The Wager (7 page)

He inclined his head and threw the die.
"But of course, what else would I think?
Ah a six,
therefore a full house sixes and threes."

He has
the luck of the devil.

***

Brook handed her the dice and marked his score
on the slate provided for that purpose. He was enjoying himself much more than
he had thought possible. The fact that Catherine was not indifferent to him was
balm to his injured senses, and added a frisson of awareness to each move. It
was only now he could admit to his feelings for her, for the wound she gave him
was deep and had lasted longer than he ever would have thought possible. When
he had agreed to the wager with Jermyn, his uppermost thought had been revenge,
but now he had his doubts.

Her hands were small and dainty, and she
caressed each die as if it was a lover. His body hardened and he suppressed his
inclination to lean over the table, kiss her senseless and once more claim her
as his. She let the die go, to fly over the board, hit the edge, spin and stop
moving. Her groan of disgust made his lips twitch. She looked at him
suspiciously.

"If you laugh, I will pour my port over
your head," she
said,
her threat in her tone.
"I have two more casts in this round, so all is not over yet." She
picked three dice up. "I have a pair of sixes, which I leave. I will throw
the other three." Fascinated, he saw her tongue circle her lips as she
once more began to warm the cubes in her hands.

His manhood began to throb at the erotic
pictures that gesture produced. The stamp of her foot, somewhat muffled by the
Turkish carpet, dragged his mind back to the scenario in front of him. Her
throw had not improved her lot.

"Bad luck." He tried to inject
sympathy into his words.

She glared at him from under lowered lashes.

"Do try to sound as if you mean it,
Brook."

He laughed. "I do, I want to win, but I
also want to make a game of it. To win easily will reduce the satisfaction.
"

She threw the dice, staring at him as she did.
Neither looked to see the result.
"And are you always
satisfied, Brook?"

Is
she
bantering innuendo?

"Usually," he said urbanely. "My
partner…" He paused.
"Always."

"My, what an ego.
Damn, I have three of a kind.
Your hand.
So this is one occasion when I can safely say
your partner is
not
satisfied."
She tapped her nails on the table in a staccato rhythm.
"Losers
first?"

"Why not?"

Catherine firmed her lips and had scarcely
rolled the dice around her hands before she cast them. Her cry of delight made
him smile.

"Four of a kind, Brook,
four fives."
Once more
she ran her tongue around her lips, and once more his body reacted in a
predictable manner. What was it in that simple gesture that was so sensuous?
The thought of where else she could run her tongue perhaps, or the fact it drew
attention to such kissable lips? Whichever, it was guaranteed to make him lose
the thread of a conversation, or the state of play, and wish they were
elsewhere.

"Very good," he said at last when he
realized she was waiting for him to comment. "I assume you will throw
one?"

The look she threw
him
would have withered a lesser man. It conveyed so much.
Amusement, astonishment, and disbelief that he needed to comment on
something so obvious.

He leaned over the table and took her hand in
his. She stared at him, puzzlement in her eyes. With deliberation, he took his
time and stroked her palm until she shivered. Then Brook stood up, and without
letting go of her hand walked around the table and helped her to her feet. He
bent his head and kissed her neck. The dice fell to the floor with a soft thud,
and he pulled her close.

She gave a
thready
sigh, and he thought she might have said "oh yes," but he was so
involved in how she felt close to him, her perfume filling him, he could not be
sure. Catherine swayed into him, and he felt the swell of her breasts against
his chest. With regret he lifted his head and satisfied himself with a swift
kiss on her lips, before he pulled back. He picked the dice up from the floor
and handed it to her.

"Now, shall we resume? You are about to
cast your second throw of this game I believe?”

Chapter Eight

I was?
Catherine's senses were shot. "Oh I was,
yes, thank you." She sat down abruptly. Why had he kissed her? Surely not
just to confuse her? His repartee could do that. Flustered, she threw the dice
and stared without comprehension as it turned and stopped with a five
uppermost. His, "Well done, I will be lucky to best you in this
round," didn't register until she heard the noise of chalk on the slate.

"Oh yes, so
er
,
all rests on the last hand. And you go first this time?"

"As you say.
But first would you like another port? Are you
warm enough, hungry…tired?"

"Yes please, yes, no, and no. Are you
procrastinating, Brook?"

"As you have just
repeated so often lately, my dear.
No, merely savoring the evening. It is a long time since I
have enjoyed myself so much." His chair slid back as he went to the
sideboard and carried the decanter back to the table. Half full, the rich
liquid flashed in the candlelight, and the crystals of its ornate surface
winked and shone as their facets also caught the light. Catherine stared at it,
fascinated by the colors.

"My grandfather's," Brook explained as
he filled their glasses. "I have no idea where he acquired it, it is a
decanter made to be used at sea, hence the shape. Knowing grandpapa, he would
not have obtained it through conventional channels."

"Not like your father, then?"
Catherine shuddered at the thought of Brook's father. She had only met him a
few times, but he had been a martinet, and she suspected he had made both
Brook, his siblings, and his mother's life a misery. His early demise had been
a blessing, his death mourned by no one.

"Indeed not." Brook put the decanter
on the floor, and picked up the dice. "Grandpapa was a true gentleman.
That is not a title I feel could be applied to my father, though he chose to
believe he was one. Now let me see what I can do to redeem myself and alter
this stalemate." He threw the dice in such a way that they hardly rolled.
Catherine looked at him with suspicion. She wondered if she covered the dice
and demanded he told her the outcome, if he would be correct. She knew if one
was skilled it was possible to manipulate the outcome. He caught her glance,
and it seemed he interpreted it correctly.

"No, I did not cheat, and if you wish me to
take the throw again without seeing what they say I will do so. If I win, it
will be by fair means, not foul."

"I trust you."
I think.
"The outcome remains. She looked at the cubes of
ivory resting by the corner of the board, and wanted to cheer. What a mess.

"Hmm, perhaps you shouldn't have. Then I
might be faced with a better hand than this." He put the dice in a row.
"Ace, two, four, four, six.
What
a
mishmash
. I will throw five."

Five?
What is he trying to do?
Catherine knew better than to question him.
Instead she inclined her head. "Play on."
 

This time he kept the dice in his hands for so
long she was ready to scream, before he threw them. When at last they began to
tumble over the board she let out the breath he hadn't realized she was
holding.

"I have two aces and two sixes, and a
three. This is a disaster." He didn't look distressed, just the opposite.
"So Catherine, I have one throw left, and then it will be all down to you.
Tell me, how do you think I should proceed?" The look he gave her once
more filled her body with heat. It should be against the law to be aroused so
easily.

"Legally," she said, and deliberately
rang her fingers around the fluted neckline of her dress. The action brought
her bosoms to his attention; she saw his eyes flicker down, up and then down
again. Her nipples felt tight against the bodice of her dress, and the soft
cotton of her chemise chafed them.

His hands went to his cravat, and tugged it.

"It is somewhat…warm is it not? Feel free
to loosen
your
..." She paused as she remembered
the smoldering glance he had given her earlier when she had licked her lips.
Was it worth repeating? It was worth the chance. Once more she let her tongue trace
the contours of her mouth, and saw his eyes narrow. Good. He had noticed.
"Your cravat," she finished.

In response he bowed and slowly began to unwind
the long piece of linen. The play of his hands made it difficult to swallow,
her mouth was so dry. Hastily she took a hefty swallow of port, which promptly
went down the wrong way. Coughing and spluttering, her eyes streaming, she let
him pat her on the back until the attack was over. How inelegant she must look.
Red eyed, red faced, and blotchy, no doubt.

Catherine accepted his proffered handkerchief
and wiped her eyes. "Your throw," she reminded him.
"Your choice."

"Then I throw three." He shook,
rolled, and cast the dice almost before she could draw breath. "Damn, I
have three aces and a king. The two is superficial. It is now all down to
you."

Catherine was sure somehow, he had jeopardized
his throw. Why else had he finished with such a poor showing? However she had
seen nothing. She took the proffered dice and began to roll them in her palm.
She had no idea why it was necessary. Indeed, until Jermyn had shown her this
way of dicing it had always been with two dice and a quick flick of her hand to
cast them. This was much more exciting, and did involve some skill. It was not
totally chance.

Her first roll was not much better than his.
"Two, three, three four six."
She could go for a
straight, but it was a gamble.
You are
playing dice, it is
meant
to be a
gamble.
She giggled inwardly.
Take a
chance, if you don't win, you don't lose. The prize is Brook. If you win the
prize is your self-esteem
. In truth she didn't know which outcome was
preferable.

"I will throw two." Catherine picked
one of the cubes showing three, and the one with the six uppermost. Absently
she rubbed them up her arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the predatory
glint in his, and repeated the movement, before slowly drawing them over her
chest and putting them next to her mouth. She formed a kiss.

"For luck."

"Catherine, you are
pushing
your luck," Brook said. "If you are innocent of
seduction, I must explain what those gestures do to a man. If you are not, be
warned, they are working. I am sure you must remember how my body responded to
yours? That has not changed, if anything it has grown stronger with
abstinence."

She laughed, did not answer, and flicked the
dice across the board. One clipped the edge and turned on itself to reveal a
five. The other rolled from one end of the board to the other. The tick of the
clock on the mantle sounded loud as both watched the die’s journey. After what
seemed like an hour it rested on one edge and fell.
Another
five.

"So, two, three, four,
four, five.
A pair no more.
Is this where one of us
says, “Life rests on the throw of a dice?"

He grinned. His face lit up and he was the Brook
she had once known. "You could do. I prefer to say the
rest
of our lives depend on the outcome.
Toss
them,
put one of us into raptures, and the other
into despair."

 
Who would
experience which? With a resolution she didn't feel, Catherine picked one of
the dice that showed four, and warmed the ivory for a brief second.

 
"I
throw one, a pair is not good,
I
may as well go for
broke." She closed her eyes and let it go. She heard it roll; then all was
silent.

"Are you not going to look?" Brook's
voice held amusement and nothing else.

"Should I? Will I be happy?"

"Look and see."

Cautiously she opened her eyes, and looked at
him. Nothing showed on his face, it was devoid of expression. She let her eyes
wander to the table. There in the middle were the two dice she had cast moments
before.

It took several seconds for the results to sink
in.

A six
—
a glorious, game-winning six.

"I,
er
...I have a
straight. I believe it is a winner, my lord. So, therefore I win the wager two
hands to one."