He'd wring her neck.
Reggie's groan was audible. Amanda smiled into Connor's pale eyes. "A rubber of whist, I believe you said?"
She'd finally stepped over the line into real danger. Even as she said the words, even as she registered the hardening in Connor's eyes, Amanda felt a thrill beyond anything she'd ever known. Anticipation laced with dread flowed through her; exhilaration drove her. "Your partner?" She looked inquiringly at Connor.
Expressionless, he waved back into the gloom. "Meredith.''
A thin gentleman rose from an armchair and stiffly bowed.
"He says little but has an excellent head for cards." Connor's gaze traveled to Reggie. "And who will partner you. Miss Cynster? Carmarthen, here?"
"No." Reggie's tone declared he'd drawn a line and would not be tempted over it. He shook Amanda's arm. "This is madness! Come away now! What do you care what such hellions think of you?"
She did care-therein lay the rub. She couldn't explain it. yet she couldn't imagine any of her cousins walking away from Connor's thinly veiled insults. Not before they'd exacted retribution.
His Arab mare sounded like just the right amount of retribution. And if she lost, she'd take great delight in stipulating just where she would spend her three hours at his side. Retribution indeed. That would teach him to make game of Cynster ladies, however young.
But first she had to find a partner, preferably one who would help her win. She didn't waste a second persuading Reggie-he could barely remember the suits. Smiling reassuringly, trying to ease his concern, she turned to survey the tables at which all activity had ceased.
There had to be some gentleman willing to come to her aid…
Her heart plummeted. There was no lighthearted interest, none of the game-to-be-part-of-any-lark expressions she'd expected to see. Calculation, raw and undisguised, filled every man's eyes. The equation they were weighing was easy to grasp: How much would she give to be rescued from Connor?
One glance was enough. To them she was a succulent, innocent pigeon ripe for a plucking. Exhilaration deserted her; a deadening, sinking feeling dragged at her.
Given the precise words of their wager, she was confident she had Connor's measure, but if, in order to satisfy her pride, she took one of these men as her partner, where would that leave her at the end of the game?
Triumphant regardless of the outcome, but with another, possibly more dangerous debt hanging over her head.
She met eye after eye; her heart sank to her slippers. Surely there was one gentleman honorable enough to partner her purely for the hell of it?
Smiles slowly dawned; chairs scraped. A number of gentlemen stood…
It would have to be Reggie, no matter how much she had to plead.
As she turned to him, the attention of the gentlemen facing them was deflected, caught by some sight in the shadows behind them, deeper in the room.
Both she and Reggie turned.
Something large stirred in the gloom.
A dark shape rose from a chair at the end of the room-a man, broad-shouldered and tall. With a languid grace all the more compelling, given his size, he walked unhurriedly toward them.
The shadows fell from him as he neared; light reached him and illuminated details. A coat that could only have come from one of the ton's foremost tailors topped trousers that skimmed muscled thighs before sweeping down long legs; an ivory cravat intricately tied and a rich satin waistcoat completed the picture, one of expensive elegance. His carriage, effortless and aloof, exuded confidence and more-an absolute belief in his ability to succeed, regardless of the challenge.
His hair was thick, brown, falling in fashionable disarray about his head, shading his broad brow, brushing his collar. Candlelight reflected from lighter strands, turning the whole into a tawny mane.
He neared, his approach in no way threatening, yet there was a sense of force distilled and harnessed in each long, prowling stride.
At the last, the shadows gave up their hold and revealed his face.
Amanda caught her breath.
Sharp bones rode high above the austere sweep of his cheeks, lean, lightly shadowed where they met his jaw, uncompromisingly square. His nose was straight, definite, a clear indication of his antecedents; his eyes were large, heavy lidded, set beneath sweeping brows. As for his lips, the upper was straight, the lower full and frankly sensual. His was a face she recognized instantly, not in specific but in general. A face as elegantly aristocratic as his clothes, as powerful and definite as his carriage.
Eyes the color of moss agates met hers, held her gaze as he halted before her.
Not a hint of the predatory reached her; she searched but could find no trace of disguised intent in his changeable eyes. Understanding was what she saw, what she sensed-that, and self-deprecatory amusement.
"If you're in need of a partner, I would be honored to assist you."
The voice suited the body-deep, slightly gravelly-rusty, as if underused. Amanda felt his words as much as heard them, felt her senses leap. His gaze didn't shift from her face, although his eyes left hers to travel quickly over her features before returning, once more, to her eyes. Although he hadn't looked at Reggie, Amanda knew he was aware of her friend tugging at her sleeve, hissing disjointed injunctions.
"Thank you." She trusted him-trusted those moss agate eyes. Even if she was wrong, she didn't care. "Miss Amanda Cynster." She extended her hand. "And you are?"
He took her hand; his lips curved as he bowed. "Martin."
She sincerely doubted he was Mr. Martin-Lord Martin, then. She vaguely recalled hearing of a Lord Martin.
Releasing her hand, Martin turned to Connor. "I assume you have no objection?"
Following his gaze, Amanda realized that Connor did indeed have an objection. A serious one, if the scowl in his eyes spoke true. Perfect! Perhaps Connor would now draw back…
Even as the thought formed, she realized how unlikely that would be. Men and their ridiculous rules!
Sure enough, Connor brusquely nodded in assent. He would have liked to protest, but felt he couldn't.
Amanda glanced at Reggie. His expression was utterly defeated, utterly aghast. He opened his mouth-his gaze flicked past her, then slowly he shut his lips tight. "I hope you know what you're doing."
His mutter reached her as she turned to her new partner.
Martin was looking at Connor. "Perhaps we should get started." He waved into the shadows.
"Indeed." Turning, Connor stumped into the gloom. "The night hours are winging."
Considering the shadows, Amanda suppressed a grimace. She looked up to find Martin's gaze on her face, then he looked over her head toward the main door. "Two fresh packs, Mellors." Martin glanced down at her again. "And two lighted candelabras."
He hesitated, then offered her his arm. "Shall we?"
She smiled and placed her hand on his sleeve, instantly aware of the steely strength beneath it. He guided her toward the corner where Connor and Meredith stood waiting.
"Are you a good player, sir?"
Lips quirking, he glanced down at her. "I'm considered to play a tolerable hand."
"Good, because Connor's an expert, and I'm not. And I think he plays often with Meredith."
After an instant, Martin asked, "How well do you play?"
"Reasonably well, but I'm not in Connor's class."
"In that case, we shall do." He lowered his voice as they neared the others. "Play straight-don't try to be clever. Leave that to me."
Those were all the instructions he had time for, but they were clear enough. Amanda adhered to them as the first game got under way. They had the corner to themselves. Reggie slouched in an armchair some yards away, broodingly watching. Connor sat on her left, Meredith to her right. When Mellors arrived with the candelabras, both Connor and Meredith flinched.