Page 26 of A Scandalous Proposition
‘Whatever you wish.’
He seated himself across from her, shuffled the cards with long, capable fingers and offered them to her to cut.
‘But I have no money with which to gamble.’
‘For the game I have in mind, money isn’t necessary.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘If place of money, for each trick lost you will forfeit an item of clothing.’
‘Oh!’ Florentina couldn’t conceal her shock. Or her growing excitement. ‘But that hardly seems fair. I’m wearing a great deal less than you are.’
He removed his coat, threw it aside and sat before her in his shirtsleeves. ‘Does that make things a little more even?’
‘Probably not, but do I have a choice?’
He flashed another raffish smile. ‘None whatsoever.’
‘Then why bother to seek my opinion?’
‘Perhaps because I enjoy it when you lose patience with me.’
‘Then I predict that at least one of us is destined for a very enjoyable evening.’
‘I had already reached a similar conclusion.’ But he wasn’t smiling this time. ‘Come, let’s start our game. How did you learn such precise English, by the way?’
‘We had an English governess and weren’t permitted to speak any other language during our education.’
‘Ah, that would explain it.’
He won the cut and dealt them each twelve cards. She was aware of his eyes seldom leaving her face as she studied her hand. It was disappointing and she discarded the maximum five cards, drawing alternatives from the talon. They didn’t help very much either, nor did the fact that Adam’s eyes had a most disconcerting effect upon her. Concentrating on the game in hand whilst being so closely scrutinised was nigh on impossible.
Adam discarded only two cards and seemed pleased with the ones he drew in their place. It was totally silent in the summerhouse as they jostled to improve their positions. But to Florentina, it felt as though the atmosphere was charged with anticipation that had little to do with a winning hand. A low branch occasionally rattled against the roof, startling her every time. Other than that, only the sound of Lord Fitzroy’s breathing, and her own impatient exclamations when she failed to draw the cards she required, broke the silence.
She wasn’t surprised when he won the first trick.
‘Now, then.’ He leaned his head in one cupped hand and contemplated her for what seemed like an eternity. ‘Your left shoe, if you please, Florentina.’
Without removing her eyes from his face, she bent to remove her slipper and threw it at him. He caught it one-handed and offered her a mocking bow of thanks. Her other slipper followed with the next trick.
‘Perhaps you’d be more comfortable without a stocking on your left leg?’ he suggested when she lost the next trick too.
‘Absolutely not. My garter is a separate item of clothing to my stocking. You may have the garter,’ she said graciously, lifting her skirts in order to remove it. ‘But the stocking stays.’
His eyes followed her every move. ‘Have it your way.’
‘Oh, but I shall.’
And she did. Having lulled him into a false sense of security, she won the next trick. With a triumphant smile she tried to decide how best to embarrass him, quickly concluding that wouldn’t be so easily achieved. Not without embarrassing herself even more. She settled for the easy option.
‘Your shirt, I think.’
‘You deserve nothing less.’ His wolfish smile told her that she’d somehow played straight into his hands.
He stood, pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it in her direction. Then he reseated himself, completely at his ease. Her eyes were drawn to his bare chest. Repeatedly. Its solid lines of hard, well-defined muscle fascinated her. Broad shoulders led to sinewy arms that looked too capable to be real. His skin was lightly tanned, almost bronze in the flickering candlelight. Then he moved, and the rippling muscles reminded her that she wasn’t admiring an exquisite piece of art, but a living, breathing man. A man who regarded her with an air of studied nonchalance, as though he was accustomed to women admiring his naked torso.
He probably was.
