His. She was, very definitely, that.
If it hadn't been for the hours they'd spent in his bed, he might have wondered if she'd played him for a fool, if she'd been interested only in an illicit interlude, or four, with one whom her circle would dub seriously dangerous. Even now, he wasn't sure his reputation hadn't, in part, contributed to the attraction, at least at first. But now… now, there was more to her motives than simple lust.
Returning to his bedchamber an hour later, having seen her back into the chaos of the masquerade, watched until she'd found her sister and Carmarthen and left, he exhaled. He was relaxed but not at peace, tired but not sleepy. Shutting the door, he headed for the huge armchair before the fire. A splotch of white glowing against the rich hues of the rug caught his eye.
The orchids he'd sent her, the orchids she'd worn at her throat so he'd known her instantly; he picked them up.
She'd left the masquerade as soon as she'd rejoined her sister and Carmarthen; at the time, he'd wondered if that was because she'd known he was watching and he wouldn't allow her to flirt with other gentlemen, or because she'd only attended the masquerade to meet with him. Dropping into the armchair, he turned the orchids between his fingers. His frame of mind, then, had not been all that rational.
Looking back on their encounters, studying the orchids, he knew full well it was the latter-she'd come to meet him, as she had so often before.
Aside from anything else, she was not that sort of woman-the sort who went easily, without thought or affection, to a man's bed. She was a Cynster-he understood her type well. She came from the same stock as he, but he'd never known a Cynster female, one born and bred, only Cynster males. His experience of her thus far suggested he'd be wise to extrapolate.
Thus far, he'd underestimated her at every turn.
He'd known from the first that she was playing some game, yet he hadn't been able to perceive her goal-what she'd wanted to win. He'd let himself be cajoled into playing with her, let himself fall under her spell, all the while confident that she-an innocent no matter her years-could not possibly wring from him anything he didn't wish to give.
He considered the orchids, the thick, milky-white petals soft, smooth, like her skin, then curled his fingers, closed his hand about the flowers.
Breathed in their scent.
Closed his eyes, let his head rest against the chair's back.
He knew what she wanted.
He'd hoped to avoid having to play for that stake, having to defend it, yet she'd taken every trick thus far, and left him with little else to toss on the table to avoid having to risk his heart.
A log in the fireplace cracked, broke. Opening his eyes, he watched the flames leap, felt their warmth roll over him.
Considered his last remaining option.
For there was one thing more, one trump he yet held, a penultimate card that just might see him through, might let him turn the tide and seize her hand-and her-without having to risk his heart's defenses.
The question was: was he willing to play it?
Chapter 13
"These arrived for you a few minutes ago, Miss Amanda."
Reaching the front hall, Amanda looked up as Colthorpe offered a tissue-wrapped spray of flowers on his salver. "Thank you, Colthorpe."
Amelia joined her as she picked up the spray. Together with Louise, presently descending the stairs, they were about to leave for Lady Matcham's grand ball. "That ribbon's gold thread," Amelia murmured.
Amanda studied the spray. The tissue protecting the blooms was caught in the ribbon so it could easily be freed. Holding the beribboned stems, she tugged; the tissue came away, revealing three perfect white orchids.
Amelia stared; Amanda did, too.
Louise arrived beside them. "How lovely!" She picked up the spray, examined the blooms. "Incredibly exotic." She returned the spray to Amanda. "Who are they from?"
Amanda glanced at Colthorpe. "There wasn't a note."
Colthorpe shook his head. "Delivered by a groom in dark brown livery, green-and-gold piping. I didn't recognize the house."
"Well." Louise headed for the front door. "You'll just have to carry it and see who comes to claim your hand."
Amanda glanced at Amelia; Amelia stared back.
"Come along now, or we'll be late."