“Henry,” she said patiently, pursing her lips to restrain the smile that wanted to emerge. “I have got a dowry of twenty thousand pounds.”

  “Oh.” He paused in his shuffling just briefly, as if it had slipped his mind.

  And Grace found that she rather liked that. That even when he thought himself so substantially reduced, her dowry had not been a consideration. That he wanted her more than anything else.

  He stared down at the deck of cards in his hand, considering them as if they held his entire future within them. “The mistake my parents spoke of wasn’t me,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t even how their relationship had begun. It was in letting the important things go unspoken for too long. It was in the consequences of not being perfectly honest with one another to begin with. It was in waiting past the point of reason in silence. And because I assumed differently, I made the same mistake. I should have told you I loved you well before now. So I am telling you now, and hoping it isn’t too late for me. For us.” He drew a steadying breath, tapped the well-shuffled cards back into order. “I’m changing the terms of our game,” he said. “One last hand. Winner takes all.”

  “Henry,” Grace protested as he dealt the cards. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I really do,” he said resolutely. “Fair warning. I’ve dealt myself twenty points.”

  Why would he tell her that? To give her a fighting chance to win? She didn’t need it; she could always cheat. She glanced down at the cards he’d dealt her, still face down upon the table, and experienced a small shock as she realized—they weren’t from the same deck. The artwork printed upon the backs was different.

  Somehow, he’d palmed a card and she hadn’t noticed. He’d dealt her not just a card he’d switched out for another, but a card from a completely different deck, and she hadn’t seen him do it.

  A nagging suspicion settled in her stomach. “That was…very clever of you,” she said. “I didn’t see the switch at all.”

  “I have been practicing,” he said. “Probably I’ll never be half so good as you—”

  “No one is half so good as me.”

  “—But I wanted to make you proud. To show you that your efforts on my behalf were not wasted.” He inclined his head toward the cards she still hadn’t picked up. “The one I slipped in,” he said, “I’ve had it on me for quite some time, now.”

  Oh. The queen of hearts. The one he’d had tucked up his sleeve when he’d left after the first time he’d called upon her. That nagging suspicion grew, and with fingers that trembled, she lifted the cards from the table.

  He’d dealt her a natural twenty-one. He hadn’t told her what he held in his hand to inform her of what she would have to beat; he’d known full well that he’d dealt her the winning hand. He’d told her only so that she would know what score to come in beneath—if she cared to do so.

  And he’d left the choice quite literally in her hands.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Henry had never been much given to gambling, and this—this was by far the largest wager he’d ever made in his life. His heart pounded in his chest and his pulse rushed in his ears as he watched Grace consider the hand he’d dealt to her, her face utterly smooth and serene. The sort of face that revealed nothing at all, and could have won her a fortune even if she hadn’t cheated.

  At any moment she could lay her cards down on the table opposite his own. He would lose, and the game would end. That was the risk he had taken; the choice he had given her.

  But she didn’t. She held them close to her chest, considered them a moment longer. “What is my tell?” she asked.

  Henry blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “My tell. You said I had one. I would like to know what it is.”

  She had already promised not to lie to him again, and she hadn’t been lying when she’d done it. And so long as she still held those cards in her hands, there was every chance she would never lie to him again—because there was every chance that she would never even speak to him again, let alone lie.

  He said, “Your nose twitches.”

  Her eyes widened, and she shifted her cards to one hand to touch her nose with the tips of her fingers. “Does it?”

  “It’s adorable,” he admitted gloomily. “Or it would be, were it not accompanied by the lying.”

  “I am sorry for that,” she said, her eyes lowering once more to her cards. “It’s just that I knew I would be going to the tavern anyway, and I didn’t want to argue about it.”

  “I would always rather have an argument,” he said, “than have you lie to me. I would trust you with my life, but I must also be able to trust you at your word. And I know that it wasn’t mean-spirited. I know it must have seemed only like a means to an end. But the argument is worth having.”

  “I don’t always think about such things,” she admitted, as she lifted one hand to toy with a lock of her hair. “I lived most of my life in a completely different sort of world than you. My childhood was full of such trickery; all lies and deceit and swindling. I learned it from the cradle.” A little shrug. “Perhaps my morals are more flexible than is preferable. I still steal upon occasion, when I feel it’s justified. I cheat at cards for the fun of it.”

  “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said. “We could simply…talk.”

  “Argue, you mean to say.”

  “Yes; argue. Sometimes you’ve got to argue.”

  “And you’ll expect to win,” she grumbled.

  Henry felt a laugh rattle in his chest. “Against you? Oh, no. I think I’d expect to lose more often than not. But I still want to have the damned argument, Grace.”

  She gave a nod so small, he wasn’t even certain it construed agreement. Perhaps it was more likely it was only acknowledgement, since she hadn’t agreed to anything just yet. And still she held those cards close to her chest and said, “It was…brave of you to come here this evening.”

  “Not brave,” he said. “I’m certain your uncle, Mr. Moore, can smell fear. And I’ve been terrified since the moment I walked through the door.”

  For a fraction of a moment, a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “I know,” she said. “And rather unfortunately for you, so does everyone else.”

  He felt himself deflate on a sigh. “I thought as much.”

  “My family intimidates you.”

  “Of course they intimidate me,” he said. “There’s so damned many of them, and at least half of them despise me at present. When Mr. Moore dragged me out of the St. John ball, I was certain he was going to toss me into the Thames.”

  “He did offer, once.”

  “So he said.” Henry folded his arms atop the table and leaned in. “They do intimidate me,” he said again. “But I think I could grow…accustomed to them. All of them. And perhaps eventually I would grow on them.”

  “Like a fungus?” Grace suggested, with a tiny tilt of her head.

  “I hope to God not like a fungus,” he chuckled. “But I love you. If that means I must endure a bit of unpleasantness—”

  “And dried peas.”

  “—Until I have proven myself to the rest of your family, then I will do it.” Henry rolled his shoulders, hoping to relieve a bit of the tension that had pulled them taut. “Grace,” he said softly, and stretched one hand across the table toward hers in the faint hope that she might take it. “When I knew I had lost everything, what I mourned most was you.”

  She softened, just a little, as she glanced down at his ruined fingers. “You can’t go around beating the stuffing out of everyone you dislike,” she said. “At least my family usually restrains themselves to sharp words and dried peas.”

  “Your uncle offered to throw me in the Thames.”

  “I said usually,” she sniffed.

  “I didn’t plan on it,” he said. “But my uncle was there, and he was rubbing my nose in what he’d done. And that—that didn’t upset me half so much as when he told me that Latimer had danced with you already, that there was the possibility he intended to court you again, and I just…lost my head entirely.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t have hit him,” Grace said.

  “Perhaps not, but it was satisfying.” He flexed his knuckles at the memory of introducing his fist to Latimer’s face. “He didn’t appreciate you as he ought to have done,” he said. “It made me beyond furious.”

  “If he had,” Grace said, pursing her lips in haughty condescension, “perhaps I would already have married him.”

  “I’ll hit him again.”

  “Henry. What has become of you?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” he said on a heavy sigh. “Perhaps I know what it is, now, to be truly desperate.” Still his fingers stretched toward hers, an open invitation. “I promise you that I do appreciate you, and I will love you for the rest of my life if you will only give me the opportunity to prove it to you.”

  Grace shifted in her seat and chewed at her lower lip. “I won’t do your reputation any favors,” she said. “We’re still scandalous, my family, and we’re not particularly repentant about it. People will say you’re marrying beneath you.”

  “We can’t control what people say,” he said, parroting her own words back to her. “I know that you’ll know better. And I have come to understand that what people say is not nearly so consequential as what we know to be true.”

  Once again her eyes flicked to her hands. She shifted just a little in her seat, and the pad of her thumb slid along the edge of one card. The queen of hearts he’d returned to her at last, eminently recognizable by the pattern printed upon its back, different from the rest of the cards. “You’re giving this back to me?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “That is a temporary loan. It’s mine, now.”

  “Yours!” she said, on a short, incredulous laugh. “It’s mine. You’ve ruined a whole deck, you know.”

  “I’ll replace the deck if you like,” he said. “But the queen is mine. It’s my good-luck token.”

  Grace gave a dismissive little snort. “You don’t believe in such things, do you?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “But I do now. I’ve gotten accustomed to keeping it in my pocket. It gives me comfort to know it is there, so I must have it back.” His fingertips tapped out an anxious rhythm upon the surface of the table. “Besides,” he said, “it’s only fair that I should steal your queen, when you stole my heart.”

  Her mouth popped open. “I did no such thing!”

  “Oh, yes, you did. Perhaps it’s not your fault; you’re such a proficient little thief that probably you weren’t even aware you were doing it. But you did, and now—now it is yours. And you cannot return it, for I’ll only give it back to you again.”

  Her eyes misted over, vibrant green glistening in the lamplight. Her lashes lowered, her lips trembled faintly—and she lowered her cards to the table at last. “Well,” she said. “It seems you’ve gotten the best of me. I have only seventeen points.”

  He didn’t know when she had made the switch; probably he would never be competent enough to catch her at it. But the ace he’d dealt her had been replaced at some point, and the winning hand he knew she had once had was now reduced to only a queen and a seven.

  Relief swept over him in a great, crashing wave. He reached for her across the small table, and this time, emptied at last of their cards, her hands slid neatly into his, her small, soft fingers intertwining with his own. “Does this mean—”

  “Yes.” She leaned across the table, her lips catching at his.

  He released a shuddering breath, drew in another that was fragrant with the alluring jasmine scent she wore. “And you will—”

  A soft sound curled in her throat as her lips parted beneath the pressure of his. “Oh, yes,” she breathed, releasing one of his hands to slide her fingers into his hair.

  He hadn’t a ring for her. The estate jewelry was entailed; it was unlikely that even Mother would be allowed to keep so much as her wedding ring, much less that he would be permitted to retain the use of any others. But he would find something for her, something that suited her. Something she would be proud to wear, even if she would be only his wife and not his countess. “I have got to get you a ring,” he said. “And we have got to tell your family—”

  “Not tonight.” Her fingers drifted down his chest, her palm coming to rest over his heart. “Tonight is for Danny and Hannah. They shouldn’t have to share it.” A light scratch of her nails. “But you can stay for the party.”

  “They’ll shoot dried peas at me.”

  A little laugh, light and airy and delighted. “Probably they will. Will you mind terribly?”

  “No.” He hesitated. “Will your family suspect, do you think? Will they be…displeased?”

  “They won’t suspect; they’ll know. But they want me to be happy, so it’s possible they’ll even be cordial.” She pressed a last quick kiss to his lips as she disentangled her fingers from his and rose to her feet. “Let’s go, shall we?”

  “One moment. I need—” He paused as he glanced down at the cards upon the table, which had become rather scrambled about in the last few moments. He shuffled them about with his fingertips, searching through them. “Grace?”

  “What?” she inquired innocently as she backed toward the door.

  “This,” he said, as he lifted the queen she’d revealed in her hand from the table and held it up for her perusal, “is the queen of diamonds.”

  A guileless blink. “Is it, then?”

  “What has become of my queen?”

  She pressed her lips together to stem the mirth that shook her shoulders. “It is somewhere upon my person,” she said sweetly. “And if you are very lucky, I’ll let you find it.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Henry lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, simultaneously exhausted and thrumming with exhilaration. The party had continued even after he’d at last given up the ghost and made his excuses to leave, and Grace had been correct—everyone had known immediately, even if they had made no announcement. It had gone over better than he might have hoped; he’d been struck with two peas, received seven handshakes, and Mr. Moore had even clapped him upon the back in a fashion that was more congratulatory than threatening.

  Grace’s sisters had been gracious, if reserved. But Grace had assured him that they would come around eventually, and he believed her. They only wanted her happiness, and that was to their credit.

  Tansy had followed him home, and Grace had rolled her eyes in exasperation and allowed it, owing to the fact that the poor girl had been all but banished from his garden in recent days. She was even now tucked up against his side, purring madly as she kneaded the mattress beside his hip, swishing that fantastically long and fluffy tail against his chin.

  She wasn’t exactly the bed companion he would have preferred, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and at least she was soft and warm and amenable gentle scratches down her back. Wherever it was they moved once they’d married—whether to the estate that had been left to him in Hampshire, or to a smaller residence somewhere in London—it would have to have a garden suitable for the planting of a great quantity of catmint.

  The life that stretched into the future now would be fundamentally different than the one he had expected to live. How very strange it was to think that only weeks ago, he had been so frantic to safeguard his title, to protect his possessions and his place in society, desperately seeking Grace’s help to save him from looming disaster.

  Grace had saved him. Perhaps she had not been able to save what he’d thought he’d wanted, but what she had given him instead felt—cleaner. Softer. Kinder. A life made freer than the one he had lived thus far, one where the pursuit of perfection no longer mattered. One with a ready-made family so large, so robust, that even when the scandal inevitably descended upon them, they would still have a place. Mother would have company again, people who would not cast judgment upon her, who would be kind to her. Eliza would have honorary cousins near her own age with whom to socialize.

  A different life. But a good one.

  A sound from floors below crested above the sonorous drone of Tansy’s purr, a rapid pounding designed to attract attention from those within a household that had clearly already retired for the evening. Henry lifted his head from the pillow. “Who could be calling at this hour?” he asked as he scratched Tansy between the ears.

  Tansy offered no opinion other than to shove her head into his hand.

  “Hell,” Henry muttered as the pounding redoubled and Tansy flattened her ears in annoyance. “Bound to wake the whole household at this rate.” And that was hardly fair, since everyone else had long retired, while he remained sleepless still.

  Tansy let out a long, warbling meow of displeasure as he climbed out of bed. As he shoved his feet into a discarded pair of trousers and threw on the banyan robe he’d left draped over the foot of the bed, she arched her back in a trembling stretch, padded toward his pillow, sank her claws into the plush, feathery softness of it, and began to knead. A promise of retribution, he thought, if he failed to return promptly.

  But for the continuous rapping below, the hall was quiet and dark. No one else had yet roused to it, and so he headed for the stairs, jogging down two at a time, hoping to reach the door before the knocking woke anyone else.

  The foyer was lit only with the faint glow of the moon pouring in from a high window, the darkness seething with shadows. The knocks had escalated into a frenetic pound, which reverberated off of the ceiling and walls, seeming to come from all around him. Henry crossed to the door, twisted the lock, and cast the door open.