After a moment or two, she prompted. “Jem.”

“Of course, it won’t be the same,” he said. “I love you, Harriet. I mean, I loved you before but now I know I love you. That’s different.”

“So you think that Mr. Cope will be coming out to play primero tonight?”

It was starting to feel like a stupid decision to wake her up. Harriet’s eyes had darkened. Even though she was so angry, she was standing there naked.

He couldn’t help noticing.

And she saw that he noticed. Her eyes slid down his body and then narrowed. “I suppose there’s an alternative to a night of primero.”

“Yes,” he said, warily, feeling he was walking into a trap. “We could play a different game,” he added hastily. “Chess, for example.”

“Or Master and Slave.”

“That too.”

“Life is not all about games, Jem.”

He couldn’t help what his body thought, so he grabbed a dressing gown and wrapped it around himself.

“You said you loved me,” she stated.

“I did. I mean, I do love you.”

“Don’t you see that things have to change?”

“How?” He could feel tension building in his chest.

“I can’t be Mr. Cope forever,” she said.

Relief flooded his chest. He grabbed a dressing gown and gave it to her, because he still couldn’t concentrate. “Of course, I don’t want you to be Mr. Cope. I want you to be Harriet. I have an idea about that. We’re going to kill off Cope, in an unfortunate carriage accident. I’ll go away for a few days and meet you. Then you can come home with me, and just be Harriet.”

“I can’t be just Harriet.”

“Why not?” He could feel himself almost gabbling, but there was a look in her eyes he didn’t like.

“I can’t live like this.”

“But—”

“Like this, Jem,” she said sharply. “With the Game, and the Graces gallivanting around the house when they’re not out entertaining bishops. I’m not—”

The truth slammed into him like a brick wall. Of course she wanted to get married. And he meant to do that, of course he did. He’d only asked her once, through the door, and she hadn’t answered.

He walked across to her, cupped her face in his hands. “I know what you mean, darling,” he said. “You don’t have to ask me.”

“I don’t?” She sounded pretty stunned. He had meant to ask her to marry him again, because he’d known from the very first time they made love that she was his. That he would never let her out of his sight.

“You know, when I married the first time, I thought of marriage as some sort of jail. Like a little cage. A prison sentence.”

“Charming,” she said and he loved her dry wit so much that he almost smiled, but the moment was too important.

“Marrying you will be completely different.”

“Not a jail sentence?”

She still looked a bit peeved.

“I love you. I mean, I did love Sally, but not when we first married.”

“Yet Sally was so amusing to be with.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m guessing she enjoyed the Game, if she was allowed to play.”

“Well, actually she was very—”

“Good at primero, was she?” He didn’t like the way her eyebrow shot up. And how on earth had he got onto the topic of Sally? The love he felt for Harriet was far deeper than what he had felt for Sally. She seemed like a long-ago playmate.

“I can’t remember whether she played primero well or not,” he said, going for a safe bet. “We were like two puppies together, Harriet. Not like you and me.”

“Oh? And what are we like?”

“Grown up,” he said firmly.

“Grown up.” She said it slowly, as if she were tasting the words. “And how do such aged people as ourselves behave?”

She was obviously furious. Jem’s self-preservation instincts finally took over and he said, “I think we should discuss this later.”

“You might miss the Game if we actually discussed the future,” she said.

“I’m happy to discuss the future!”

“So…the future. Harry Cope dies. Harriet, who happens to have an unusual resemblance to Harry Cope, appears at your estate and after a brief flirtation, we marry. A nine-days’ wonder.”

“It could work.” But he could feel anger building in him too. What had he done to deserve her scorn? Ask her to marry him? Only that. Ask her to marry him.

“We’ll spend our days learning a little fencing, riding, trading quips with the Graces or their ilk, greeting any new people who happen to appear uninvited—”

“I invite everyone who comes here!” he said, stung.

“Wander down to greet our guests around twilight, have a bite to eat, start the Game—oh wait, I won’t be part of that anymore, will I? I suppose I’ll teach the Graces how to embroider or something ladylike.”

Tenderness seized his heart. He would hate to be shown a glimpse of the freedoms allotted to men—and then be forced to give them up. It would break his heart.

Obviously, it was doing the same to Harriet.

“We’ll change the rules,” he said, putting a hand on her cheek. “All men…and Harriet.”

She struck his hand away from her face and spun away. Surprised, he stumbled back.

“You don’t understand at all!”

He caught his balance on a chair. “I would have to agree,” he said finally. “I asked you to marry me. I offered to change the rules of my household so that you could continue to join the Game because I know you enjoy it.”

“You don’t understand anything!”

He felt a swell of rage but he caught it back. “Why don’t you try to explain it to me?”

“It’s all games with you. Life is not a game!”

“Are you suggesting that I don’t work hard enough?” he said. His lips seemed to be numb. “I assure you that I manage my holdings.”

“I’m certain you do,” she said scathingly.

He waited a moment to see if she wanted to explain herself. Then he said, “It takes a great deal of work to keep a vast estate and income the size of mine afloat, Harriet. You wouldn’t understand that, but I don’t see why your ignorance should result in scorn.”

“I manage an estate as well,” she flashed.

Of course, the farmer probably left an estate. It must not have been entailed, which suggested that Harriet’s husband was a commoner. Not that it mattered to him.

“It’s the way you approach life,” she said. “As if it were one long game.” Her face had a stony look to it.

“I don’t understand your criticism. I assure you that I take no unnecessary risks with my estate.”

“Just with your child,” she flashed.

He felt himself growing paler. She dared—dared—to say that he took risks with Eugenia? Still, he forced himself to respond calmly. It was almost like a miracle, the way he heard his own voice enquire mildly, “And how exactly should I have protected Eugenia from the rat, Harriet?”

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