Camilla.
Perhaps it was the attraction of her family, full of life and laughter in such contrast to his own.
He remarked it afresh each time he went to the Poole residence.
Maybe it was the blend of her sweet face with her dry humor so that he never knew what to expect.
He could not say what it was that made him want to be near her, only that he missed what they had had before.
As he greeted his hosts and the other guests, his mind was partially engaged in puzzling this out.
He remembered holding her hand while he tended to her wound.
It had fit perfectly in his own, and if that thought had struck him at the time, it was only to dismiss it.
When he leaned down to help her to stand and walk with the support of his arm around her waist, he had become aware of something else.
She was not like the London Society twigs.
The feel of her beside him, solid and warm, had been comforting.
And it was with regret that he had settled her into the carriage with no more excuse to have his arm around her.
This he had put out of his mind, for it was not a thought he was ready to dwell on then.
Now it came rushing back with all of the remembered sensations.
And with these came the pleasure of sparring with her.
This medley of Camilla’s attractions was a curious thing for his mind to fixate on now since he was not intent on wooing her.
It was time to bring his attention to the party—and crowing victory over a certain young lady.
He gestured to Sam Weatherby. “You had better let me shuffle those cards. You’re an ill hand at it.” His grin softened the autocratic words.
“If you will shuffle, then you will deal.” Weatherby handed the pack over and turned to sit beside the beauty, but Gerry had outstripped him.
“Allow me to assist you with the game, Miss Winkley.”
Weatherby shot his friend a speaking look that made Rowe want to laugh. There was an empty seat beside Camilla, and he would take it. If they played trade and barter, he would of course give her his lowest card and enjoy doing it.
“Here are the counters,” Miss Milton said, coming to the table with a tube of metal gaming tokens and distributing some to everyone.
“We should use the ivory counters,” Mrs. Quarles said. “Where are they, Bernice?”
“Mama has them,” she said shortly and finished handing out the last of the tokens.
For the first round, Rowe placed three cards for the widow in the center of the table, deciding they wouldn’t bargain yet. The game began with decorum.
“I’ll take one card.”
“I’ll stand.”
After a couple of rounds, it moved on to more lively exclamations.
“No, how could you, Lady Joanna? That was the very card I wanted.”
“Ah, Mr. Weatherby, I cannot help it if you run contrary to luck.”
“Did you not hesitate over that card, Mr. Wilmot?” This was said in the shy voice of Miss Winkley.
“You seemed to be angling for it, and I wished to be gentlemanly.”
Camilla appeared to be enjoying herself immensely, for gone was her stiff expression and posture.
She followed everyone’s movement with intelligent eyes, studying their faces, even his, to see if she could read the success of their hands.
Her turn came again, and she chose a card from the widow, her eyes lighting up.
He suspected she had a promising hand but was not sure enough to call commerce.
A few plays later, Mrs. Quarles knocked on the table, her face smug as she looked around.
“Commerce, is it?” Mr. Quarles stated, sounding bored as he looked down at his hand.
Rowe studied his own. Two kings and a seven.
It was a fair hand, but would not win him anything.
Wilmot took a card from the widow, and it was replaced by a king.
The sight of the very card he needed sent a surge of triumph through Rowe, though he hid his eagerness.
He imagined how Camilla would react when she had to surrender to him.
Her turn fell before his, however, and she swiped the king from the pool in exchange for another card and knocked. He kept his face schooled, but he was disappointed. She had thwarted his win, and as the dealer he had to acknowledge it.
“Two have called commerce. Finish the round.”
He was next in the circle and pulled the best card from the widow. A jack of hearts, which did him no good at all. With two kings, he would have only a pair, even if it was a high pair.
The round at an end, he called out, “Display your hands.” His eyes went immediately to Camilla’s cards and saw the high flush. A jack, queen, and king—the clear winner.
“Lady Camilla takes the pool,” he intoned, hiding his odd frustration at having lost to her. After all, it was just a friendly game played with worthless counters.
Her eyes were shining with victory, her smile broad.
She scooped up the counters and moved them in front of her.
Then she leaned in close to him, and when he turned to look at her, was caught by her direct gaze boring into his.
A sort of buzzing began inside of his chest, and he waited to hear what she had to say.
“How does defeat taste to you, Lord Pembroke?” There was laughter in her voice, which released him from the spell she had cast over him but which transformed the sensation he was feeling into something else. Delight at her teasing? Competition? Was it…attraction?
“You are precipitous,” he replied. “The evening is not yet over.”
His luck did not immediately improve. They played three more rounds, then moved to the version of trade and barter with higher stakes. When it was his turn to choose, he was forced to barter since he had no more counters in which to trade. Everything had gone into the pool.
“I am terribly sorry to give you my leavings, but I shall not need this card,” Camilla said, a triumphant sparkle in her eyes as she handed him the card. A four of spades.
Rowe kept his expression masked, despite his delight at her castoff. He had been bemoaning his low cards, but with a five and a six of spades, he now had a sequence.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said with a downcast air, allowing her to think she had beaten him. Then he knocked on the table, and she shot him a narrow-eyed look of surprise. He returned a benign smile.
The second player knocked, and the round completed its course. When everyone laid out their cards, Rowe had won the pool. Despite the sequence of low cards, no other had managed a tricorne or a higher point sequence.
Now he leaned in, waiting for her to turn his way. He knew she sensed his regard, but she only tilted her head in his direction without looking.
“Yes, Lord Pembroke?” she asked in a voice of false insouciance.
He reached over to the pool, which had grown to significant proportions and pulled it toward him, then murmured in her ear.
“I never claimed not to suffer a setback. Only that I never lose.” He grinned as he felt her breath come unevenly, and only when he was sure of having made his point did he pull away.
The noise of their party had increased, and Lady Milton begged them to bring their voices down. He almost missed what Camilla replied—for it was said in a soft voice and not at all at him—except that he had been listening.
“Perhaps you have not yet encountered an opponent who is your match.”
The sound rose again as Mr. Pollard engaged in a friendly dispute with Miss Milton over whether the counters between them all belonged to her or whether she had not pilfered some.
Rowe hardly paid heed, for he was still musing over what Camilla had said.
It wasn’t about cards; he knew that. And although her comment intrigued him, he wasn’t ready to examine it further.
It might lead him to a realization he had no wish to contemplate at present.