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He’d only seen that glow in their childhood days, when he’d done something she’d admired. She might be annoyed with him for interfering in her life—and she would certainly have words about his attempting to take over her late husband’s bank—but she was glad he had stood up for her. Grateful for his protection.

She looked at him with an expression that might be love. His chest tightened like a fist, throttling his heart.

She was his. She was so thoroughly and undeniably his. If only he could bring the exasperating woman to admit it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sophronia followed Rowden without a word down one of the smaller halls, then, to his surprise, yanked him quite suddenly into a private parlor. She spoke not a word as she closed the door. The small room was empty, a colza lamp turned low on a side table, and the scent of tobacco and wine hung in the air.

She turned to face him. The light cast a golden glow over her cheek, and the scent of her perfume made his mouth water. Her lips were red from biting them.

“You cheated,” she said in a low voice.

“I would never injure the reputation of the Albion with dishonorable conduct,” he said. “I run my faro table to the best of my ability, and that is all.”

She was a vision in her fashionable silks, her outrageous hair perfectly coiffed, diamonds sparkling like her eyes. Her skin was burnished gold in the lamplight. He couldn’t conquer the impulse to touch her cheek, tracing a finger in a line below her ear. She was soft beneath his fingertips. She shivered.

“You manipulated the play. And Will was helping you. You arranged for Bint to lose all that money, and for me to win.”

“Fortune favored you tonight, and not Bint.” He followed the line of her jaw with his fingertip. “As for your cousin—he is such a poor player, I do not think even cheating could help him win. Be sure you collect your winnings. I should think, with that money, you might have your school ready to open for the Michaelmas term.”

Heat ran through his veins in a slow smolder. Now that the ordeal was over, he couldn’t quite believe that everything had gone as he’d hoped. She was free of her tormentors, her money was restored to her, and Rowden had a new toy to play with: Hinton’s bank. He fancied the idea of learning how a financial institution was run. He had done well with the Albion, but he bored easily, and he knew it. It was time to pursue other interests.

The one interest that had never palled for him was Sophronia. The urge to haul her into his arms was overwhelming. Her gown hugged the curves and abundance of a woman’s body, but he wanted to pull off the layers of fabric and discover her shape for himself.

“But it’s dishonest,” she said with all her infernal stubbornness, which had not abated a bit from when she was a girl. “I didn’t win by my own luck. You’re giving this money to me.”

“The only way I can,” he answered, sliding his fingers to the back of her neck. “If I write you an enormous bank draft, there will be questions raised, mainly about your virtue. Even if I say it is for an investment in your school, Elkins, your solicitor, will want a say in how the money is handled and may attach all manner of strings and restrictions for use. Tonight, you can walk away with three thousand pounds all your own, and all you must do is admit you were fast enough to play faro at my table at the Albion.”

“Aren’t there anyways?” She looked up into his face, her mouth very near his. “Strings.”

He moved closer. “Do you mean, will I demand something in return?”

“No gift is free.”

“I will confess to an ulterior motive. I want to take any measure possible to ensure you are safe and provided for and will succeed in your goals, whatever they may be. And if you are grateful to me for my support”—the buttons of his frock coat brushed the satin covering her breasts—“I shall press whatever advantage I might have to find a way into your affections.”

She stared at him for a long time. Her breath, exhaled into the space between them, smelled of mint and sweet cream. “It is time we discussed the results of our wager.”

His arousal was building, the demands of instinct interfering with his capacity for logic. “The marriage bet?”

“That one.”

“You won. Giles chose Lily.” He brushed his thumb against her delicate jaw.

“But,” she breathed. “I have not found a single woman who would make a suitable wife for you.”

He dragged his hands down her arms, skimming the velvet of her open robe, the silk of her gloves, lingering on the dainty patch of skin exposed between. “Your task was near impossible from the start, as there is only one woman who will do for me.”

“Fortunate woman,” Sophronia managed to say. Her eyes darkened, the blue overshadowed by pupil. She wanted him.

“I meant for you to lose, you know.” His voice scratched low in his throat. “So that I could ensure you would take no husband but the man I selected for you. If I am honest with us both, I had settled on my candidate from the start.”

She lifted her arms to fasten her hands around his neck. “Please say it is you.”

“If you will have me. You jilted me once⁠—”

“You never offered!” She laid two fingers against his mouth to silence him. He bit the tips of her fingers, and she stared at him, her breath coming uneven.