Luck Is No Lady(50)

“I do not believe that is true,” Emma argued. “You are who you are no matter how people see you. Bastard is a label of birth, not the nature of a man. So is lord for that matter.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then his lips quirked upward in a smile that made her toes curl. It seemed her words had pleased him. A great deal. And that in turn made her happy, the warm sort that spread out to her fingertips.

She smiled back.

“How did you come to be the proprietor of a gambling club?”

He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he tapped the deck of cards he held in his hand against his thigh.

The neck of his shirt fell open to one side, giving Emma a delightful glimpse of his chest. She felt a swift rush of heat through her blood. This was not the warm rush she had felt a moment ago. This was stark and hot and direct, angling straight to her center with searing awareness. She pressed her knees together in an effort to contain the sensation, but it only increased the reaction low in her body.

She looked up to his face. He seemed gratefully unaware of her private discomfort.

“After my mother died, I spent years in a sort of reckless fog. I did not bother with worrying about perils or consequences. But eventually a man starts to grow up, despite himself.” His smile twisted ruefully. “I realized there was more to life than dissolute days and nights of depravity. By then, I had discovered an affinity for knowing when something was a good bet, on the tables and on the exchange. I started making a lot of money and wondered why I was spending it all in someone else’s establishment when I could have a place of my own.”

“You should be proud of what you have accomplished.”

“I am. Until days like today, when sleep eludes me and I find myself pacing about the room like a madman, muttering to myself.”

His self-deprecating tone was an obvious attempt to hide the truth Emma suddenly saw very clearly. Even though he had built a mini empire and had filled it with people he trusted, in many ways he had been alone for a long time.

What it must have felt like to grow up as he had and then lose his mother when he had been such a young man. She had grown to adulthood surrounded by family. She had her little sisters, and before her mother’s illness, her parents had a strong and caring union  . It wasn’t until after her mother died that things started to fall apart.

The challenges he had faced in childhood and as a man without family had gone a long way in defining how he saw himself. Emma wished he could see how far he had come beyond the stigma of his birth.

Settling his gaze on her, his smile slid into a wolfish sort of grin.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice low and suggestive.

Emma shifted in her seat, feeling that voice down to her toes.

“My turn for what?” she asked, though she knew perfectly well what he wanted.

“Friends know things about each other, right? So tell me.”

Emma stalled by reaching for her wineglass and realized it had gotten dangerously low once again. She was drinking far more than she was used to, and it was starting to go to her head. That much was evident by just how relaxed she had become with the man across from her.

She wanted to tell him—everything. But she was not quite so tipsy that she would.

After taking a generous drink of her wine, she tilted her head and gave him a smile. “I am afraid the truth has consequences that affect more than myself. I cannot put those I love in jeopardy.”

Rather than argue as she expected, he nodded. “I know.”

A strange thrill of awareness raced down her spine at his words. Just what did he know?

But he had already shifted his attention.

Leaning forward, he started to shuffle the cards. The moment had passed.

When he finished dealing, Emma reached to pick up her cards. She was prevented from doing so as he abruptly covered her hand with his, pinning it to the table.

His hand was warm and the breadth of it completely covered her own. Something hot and intimate passed to her through his touch, jolting her senses. She looked up in surprise.

His eyes sparkled with wickedness as he caught her gaze. “We were going to make the game more interesting, remember?”

Despite the tingling fire igniting in her blood, she held her composure. “You wanted to make it more interesting. I said I do not wager.”

“Why not?”

Not expecting the blunt question, Emma hesitated. She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he curled his fingers and folded her hand in his.

“I cannot afford to be so irresponsible,” she replied, feeling a quiver of weakness in her voice as he turned her hand to rest in the cradle of his palm.

His vivid gaze held hers. “No one plays like you do without a fire of recklessness burning in their belly. I understand your need for restraint, but it is unnecessary here. Take a risk, Emma, if just to see what it feels like.”