on, when victory or defeat hung in the balance. Now she knew.
She saw the struggle cross his face. His lips pursed and then released.
“It would be best,” he answered.
“You said that. I asked why?”
“Because this is not what you want.”
“How do you know what I want? Do I look like I am unhappy?” Her hand still lay against his cheek. She stroked it, reveling in the prickle of his stubble.
He moved a hand over hers, but did not stop her movement. “You said you wanted to be free. Was not that why you ran from your mother to begin with? You have made it clear that you did not seek me as a husband, that it was my decision forcing you.”
She moved her hand, her thumb stroked the firmness of his lips. They both jerked as if from shock. She moved her thumb again.
“What you say is true, but tells only part of the story. Our marriage was not of my choosing, and yet I did in some way choose you by coming to you. That showed both trust and liking. Surely those are not bad grounds for marriage.”
He opened his lips beneath her touch. She could feel the warmth and moisture of his breath. She stroked again.
He dropped his gaze, turning his face fully into her caress. “You are right in theory, but there is more to it.”
“I know. Why do you think I am here?”
“Not to play cards?”
“It is true I do not know how to play piquet. I will need lessons. Do you think you could teach me? I have always believed myself a fast learner.” The blush was back. She could feel it rising again. Did he read between the lines? She did not think she could say more.
He opened his mouth further, nipped the flesh pad of her thumb between her teeth. She jerked back, startled.
“As you have read, the first part of the hand is blanks and discards. A blank has no face cards. Personally I am partial to faces.” He nipped her thumb again, then sucked it into his mouth. It was so hot, so damp. She never realized how soft a mouth was. She remembered their kiss, his tongue dipping into her mouth. Images from the book rose before her eyes. She pulled her thumb back, he sucked it in further. She knew there was more to the gesture than she could yet understand, she could not wait to know all.
He slipped a hand behind her waist pulling her between his knees. “If you don’t have any face cards you must discard. I am afraid you have a face, two of them as you seem to have taken ownership of mine. What would you like to discard?”
She gasped as Tristan’s hand slipped beneath the hem of her gown and traced up her calf, her thigh, following the path his eyes had so recently traced. Sparks of fire shot from his fingers as they moved slowly over skin.
The magic she had sought, returned.
“What about this?” His hand reached her garter, and with a quick twist pulled it free.
Chapter Fourteen
He had given in too easily. Where was honor when it was so easily lost? She was so soft, so sleek, a goddess come to life. And he was mortal. How could a man resist when a goddess summoned? He let his hand drift up her other leg. He caught the bow of the other garter and pulled it loose. “You still have a face. You must discard again.” He let the garter drop to the floor.
Her hand slipped from his face, to catch the knot of cravat. She hesitated.
“Ah, to shy too tell me that I must discard also.” His words whispered across her belly, he could see it quiver in response.
“I do not remember the rules calling for this, this is more disrobe than discard.” She blushed at her own quip, but let her fingers creep between the fine cloth and his neck.
It was the blush that had done him in. He’d watched the color and heat move up her body and known he was lost. The sophisticated women of his acquaintance were masters of the subtle art of flirting, but no calculated gesture had ever captured him as powerfully as her innocent flush.
He slid his hands down her legs, pulling the stockings with them. He lifted a hand to his neck and untied his cravat with a single tug. He held it out. “The next part of the hand is called Ruffs.