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“I shall tell my friend Lady Schaeffer about this game,” said Fen. “It far exceeds both A Heap of Fish and Find the Acorn.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Lady Vawdrey,” said Sir James looking dismayed. “It – er – is not really a lady’s game at all, you know.”

“You mean because it reverses the social order?” asked Fen in puzzlement.

“You could teach your brother though,” said Sir Edward. “That’d be alright. No harm in that, eh?”

“I’d have to get him a deck though,” she pointed out. “Is it a local Aphrany game?”

“I expect so,” said Sir James nodding. “Leastways, I never heard of it before I came here.”

Oswald rounded the table and held his hand out to Fen. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Then he sat in her chair.

She stared down at him in consternation. “There are plenty of other chairs?” she pointed out.

He patted his knee. “But I wanted to share yours,” he said, in his most reasonable tone.

Her brow cleared. “Oh!” she said and obligingly perched herself on his knee. He wondered idly how many cups of ale she’d had that afternoon. When he passed an arm around her, she sighed and settled against him. A fair few, he guessed.

“We’ll share a hand,” he told Roland, who was looking at him askance.

His brother shrugged and started shuffling the cards.

Fen sighed and slid an arm around his shoulders. “This is nice,” she murmured.

Her breathy words went straight to his groin and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He wondered how many rounds of cards he’d have to sit through before he could in all decency hustle her into their bedroom and get her on her back.

“I had a good day today,” she told him quietly, as he whisked up their cards. He liked the way her attention was focused now on him alone. Liked it too much. Around them his brother and his friends, laughed and joked.

“Did you? I’m glad,” he responded automatically as he discarded and picked up a card. He fanned them, so she could see their hand, but her gaze was on his face.

“How was yours?” she sounded, he thought, a little wistful.

“Frustrating,” he admitted.

“Oh no, why?” She bent her arm at the elbow and lightly touched his hair. He liked that too. Damn it.

“It didn’t start the way I wanted.” Between her thighs.

“Maybe it’ll end that way?” she suggested encouragingly.

“I certainly hope so.”

“I hope so too,” she whispered.

She had definitely had too much ale, thought Oswald flinging down another card.

“Laborer trumps Lord,” Bevan crowed, snatching up his card.

“You’re bad at this game,” his wife murmured fondly, as her fingers lightly scratched at his neck.

“So it seems,” his mouth twisted wryly.

“Want us to clear out after this hand?” asked his brother casually as Bevan and Attley argued if the fishmonger was carrying a carp or a cod.

“Yes,” he answered as Fen simultaneously said ‘No.’

**