Page 14 of The Scoundrel's Christmas Challenge
“I think he was trying to tell you he has trump,” Lord Elwood said in a loud whisper, a hand covering one side of his face, then snickered.
The first game went to Lady Elwood and Lord Bentson, an embarrassing whitewash with Lord Frederick and Lord Page receiving no points. Christiana almost felt sorry for Lord Frederick, knowing he would never win with Lucius as his partner, and knowing he could never prove the loss was deliberate.
Lucius and Lord Frederick barely won the second. “Hounds teeth, Page, how do you manage to win at White’s and play so miserably here?” asked Lord Frederick, his jaw clenched. “Pay attention, will you?”
“Why, my lord, how rude. Did your mother teach you any manners?” Lord Page gasped, assuming an innocent expression. “I can only imagine it is my partner’s lack of skill.”
Lord Frederick’s icy blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t antagonize me. You’ll be sorry.”
Lucius chortled, apparently not the least concerned. “Are you threatening me?” His hand went to his chest, his eyes toward the ceiling. “Without my sister here to defend me? Heaven help us.”
“Gentlemen, we have a game to focus on,” intervened Lord Bentson. “You can argue outside rather than in front of the ladies—after we’ve soundly beaten you.”
The third was taken with ease by the first couple. “If I didn’t know how competitive you were, I’d say you lost on purpose,” grumbled Lord Frederick, casting a sour glance at Lucius who only continued to grin.
“We all have bad days,” he answered with a shrug.
Bentson slapped his knee. “Dash it, but I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years. My thanks, Lady Winfield, whether I get the vase or not.”
“What vase?” asked Lord Frederick. “I’m here for a horse.”
“And I’m here for a piece of hunting property that butts up to mine,” said Lord Elwood.
“It’s no wonder the poor dear is hosting this competition with so many dunderheads pestering her.” Lady Elwood winked at Christiana. “What is your heart’s desire, Lord Page?”
He grinned, picking up on the viscountess’s innuendo. “I’ll keep my personal desires to myself. But as far as this contest, I’m representing a merchant from London for two slate mines in Wales.”
“What will Lady Elwood and I have to do in order to declare a winner tonight?” asked Lord Bentson, sinking slowly into a leather chair before the hearth. “Please, no needlepoint. My eyes are terrible for any close work, though my spectacles are in my room.”
“Heavens no.” Christiana gave a pointed look at a shallow silver bowl near the wassail. “A bit of snapdragon. Whoever pulls the most raisins from the flaming brandy.”
“Oh-ho!” cried the elderly man with glee. “Not much feeling left in these old digits. I’m afraid I’ll have a leg up on you, Lady Elwood.”
“It’s neither here nor there,” she answered good-naturedly. “It’s all about the playing, not about the winning.”
“So says the woman with nothing to lose,” mumbled her husband.
Carolers from the village arrived and sang several of Christiana’s favorites, including “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” They shared the remaining wassail after several lovely songs. After dinner, Lord Bentson was true to his word and won snapdragon. Lady Elwood pulled three raisins from the fiery bowl and announced she was too delicate to continue. This sent her husband into guffaws, and Lord Elwood proceeded to snatch two more of the raisins, giggling with each pull and smacking his lips as he chewed the tiny plump fruit.
“One point to Lord Page for billiards and one point to Lord Bentson for whist and snapdragon,” declared Lady Elwood. Her cheeks were pink from the wine at dinner and the wassail.
“Please thank your cook for a delicious meal,” said Lord Bentson. “The goose was roasted to perfection. And the plum pudding…” He rubbed his belly. “Well, I ate too much of it if that tells you anything.”
“She’ll be pleased to hear it.” Christiana gave Lucius a side-look. She had been so curious as to why he had come that she hadn’t asked about his family yet. Tonight, while they… What challenge did he have planned for her?
CHAPTER 7
Midnight in the drawing room
Lucius paced before the hearth, embers still glowing and popping as he looked at the clock again. She’s late. She’s not coming. He ran a hand through his hair, then walked to the side table, and poured himself a brandy. She looked beautiful today. And more relaxed. He’d made her laugh several times, and the wariness in her cornflower-blue eyes had faded for a moment.
What would he do if she didn’t come? Pound on her bedchamber door? Visions of Christiana in a robe with little else beneath put him in a tailspin. He threw back the brandy and poured another.
“Courage for the upcoming battle?”
Her sultry tone cast a net over him. He stood with his back to her, his eyes closed, imagining her coming up behind him and sliding her arms around his middle. Dunderhead.
“Well, I’m here. What devious scheme have you decided upon for this eve—morning?”
