Luck Is No Lady(48)

Lowering her glass, she found herself caught in his gaze. Knowing he had watched her sip her wine made her feel all quivery again.

He flashed another grin before he turned back to take his seat. Leaning against the high back of his chair, he rested his elbows on the padded arms and braced his feet wide on the floor. After taking a drink from his own glass, he lowered it to the surface of one solidly muscled thigh.

Emma’s breath became constrained at the sight of him in the relaxed yet commanding posture. His chin was lowered and his blue eyes gleamed from beneath the shadow of his dark brows while his wide, generous mouth curved in an almost reticent smile. Goodness, why did the man have to be so beautiful? She suddenly felt like a common pigeon stranded in the nest of an eagle.

She did not belong here in his reckless world. She was the responsible eldest Chadwick girl. The one who had made a solemn vow to her mother she would take care of her family no matter what. The one who did what was necessary to hold things together when her father fell apart. She was practical and reliable and not at all spontaneous.

So why then did she feel such an overwhelming compulsion to prove otherwise?

She suddenly—desperately—wanted to be more than the responsible manager of her family’s misfortune. She wanted to be a little reckless. A little careless and unpredictable.

Wary of the thoughts swirling in her head, yet not willing to ignore them, Emma watched as he took another sip of his drink. The movement was so common, the actual act of drinking not at all unusual. Yet in that instance it took on a deeper connotation. She observed the way his masculine fingers held the delicate crystal, the resting of his lips against the rim and the lush slide of the red wine in the glass. It was mesmerizing.

Resting his glass on his thigh once more, he tilted his head to the side. “I am glad you decided to stay and keep me company.”

“Is that what I am doing?” Emma asked in a guarded tone.

His smile this time was rueful, and he lifted his hand to run it back through his hair, tousling the locks even more. “On occasion, I suffer from a relentless form of insomnia. A likely side effect of the odd hours I keep. No matter how tired I am in body, some days nothing succeeds in calming my mind.” He glanced at the paperwork on the table beside him. “Even dry investment proposals.”

As he spoke, Emma finally realized what she had seen as rakish confidence in the relaxed and languid way he moved was clearly physical exhaustion. She noted the shadows beneath his eyes and sensed a vulnerability she had gotten only brief glimpses of in the past.

“Sometimes if I distract myself from the idea of sleep, it allows my mind to catch up to the exhaustion in my body.” He shrugged. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind keeping me company for a while. Perhaps we could play cards.”

Emma stiffened, a quiet panic seeping into her blood. “I do not think—”

“Come now,” he interrupted with a teasing grin. “Even sweet old grandmothers play whist.”

Emma lifted her wine and took a drink to dispel her discomfort at the idea of taking up a game of cards. She hadn’t played since her father died.

“You are allowed to have a little fun. I won’t spread tales.” He dipped his chin and a thick lock of hair fell over his forehead. His voice was low and tempting. “And I can promise not to beat you too badly.”

Emma was helpless against such a blatant challenge. He would live to regret those words.

She gave a tight little smile. “I suppose I can play for a little while. As long as you do not mind that I am neglecting my duties.”

“That is the thing about duty and responsibility,” he answered jauntily as he stood. “They do not ever go away on their own. The accounts will be just as you left them when you get back to them. And there is something to be said for a rejuvenating holiday from the daily drudgery.”

Emma rose to her feet as well.

He swept his arm to the side. “Shall we adjourn to the table?”

She turned to see a round card table of beautifully carved oak covered in green felt. It was set in the corner of the room, surrounded by four handsome chairs. A chandelier hung from the ceiling directly above the center of the table and cast a soft and even glow over the surface.

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t even noticed it upon her entrance. Taking her wine with her to the table, she chose one of the chairs facing the fireplace. She took another drink before setting the glass down.

Excitement simmered at the prospect of facing him across the table. It was likely to be an invigorating experience.

Bentley came up beside her and leaned forward to pour more claret from the bottle he had fetched from the liquor service. The scent of him drifted toward her just as he straightened and stepped away to take his seat across from her. His nearness had been brief, but it was enough to set Emma’s nerves on edge.