The young Kitson’s grin widened. He trailed his fingers down the length of Emma’s arm. “I vow I can come up with more creative diversions than what can be conjured in your dull brain.”
Glenville stiffened sharply and Emma decided to intervene. She was not about to waste time being the mouse between two rival tomcats. Right now, she wanted only to be away from both of them.
“I have an idea. Let us play a game, shall we?”
Excitement flared bright in young Kitson’s eyes. He tilted his head in sharp curiosity. “What sort of game?”
“I shall think of a number between one and ten. Whoever guesses the number exactly wins the right to be my escort for the next hour.”
“And if neither of us guess the correct number?” Glenville asked.
Emma smiled. “I shall move on alone.”
“I am all in,” Kitson declared agreeably.
Glenville nodded as well, and Emma glanced around and caught the eye of a nearby footman. She gestured for him to approach.
Looking back at the two men vying for her hand, she explained, “So there is no doubt as to who is the winner, I will tell this footman my number.”
Both men agreed again.
Emma already knew what number she would choose. She had played this game a thousand times to settle arguments between her sisters and had determined this particular number to be the least likely chosen. The odds were on her side, since the gentlemen had only one guess each to pick the right number, whereas she had nine in her favor. Still, one of them could get lucky. At least her terms dictated she would have to endure only the winner’s escort for another hour.
Leaning toward the footman, she cupped a hand around her mouth to shield it from the gentlemen’s view and whispered her chosen number. The footman nodded gravely, as though he were often called upon for such antics.
“I shall go first,” Glenville declared. His brow furrowed as he put forth an obvious effort at guessing correctly. “Eight.”
Emma disguised her relief and gave a solemn shake of her head. “I am afraid that is not correct.”
Glenville’s eyes narrowed as he glanced to the footman for confirmation. The man gave a shallow nod.
“I guess four,” Kitson stated without deliberation, and Emma shook her head again.
“Also incorrect.”
“Blast!” the young man exclaimed, not bothering to hide his disappointment.
“The number is one,” declared a deeper voice as another player joined the game.
Emma’s momentary relief at having maneuvered herself free of the two men condensed into a burst of hot panic. She turned to see Roderick standing only two steps behind her, looking dashing and dangerous. He was so clearly in his element here, outshining every gentleman present with his casual elegance and self-assured manner. No one would mistake the fact that he was lord of this realm.
Her skin tingled as he came forward with a subtle half smile. His expression suggested it was no challenge at all to claim a lady’s escort with four simple words.
But just who was he claiming? Emma or a mysterious lady of the evening?
“Is he right?” Kitson asked.
Emma turned back to the young man. “Yes, he is correct.”
“Damn your luck, Bentley,” the young man exclaimed, though admiration had taken over the disappointment on his face.
Graciously accepting his loss, Glenville smiled amiably. “There is a reason our host does not join in the play. None of us would leave with any blunt in our coffers to return again.” He bowed low in front of Emma and took her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles before straightening again. “My lovely lady, it has been a pleasure. Though not as much as I would have liked, it is still far more than I had expected to find tonight. You are a treasure.” Then he threw an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “Come, let us seek our luck elsewhere before Bentley claims any more of our good fortune.”
Trepidation mingled with unnatural excitement at finding herself in such close proximity to Roderick. She had hoped to avoid him tonight. How foolish that hope had been, and false. There was no denying the delightful anticipation she felt just being near him. How long had he been watching her? Curious of his intention, Emma tipped her head back to gaze at him from the slits of her mask.
The easy smile he had worn on his approach was gone. Despite his stern expression, there was a harsh and unmistakable edge of desire in his gaze. A delicate rush swept through her blood.
“You are staring,” she said quietly.
“You are stunning,” Roderick replied. His gaze shifted from her face to cascade down the length of her body. His jaw tensed and he added through clenched teeth, “And you are leaving.”