Arching a brow, she declared a ten, four and three. “I had seventeen.”
Matthew chuckled. “Never trust a woman with the face of an angel. What would you like to know about Lucinda?”
She tapped her finger to her lips. “I know you’ve shared her bed before. But despite her apparent efforts, I'm confident you do not intend to do so again. Even so, I wonder if the feelings you had are different to those you had when bedding me.”
Matthew swallowed. Once again, he had underestimated her skill in combat. In truth, the scenarios were vastly different though he had no notion why.
“Yes, there is a disparity.” Without time to analyse his thoughts, he had no option but to be vague. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact we’re married.”
The colour drained from her face, and she flinched at his response. “You mean the act is not as exciting when shackled to the same woman for life.”
Matthew frowned. “You misunderstand me. My chest is like a hollow cavern when I think of bedding Lucinda. I lack interest and enthusiasm for the task. When I think of bedding you, every nerve in my body sparks to life.” Whatever it all meant, he hoped the explanation placated her. “Does that answer your question?”
“In a way.” She picked up the fork and glanced down at the plate. This time she cut the corner off the asparagus tart and ate it slowly before dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “While you finish what you’re eating, I’ll tell you what we’re playing for next. If I win, I want you to tell me about your dreams and aspirations.”
Disappointment flared.
The information was hardly a secret. Perhaps nerves prevented her from raising the stakes. “If I win, I want your dress. Just so you’re aware, each hand I win will result in me taking another item of clothing until you’re down to your chemise.”
Dainty fingers flew to her mouth to cover her open lips. “But I’ll catch my death of cold.”
“Then I’ll stoke the fire.”
“Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?”
He offered a mischievous grin. “Both.”
A nervous energy filled the air. “Then it seems I win regardless of the outcome.”
Matthew dealt the cards. Priscilla examined her hand. If a frown and pursed lips conveyed the state of play, the next card could see her out of the game. But was it her intention to deceive?
Her failure to ask for another card confirmed his theory.
To win, he needed luck, not skill. With a knave and a ten, he took a chance it would be enough.
“It’s time to reveal your hand, Priscilla.”
With a look of suspicion marring her brow she turned over the cards. “I have nineteen.”
A rush of satisfaction swept through him though he tried to disguise his elation. In his mind, he said a silent prayer to Fate.
“I win.” He flipped his cards over. “I think you’ll find that’s twenty.” Arrogance dripped from every word. He would take immense pleasure undressing his bride.
Without a word, Priscilla jumped up. “Then you will want your prize.” Her hands snaked around her back to fiddle with the buttons.
“Allow me.” Matthew stood and covered the distance between them in two long, eager strides. His fingers tingled at the prospect of removing a layer of material. With a little more luck, soon there would be nothing but a thin chemise to hide her modesty.
“Under the circumstances is it not wise to lock the door?” There was a nervous edge to her tone, mingled with a hint of excitement.
“No one will disturb us.”
He came behind her, undid the row of buttons, smoothed his hands along her shoulders as the garment slithered to the floor. Of course, he had no option but to touch her body as he set about his ministrations.
“I wouldn’t worry about the cold.” His hand settled on her hip. “The warmth of your skin radiates through the fabric. I’m so hot I'm inclined to remove a few layers myself.”
She sucked in a breath. “I am at a rather unfair advantage. But the game is far from over. I believe it’s time for food.”
They settled back at the table, but he struggled to focus on anything other than the mounds of creamy-white flesh bursting out of her undergarments. He imagined her nipples to be a pretty shade of pink and easily teased to peak. Damn, they’d been married for days, and still he’d not feasted his eyes on them.