“I preferpersuasive,” he said.
“I preferrude,” she returned, and his mouth twitched.
She left before he could get another word in.
CHAPTER 13
Nine o’clock found Maria outside Stephen’s study with a small lacquered box tucked under her arm. The corridor clock had just chimed; she waited for the last note to fade, then knocked.
“Come,” Stephen called.
She stepped in and held up the box.
“I’ve brought peace offerings.”
He glanced at the fire, then at her hands. “If the peace offerings are shrubs, I rescind the hour.”
“Cards,” she said, setting the box on the table. “We can talk while we play. Or not talk. The cards will keep us from pretending to be busy.”
“Dangerous,” he said, amused. “You mean to take my money on the second night.”
“You’ve given me permission to spend it,” she said, opening the box and lifting out a well-used deck. “I thought I’d start modestly.”
He smiled despite himself and drew the curtains against the draft.
“What shall it be then?” he asked. “The game of choice? I would like to see what you want to play.”
“Vingt-et-un,” she said. “Or piquet. Or we can simply take turns winning and call it polite marriage.”
“Vingt-et-un,” he decided, pulling out chairs. “The rules are simple enough to allow for conversation and humiliation.”
“You are very confident,” she said, shuffling neatly. “Cut.”
He cut and she dealt. They played the first hand in comfortable silence. He stood at nineteen; she took one more card and went over, three too many. She grimaced; he raised a brow.
“Unlucky,” he said.
“Over-optimistic,” she corrected, scooping the cards and dealing again. “Your fault. You looked like a man who would stand.”
“I did stand,” he said. “At nineteen. Not for the first time.”
“Don’t be boring at cards,” she warned. “It makes the deck sulk.”
He gave her a look that would have intimidated Parliament. It had very little effect on her. She hit at sixteen, drew a five, and sighed loudly enough to make the fire agree with her.
“House gains,” he said blandly.
“You aren’t the house,” she muttered, pushing a single penny across the board anyway. “You’re a man who thinks he can stare down fate and win.”
“It works more often than it should,” he said.
“Not tonight.” She dealt again. “Tell me something unimportant.”
He considered. “The new ostler cannot count past seven unless the numbers belong to horses.”
“That’s important,” she said.
“To him,” he said. “To me, it is an amusing rhythm.”