As a man who found most people predictable, and whose expectations were rarely challenged, he had to admit his wife surprised him at every turn. How was it possible to convey innocence while employing the skills of a temptress?

Are you attempting to seduce me?

Her words echoed in his ears. The situation was laughable. The only person being seduced was him. Inside, his blood pumped like that of a boisterous pup, desperate to paw her, nip and lick, to get her to stroke him — to capture her attention.

“Shall we take our seats?” His confident tone conveyed nothing of his internal struggle. Tugging on the drawer of the rosewood dresser, he removed a pack of playing cards. “I’m eager to begin our little game.”

With a playful smirk, she slipped off her slippers and sat on the floor in front of the low table. “To make it fair, we should fill our plates with food. After each mouthful, we will play one hand. The game will not finish until we’ve eaten our meal. That way it will prevent the urge to rush ahead.”

After removing his coat and throwing it onto the chair, he sat at the opposite side of the table. “You ask to dance quickly, play cards slowly. A man is left dizzy trying to work out what you want.”

“It is simple.” She ran the tips of her fingers across her collarbone. “While we all crave a thrill, some things are best savoured.”

Bloody hell!

The woman teased him to the point of madness.

“Then you should prepare yourself, for I guarantee you’ll experience both sensations this evening.”

“Only if you win,” Priscilla countered.

“Despite all my honest protestations, I am prepared to cheat to secure a night with you.”

“Perhaps I know a few tricks myself.” The blush colouring her cheeks restored his masculine pride, but there was nothing timid about her response. “Over-confidence is often one’s downfall.”

Damn the food and card game. He wanted this woman now.

“But as I trust you,” she continued. “You can shuffle the deck and deal the cards.”

Matthew snorted. “You trust a man who admits he’s selfish?”

“I trust a man whose integrity speaks for itself.”

He stared at her, unsure how to respond to the compliment. To fill the silence, he picked up the silver serving utensils and selected a piece of tart, a slice of duck terrine, roast pork, French beans. “Did you have a particular game in mind?”

Priscilla followed his lead, taking small portions and arranging the food neatly on her plate. “We’ll play twenty-one but follow the basic rules.”

“Twenty-one? Do you think it a game of chance?”

“It’s a game of luck that requires an element of risk and some skill.” She inhaled deeply. “Now, as in all card games, we must reveal the stakes before we play the hand. If I win, I want you to tell me about Lucinda Pearce.”

The mere mention of the courtesan’s name made his skin crawl. How the hell did she know of Lucinda? “I have nothing to hide. If you want to know about Miss Pearce you only need ask. But, if we are starting with small wagers then you can tell me why you agreed to marry me.”

“Done.” Offering a curt nod, she dug her fork into an oyster, covered it with her lips and pulled it into her mouth.

To suppress all rampant thoughts, Matthew cleared a space in front of them, shuffled the cards, dealt two each and placed the rest of the pack face down.

“Would you care for another card?” His heart thumped wildly in his chest as she examined her cards and placed them down on the table. “Or are you happy with your hand?”

“I’ll take one more card.”

With the tips of his fingers, Matthew pushed the card across the table.

A smile touched her lips as she lifted the corner. “I’m happy with what I have.”

His cards amounted to eighteen. Excitement flashed in her eyes as he revealed his hand, and so there was no option but to take another card. He drew a five. “That means I’m out.”

Arching a brow, she declared a ten, four and three. “I had seventeen.”

Matthew chuckled. “Never trust a woman with the face of an angel. What would you like to know about Lucinda?”

She tapped her finger to her lips. “I know you’ve shared her bed before. But despite her apparent efforts, I'm confident you do not intend to do so again. Even so, I wonder if the feelings you had are different to those you had when bedding me.”

Matthew swallowed. Once again, he had underestimated her skill in combat. In truth, the scenarios were vastly different though he had no notion why.

“Yes, there is a disparity.” Without time to analyse his thoughts, he had no option but to be vague. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact we’re married.”

The colour drained from her face, and she flinched at his response. “You mean the act is not as exciting when shackled to the same woman for life.”

Matthew frowned. “You misunderstand me. My chest is like a hollow cavern when I think of bedding Lucinda. I lack interest and enthusiasm for the task. When I think of bedding you, every nerve in my body sparks to life.” Whatever it all meant, he hoped the explanation placated her. “Does that answer your question?”

“In a way.” She picked up the fork and glanced down at the plate. This time she cut the corner off the asparagus tart and ate it slowly before dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “While you finish what you’re eating, I’ll tell you what we’re playing for next. If I win, I want you to tell me about your dreams and aspirations.”

Disappointment flared.

The information was hardly a secret. Perhaps nerves prevented her from raising the stakes. “If I win, I want your dress. Just so you’re aware, each hand I win will result in me taking another item of clothing until you’re down to your chemise.”

Dainty fingers flew to her mouth to cover her open lips. “But I’ll catch my death of cold.”

“Then I’ll stoke the fire.”

“Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?”

He offered a mischievous grin. “Both.”

A nervous energy filled the air. “Then it seems I win regardless of the outcome.”

Matthew dealt the cards. Priscilla examined her hand. If a frown and pursed lips conveyed the state of play, the next card could see her out of the game. But was it her intention to deceive?

Her failure to ask for another card confirmed his theory.

To win, he needed luck, not skill. With a knave and a ten, he took a chance it would be enough.

“It’s time to reveal your hand, Priscilla.”

With a look of suspicion marring her brow she turned over the cards. “I have nineteen.”

A rush of satisfaction swept through him though he tried to disguise his elation. In his mind, he said a silent prayer to Fate.

“I win.” He flipped his cards over. “I think you’ll find that’s twenty.” Arrogance dripped from every word. He would take immense pleasure undressing his bride.

Without a word, Priscilla jumped up. “Then you will want your prize.” Her hands snaked around her back to fiddle with the buttons.

“Allow me.” Matthew stood and covered the distance between them in two long, eager strides. His fingers tingled at the prospect of removing a layer of material. With a little more luck, soon there would be nothing but a thin chemise to hide her modesty.

“Under the circumstances is it not wise to lock the door?” There was a nervous edge to her tone, mingled with a hint of excitement.

“No one will disturb us.”

He came behind her, undid the row of buttons, smoothed his hands along her shoulders as the garment slithered to the floor. Of course, he had no option but to touch her body as he set about his ministrations.

“I wouldn’t worry about the cold.” His hand settled on her hip. “The warmth of your skin radiates through the fabric. I’m so hot I'm inclined to remove a few layers myself.”

She sucked in a breath. “I am at a rather unfair advantage. But the game is far from over. I believe it’s time for food.”

They settled back at the table, but he struggled to focus on anything other than the mounds of creamy-white flesh bursting out of her undergarments. He imagined her nipples to be a pretty shade of pink and easily teased to peak. Damn, they’d been married for days, and still he’d not feasted his eyes on them.

“You’re right,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of game pie. “It seems frightfully unfair of me to claim such a monumental prize.”

“Does that mean you intend to remove your shirt?”

“No. But I shall grant your wish. You asked about my dreams and aspirations. I love to paint, landscapes mainly. Were money not a factor I would like to have a studio, somewhere quiet and peaceful where I could spend my days lost in creating beautiful scenes.”

A look of wonder illuminated her face. “But surely there is time to paint and host parties? Could you not have a studio here and work during the day?”

“This may sound strange, but creativity requires a clear mind not one encumbered by the negative influences of my guests. The air here is tainted. I’ve tried to focus many times but to no avail.”

“I would love to see your work.”

The cruel taunts and jibes of his peers drifted into his mind. In truth, the hostile reaction he’d experienced as a young man played its part in stifling him too.

“Perhaps when I have a studio, maybe even a patron, then I will show you.”

She pursed her lips for a long time. “When my parents died, I imagined a place in my mind where I might visit them. If I followed the path through the forest, I would find a cottage. They were always inside, happy, together. They would hug me and tell me all was well and I would leave them and return to the real world. I visit them often.” She gave an odd little wave. “What I mean is you can create the ideal studio in your mind. Every day when you wake you can go there.”

As Matthew listened to her wise words, an odd feeling enveloped him — one of admiration, respect, something else too. Something too complicated to define.

“How can I concentrate when my time is spent thinking of new ways to entertain the dissolute?” It was an excuse. Avoidance was the best technique when dealing with any unwarranted emotion. “I struggle to focus on anything else.”

“Then let me help you with your parties. I might not have the skills necessary to please libertines, but there must be some tasks I can attend to.”

The strange feeling was there again, swelling, pushing at his ribcage.

“I’ll consider the offer. But for now we have a game to finish.”

“There is no point asking what you’re playing for. If I win, you can tell me where you go on your nightly appointments.”

Again, he would have told her had she asked. “Perhaps we should improve the odds of success.”

“How so?”

“What about a trade? The answer in return for your petticoat. Our food is cold, and there is every chance we'll be here all night. Patience is not a virtue I aspire to master.”

A coy smile touched her lips. “Agreed.” She stood, undid the three little buttons on the back and pushed the cotton straps from her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor, and she picked it up and handed it to him.

The petticoat smelt of roses and the unique feminine scent that clung to her skin, yet he resisted the urge to bury his face in the material and inhale deeply.

“For two weeks, I’ve been touring the gaming hells,” he said. “There are three men involved in the card scam. Mr Parker-Brown, Lord Lawrence Boden and Mr Justin Travant.” The last gentleman named had not been seen about town in recent weeks. “The men communicate via a complex system of gestures and signals. I have been following their progress, making notes, deciphering the language. Tonight, I intend to observe them at play to test my theory. After that, well, I shall play one more game with the intention of taking back what they stole.”

“Tonight? You’re going to a gaming hell this evening?”

“I’ve no choice. Their substantial win at Lord Holbrook’s party attracted too much attention. They have since taken to using their skills for deception in the backstreet establishments.”

“Do women visit these hells?”

Did Priscilla not trust him?

“Some.” They were mostly the ladies of the demi-monde. Women who’d lost favour. The wives of scoundrels and rogues. And then there were the destitute ladies who’d rather try their hand at cards than be any man’s mistress. “But I have no interest in bedding other women if that’s what concerns you.”

She shook her head. “No, I've already said I trust you. But I would like to come with you if I may.”

Was she intent on courting scandal?

“I refuse to take my wife to a gaming hell.”

“Why ever not? Besides, have you not made a terrible miscalculation?” When he raised a brow by way of a challenge, she added, “Someone must partner you when you play whist. What is the point of reading the signs when your partner lacks the necessary skill and could lose the game?”

She had a fair point though he’d thought of asking Tristan to accompany him. “And you want to be my partner? But you don’t know how to play.”

An impish grin revealed a certain smugness. “The other night, when you tried to teach me the rules, I feigned ignorance so you would spend time with me. I can play whist. Coupled with the ability to memorise the cards, I can be a formidable opponent.”

“What, you expect me to believe you can remember the order of play?”

She folded her arms across her chest, the action pushing her breasts together. Damn, he’d almost forgotten how much he wanted to bed her. “There is only one sure way to prove my point. Put me to the test.”

With his curiosity aroused, he took all the played cards from the table. “Then it shouldn’t be too difficult to recall the order of these cards.”

She inclined her head. “I had the ten of hearts, the four and three of clubs. The first card you turned over was the nine of diamonds, followed by the nine of hearts and then you drew the five of spades. Shall I continue?”

Bloody hell! If she could remember a whole pack, she’d prove to be invaluable.

“There’s no need. We can play later this evening, and I shall put your skill to the test.”

“Does that mean you’ll take me with you?”

“You do realise people will slander your good name if they discover you frequent the seamier places.”

“I am quickly becoming a lady who doesn’t give a fig for what others say.” She picked up a French bean and bit it in half. “Besides, as a lady who allows people to fornicate in her home, what more can they say?”

Guilt flared. “When I’ve made enough money, you won’t have to share your home with anyone.”

“Well, perhaps with some help, you might win enough from the sharps to rent a studio.”

In moments of fanciful musings, he often dreamed of such a thing. “If I agree to take you, it will be only this once.”

What harm would it do? If anything it would prove to the gossips that he loved his wife and craved her company.

“Of course. I would not wish to make a habit of socialising with immoral men. But I could read your notes and observe the sharps’ behaviour too.”

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I might need persuading.”

“Really? Then let’s draw cards. If I win, you have no choice but to take me.”

“You’re my wife. I intend to take you in every way possible.”

A chuckle burst from her lips. “Does your mind only follow one train of thought?”

“When it comes to you, yes.” Despite the stays, her breasts wobbled as she laughed. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin to stop the excessive salivating. “May I remind you that sitting in your undergarments is hardly the way to test a man’s resolve.”

“Then the time for honesty is nigh. Tonight, I shall leave the connecting door open. A bed will be far more comfortable than the drawing room floor.”

“But not nearly as much fun.”

“Take me to the gaming hell, and I’ll find a way to compensate you before we return home.”

Intrigued by her proposal, Matthew dragged his hand down his face to temper his raging blood. “Agreed. Now shall we declare the winner of this bout?”

“Oh, I think it’s fair to say we have both won this game.”